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 Posted: Sun Mar 29, 2015 5:37 pm
Image made by use of http://www.flamingtext.com and...some image found on Google ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: ~ Please stay to smell the flowers ~ ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: T.O.C _________________________ [1]
:: W e l c o m e ::
[2]
:: P e r s o n a l ::
[3]
:: T B D ::
_________________________
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Posted: Mon Mar 30, 2015 5:28 pm
 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx:: G e n e r a l ::________________________________________________ Name: Jasper Meadows
Age: 23
Weight:128 lbs
Height: 5'2"
Hometown: Floaroma Town, Sinnoh
Orientation: Pansexual
Profession: Florist
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx:: H i s t o r y ::________________________________________________ Bio: Well, this has been grossly empty for long enough so, I suppose it's time to give it a shot?
Let's start with the basics: His passion for flowers...was honestly not as evident as one would believe it to be. Especially with his own 'roots' having come from Floaroma Town of all places. A land surrounded by blossoms that seemed to be in bloom practically year-round well, of course one would stereotype that he would be more than happy to participate in a practice related to flowers, right? Well, this time you're wrong dear reader. Instead, you have chosen to peek in on one who had honestly been pretty neutral when it came to which petals looked prettier than the last. And this would continue up until his adolescence, a time when he would finally come to understand the flowers his parents so deeply cherished...albeit in his own way that didn't revolve around pocket perfumes and quick money.
Yes, ever since Jasper was young, the one thing he could recall was the feverish pacing of his parents around the small shop/home they owned in the town. The gentle barking of orders for bouquets, the calls for cosmos, hollies, lilacs, carnations, and even the occasional zinnia. They were all words and objects he had picked up on soon after calling for his 'mama' and 'pa' from the cradle, brown eyes memorizing the shapes of petals and even being able to reach out with his little baby fat hands to lightly touch them in order to acquaint himself with the different textures of the plants. He learned of ferns and mosses, particularly favoring the later as they were nice and soft to the touch. Yet still, even with all this early knowledge... he never truly got into the groove of being a florist. Why? Well, of course there was a reason to this, however that would not be discovered until he could further develop his thoughts to things that didn't pertain sucking on his 'bo-bo' (pacifier) of drinking from a bottle. For this point of his life, all he could recall was the sweet scents that would fill the small place, the chattering of customers, and a Sunflora partner to his mother that would occasional tease him with the rattle.
But yes, soon the boy would grow into well, a true child. One that would make his first baby steps and add to the pitter-patter of the home. A small smile would don his expression, rather than the larger once followed by hiccup-giggles when he was a baby. In short, he had come to be a rather shy boy, the kind that would clutch onto the apron of his mother and hide himself - or at least think he was 'hiding' himself - halfway behind his mother. And yes, even still he would remain either in the shop or at home with his family, and only child who seemed to be sheltered from the others of the town. Or perhaps, it was something he enjoyed? It was hard to be an outgoing child in such a small town, for someone like Jasper to hold big dreams beyond the shutters that sealed the light away before dawn. He was an introvert, and it was going to prove to be a difficult habit to break. And still his mind would fill with the familiar verbal patterns he had picked up ever since he was a child: The routine greeting...an occasional stalk around from afar, the usual 'How are you finding everything?' or 'Do you need any help?', some side conversation that would lock the sale, and of course... the ring up at the register. A...an honestly sickening routine...one that would make the curves of that gentle joy falter. Insincerity... perhaps the first plague to why he began to grow indifferent from the work his parents were clearly much too deep in.
[TBC]
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