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"i was able to strangle my shadow"

[attr="class","mdh-appv2-traitcon"]

thirty two

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male

[attr="class","mdh-appv2-traitcon"]

phenac city, orre

[attr="class","mdh-appv2-traitcon"]

trainer

[attr="class","mdh-appv2-traitcon"]

unemployed

[attr="class","mdh-appv2-traitcon"]

cipher

[attr="class","mdh-appv2-info"]

eustace's nickname is derived from his ferocious nature, of which has been seen by only a select few that have hired him. to be honest, only one other organization has accepted him, as all other potential employers are fearful. the organization in question shall not be named, but they are based in the region of anrui; a place tormented by two opposing factions seeking dominance over the tropical island.
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eustace has trained pokemon before, and their whereabouts are unknown. his former roster included a feraligatr & salamence - the parents to his totodile, a kangaskhan, and other dragon-esque species.
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despite wearing it in his portfolio pictures, eustace does not carry a bony half-mask. in fact, it belongs to his sister.

[attr="class","mdh-appv2-info"]

So, it's been some time since I talked about myself. Last I remember, I was lauding my half-sister. I remember her name, and I remember how she fixed me. Let's unfold some yarn, eh? My teeth are aching to talk about myself. Did you know I'm a crocodile? It's what my enemies stutter, it's what my coworkers shout, and it's how I identify myself. I don't have the thick skin or whipping tail or gnashing teeth, no. I've got the damn attitude and appetite of those reptilians.
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I don't remember how I picked the name, or when, but I remember why. I won't say now, I wanna pick a little at ya. Y'know, get you interested with all these- what are they called? Chekov's Guns? Call this a Chekov's Rifle Squad! I love the sound of that. Every scar I own is a bullet, and you'll see them soon enough. I've got plenty of words left to spit out.
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Question. Does a crocodile know the difference between a friend or a foe? Maybe not, but I'm more human than them; I've got your back if you got mine. I know how to kick twice and punch the rib cage first. Just don't give me a reason to switch targets mid-battle. I'll be on you like Zubats to a newbie. Their first mistake is entering a damn cave unprepared. That first step is the first move in a long game of deadly chess.
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I do not ever make the first move. I wait until I hear something that really grinds my gears and I lash out. Others don't see that in me. They think I bite without warning.
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Yeah, I talk a lot, and I've heard people talk about me, too. Did you know I left home? I'll give you a few seconds to think of why. They say I left home to cause problems in other cities and towns in Orre and who-knows-where. Really? Tarnish the name of a desert region that had nothing but peace for ages? No, I fucking respect that. Got an answer? Eh, I'll tell ya. I just left because I was curious about the world. I left because I wanted them to see me as a human, and that they need to change. I went to Hoenn and gained a love for the aquatic and tropical life. I went to a mountainous region and climbed to its crown. I went to an island paradise and took part in a war.
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I came back, eyes opened, and guess what? Nothing changed. They still know me, and they still treat me like shit. I step up for a little kid, bleeding and crying in the mud, and the Mayor is on my damn ass. The mother is beating me with a broom and the kid is clutching my chest because they're thankful. These are the people that shaped me- the people I grew up with for a good thirty percent of my life. Thank the gods I met Medana, or else I wouldn't be here.

[attr="class","mdh-appv2-info"]

Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Eustace Arnold "Crocodile" Jones. I am thirty-two years of age and was born in Phenac City of Orre. I never witnessed our crime-laden history, but I've heard talk of it. The only problems is that those who were present died before the stories could finish. Even then, all I had were videotapes and papers. I could read them all over and over again, but I'd be wasting away. I have a life.
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I have a history. To condense and simplify, I'm a war veteran. I've done recon, search & rescue, infiltration; I've been part of a bomb squad and my specialty was stalling. I'm a seasoned traveler with homes in Hoenn, Sinnoh, Kanto, and Anrui. I've tamed dragons of many shapes and colors. I've got a sister whom I'd die for. She can't speak, but she knows how to make me smile. I love her to death and she's the only reason I'm back home.
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Let me tell you about my current job, as a member of Cipher. It all began with those staged episodes of the Orre Region history. As a kid, I grew up on them. I wanted so much to go back in time and really witness what happened with that blond and redhead. I wanted to know about that machine on his arm and how that girl could see whatever the hell she saw.
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The papers never interviewed them. The people who wrote the episodes probably drew inspiration from those articles, and they're all gone. That pisses me off. Call me a scholar or a historian, but I want to know what happened. My curiosity is what really led me to leaving my home in the middle of the night. Growing up, I was pretty normal for about six years. Grades didn't matter, but I tried my damn best and guess what happened? Mommy and Daddy went on an anniversary cruise and didn't last three days. The ship was attacked, and nobody knew the cause. Some say it was a Gyarados, others claimed it was an act of terrorism, and we still don't know.
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Tybalt and Caroline were their names. I inherited nothing but his stupid leather jacket. Yeah, I know I'm wearing it, shut up. I forget where they worked, but a married couple, their former coworkers, adopted me. They were from, uh... They had strange accents and stranger names. My new father was known as Frederick and his wife was Yvonne. I, unknowingly yet legally, took their last name after a few weeks of living with them. The following day, I came across a paper with details about the ship accident. I hadn't known they died until THAT very day. Not a single word was said. I was totally oblivious about their absence. I snapped.
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I was in the principal's office less than I was in the nurse's. If someone sniffed in my direction, I'd break their nose. If someone spoke the names of my parents, I'd be the Tooth Fairy. Frederick and Yvonne tried to get me out of school and into counseling, but things toned down after I got into an accident on my sixth birthday. My foster parents had a summer job working on a ranch for Johto Pokemon. I volunteered to help out with some harvesting. I heard a noise from behind me and Frederick was falling towards me. I reached out to grab him and landed on the handle of his fallen sickle. My smile has been crooked since, and my attitude changed after dinner that night.
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The next ten years of my life were nothing special. I outgrew my anger, or maybe subdued it, but my grades improved and I managed to make a few friends. I left home on the anniversary of my real parents. I don't remember my thoughts, and I didn't leave a note. I packed my bags, took what I needed, and used my allowance to try and buy a ticket for Hoenn. A couple of older kids helped me out, and we started backpacking together. We got separated during a terrible rainstorm somewhere around Dewford. I walked the continent, but never saw them again. I never even knew their names. If I did, I wouldn't talk to the police. I still struck anyone who talked about the ship from Orre. Half the time, it wasn't the same ship I was thinking about.
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My decline begins here. After making a home in that region, I traveled more, earning enough scars and metaphorical scalps to grab the attention of some group in a tropical region. I quickly grew to love my job there, and the team I had raised from baby wyverns. Renate, Valda, Baldur... I haven't seen them in five years. In the flooded forests of that region, I came across a muse. She could not speak, her friends were Pokemon, and the minute she saw me - I was bleeding and cut open from enemy Pokemon, she did not scream. She did not stagger, or strike... In fact, she patched me up. A day or two later, I'm asking her to come with me back home, and she hugged me. I think she wanted to leave because of the war going on and, frankly, I did too.
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Why come back? I wasn't homesick, and there were still mountains to climb and oceans to dive into. My last mission was to find a graffiti artist who had been painting the walls of a city with Viva La Resistance propaganda. They had infiltrated radio stations, and my boss happened to find the channel. There was not one, but two artists. Reese and Desiree were native to Orre, and had the same papers and videos I had collected. Since making a base in Mossdeep, I had still been researching about our region's past. I was going on one path, and they another. My passion for learning about Cipher and Snagem was reignited. I hung around their cells a bit too long and was stripped of my team before being kicked out. Even though I was angry, I was relieved to finally be on my way home.
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I had told Medana about the papers and how I felt and, even today, she still supports me. I might not understand why, nor will I push her into telling me. Our lives are only connected when we're in the same house. She has her jobs, and I have mine. I joined Cipher because I'm a criminal. The peace we've had needs to end. I mean, I like it, but shit gets boring once in a while. There's no order without chaos, and vice versa. I have my reasons, and you'll know them soon enough. Actually, I'll tell you one right now: the bad guys were my heroes.
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Once a criminal, always the curious.

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