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5'9" height

i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.

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dahlia's gachapon

POSTED ON Jun 4, 2019 2:55:15 GMT

🤡

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shiv

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i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.

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15. HAPPY PRIDE!

POSTED ON Jun 4, 2019 1:57:01 GMT

SPIRAL likes this

i actually wanna take advantage of this :yugis:
pls give dahlia a fairy type prem gacha ty ADMIN SPIRAL :pepehands:

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Judgment Day (Closed)

POSTED ON Jun 2, 2019 23:27:50 GMT

conversely, dahlia has refused to doll up. still recovering from her capture, she relinquishes the accessory of presentability and adorns a blanket-robe draped around her shoulders. the fabric falls limply around her body. it obscures her figure. hides her. softens her presence and blends her into the patterns of her quilt.

she shuffles down the stairs and sings from her soft armor,
"sorry to keep you waiting, mr. benoit! i get cold so easily, and i need this blanket to even function today."

her guest is dressed sharply while she wades into the room softly. like a dome of dandelion seeds, she lacks edges. falls apart so quickly but comfortably as she sinks into her seat across from him.

"well aren't you dressed nicely. sorry for this," she gestures to her lazy garb, "this is no offense to you. i'm just a sucker for comfy." she clasps her hands together, the blanket faintly showing the shapes of her thin arms.
"is... the box for me?"

Thomas Benoit

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POSTED ON Jun 1, 2019 22:47:37 GMT

the commissioner listens. listens well. her practiced poise is an otherworldly porcelain, free from the underbelly of a dirty trade- or so she believes. believes blindly. the transferal of power is to be trusted. the process is perfect. porcelain, even.

but she doesn't realize the dramatics of her uneven set-up.

her lithe form, wrapped in the warmth of her comfortable sweats, leans forth at a motherly angle. she grasps one of alexander's hands in hers, cradling his suffering like a madonna and her child. a small huff from the stoutland brightens her already radiant smile.

"no, thank you." her voice, barely a whisper, is carried by a gratitude pulled from deep inside. "it's good to have people you can trust."

dahlia gives him a squeeze. her signature of approval before releasing him, pulling away like a white cloth drifting back on a ghostly tide.

"there is fine print though." a hand remains on her stoutland, fingers combing through thick quilted fur. "you need to promise me to be careful... since the nature of this appointment is most certainly going to place a target on your head."

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naimononedari [p/m/de]

POSTED ON May 30, 2019 4:44:19 GMT

"if you think that's patronizing," dahlia waves a finger as she glides in, "then we need to help each other learn how to take compliments!"

seeing her stoutland mope away, dahlia is pleased at the privacy. she remains oblivious to kyle's disappointment, blinded by the sunshine of an afternoon's work in the garden-- and the handsome man in her home.

"his name's wilfred." dahlia says before pulling the ribbon of a white lie from her tongue. "he needs to eat his lunch!"

clasping her thin fingers on kyle's shoulders, she ferries the man to a nearby sofa seat as if he were on wheels.

"make yourself comfortable!" dahlia chimes before settling into her own seat across from him. "oh, well! aside from the obvious, you risked your life for slateport- and is that not something to be praised?"

kyle lopez

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POSTED ON May 22, 2019 2:19:46 GMT

ambition. that accursed word haunts the inks of her paperwork, the black gossip slithering between old, hairy ears. it rests within the momentary shadows cast underneath her heels as they tap through hallways so hallowed by the sculpted veneer of past political dynasties.

dahlia just wanted to do what was best for the region.

and so, her ambition was selfless to her eyes. the transferal of power: benign. however, the more and more she settles in to her seat, the more the upholstery grows cold with a chilling scene of complacency.

"champion?"dahlia asks. "and how are you going to straddle between your duties as gym leader and champion, if you were to become it? i'm always wary of mixing blatant politics with that position," she utters quietly, "like i am wary about mixing corporations with government seats."

her next remark leaps.

"perhaps, if it's only temporary. until a suitable replacement can be found. i'll have to light a fire under some of the other GLs to complete more officiated battles."

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activity check (may)

POSTED ON May 1, 2019 4:54:03 GMT

persephone amavi likes this

player name: shiv
keeping: dahlia goode / elijah gardner / noah faber
dropping: n/a

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POSTED ON Apr 23, 2019 1:43:24 GMT

"oh, but i have returned." dahlia accepts a tiny sip of bubbles before setting the can down. "i've basically been resurrected." her body still pangs with ghostly sores, and despite silas' haunting hold, she revels in the pain.

she feels alive. unlike a newly birthed phoenix, dahlia still burns with a quiet intensity. and some of that fire flares in the way she presses forward in her seat.

"so i've heard!" dahlia's eyes glint with that burning gold. "interesting how quickly people moved into those seats. i'm glad we have such ambitious allies, don't you?" she knits her fingers together, setting her hands daintily on her lap.

dahlia abandons the cool beverage on the table. her stoutland does not stir.

"tell me, alexander." dahlia says. "what can i do for you? any concerns? any needs not being met?"

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naimononedari [p/m/de]

POSTED ON Apr 23, 2019 1:27:21 GMT

dahlia laughs, each fluttery note of her voice like a dismissive hand. "oh no... don't trouble yourself with helping me." she claps her gloved hands, the fertile dirt that she dabbled in scattering in soft clouds.

as soon as kyle enters the home, dahlia strips out of her overalls. she wears a simple pair of shorts underneath, and her white shirt, smudged in patches with garden dirt, breathes freely. she folds the overalls neatly—no doubt in the KonMari method of a neat rectangle—and places them in the garden shed.

with a hum, she slips inside into the room kyle is in. it's a wider living room compared to the one towards the front of the house; a grand piano rests unplayed in the corner and a dormant fireplace faces a lavish leather couch, its legs curled up in fanciful designs.

"sorry for the wait!" dahlia says, still in charming disarray. she dabs herself down with a handkerchief. "i've heard so many great things about you, mr. lopez. i just needed to meet you for myself."

her stoutland lazily peers in from a nearby hallway, the doorframe looking impossibly narrow compared to its fluffy overcoat. with a slight expression of surprise, dahlia ushers the dog away.

kyle lopez

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naimononedari [p/m/de]

POSTED ON Apr 8, 2019 5:14:39 GMT

kyle doesn't receive an answer from inside.

instead, a woman's voice rings out from the back, like a cool splash of water in the day's sweltering sun. something slithers through the lawn, accompanied by light footsteps.

"helloooo," pulling a garden hose—in the design of a cute snivy's markings—dahlia waves, her sun hat bending softly in places on the brim, catching sunlight and casting curtains of shadow, "oh! mr. lopez! is it that time already..."

she pulls out her phone. immediately, she squints, the visibility of the screen marred by the intense daylight. her head reels back, eyes wide.

"so sorry! let me change into something else, hah!" dahlia laughs, a flush to her cheeks—though one can imagine it is due to the hard garden work instead—as she fixes the strap to her distressed denim overalls. "do you want me to meet you inside? the backdoor's open."

kyle lopez

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POSTED ON Apr 8, 2019 4:59:17 GMT

at the request, dahlia slips into the kitchen like a seaside breeze. a refrigerator door opens. the persistent hum of the appliance now loud and apparent, dahlia reaches in and pulls out two cans, their tin bodies knocking into each other clumsily. behind her, the refrigerator closes and the hum is silenced.

she reappears. one hand precariously holding the two cans from their heads. their designs are colorful. like the eccentric patterns of a public bus seat in the 80s or 90s.

"i'm not sure if you enjoy sparkling water," dahlia says, setting one can down on the table. she sits across from him and opens hers, the tab pulled to release the fizzy sizzle, "but i really need to get rid of these." she laughs and takes a sip of tv static before setting the can on the table.

dahlia crosses her legs and pushes on the cushion of the couch with both hands.

"oh ever grande is nice to look at, but the property tax makes you question if it's even worth it." she provides her full attention to alexander. no inkling of distraction shrouds her face. instead, her concentration simultaneously straddles worlds of docility and intensity. "thank you, but i'll be fine. i'm getting counseling, receiving support... i know how to take care of myself."

she smiles a small one.

"you have to learn how to take care of yourself in this job." she centers her gaze on him further. "and yours."

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POSTED ON Mar 22, 2019 4:44:52 GMT

ALEXANDER STONE likes this

a golden curl grazes her cheek as she shakes her head no. her smile stops short of its usual radiant breadth, sacrificing some strength to bear the entire world.

"oh, not me." dahlia's shoulder inclines as her fingers scratch against the stoutland's sturdy spine. "wilfred works every day— don't you, wilfy?" she coos and gestures to the vest hanging on the wall. on it, the insignia of the league is accompanied by the words 'therapy dog.' "he has a sense..."

dahlia discovers tragedy in the inability to separate grief and politics. despite her earnest presence at the funeral, the bending plastic of the political umbrella clouds her appearance to those on the outside.

"thank you." dahlia raises her hand, stopping alex. "call me dahlia. we're in my house. not the office."

she beckons him away from the vestibule and into a living room. the walls are grey-white. two couches flank a dark rug with a wooden coffee table. several magazines of "healthy hoenn living" are fanned out and unread.

"i've been good! resting! sleeping in." dahlia laughs. "don't tell anyone about that last one. would you like something to eat? drink?" the stoutland comes to a rest beside a couch. "or... is there another reason you're here like you've implied?"

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TAG WITH @dahlia

POSTED ON Mar 19, 2019 6:49:31 GMT

Lucas Lane likes this

dahlia is less than graceful this day. over her feet are oversized piplup slippers, the round penguin head greeting alexander should he look down. she wears loose sweatpants below a thick sweater that tugs just below her waist. her more orderly fashions have been tucked away; after her kidnapping, she fusses less with impressing others.

"mr. stone!" she's surprised to see him, especially so soon after the funeral. "come in, come in. it's cold out."

the door swings back in full. immediately inside, a small rack for shoes is stationed to the side, the dusty shelving filled with forlorn heels. beside it, hanging from the wall, is a broad cape vest. one that is much too large for a typical human.

"wilfred?" from its worn rug, her stoutland lumbers over discreetly. no grand entrance. just the simple step-step-step of its heavy paws. the stoutland rests its paws on top of alexander's shoes and lays down. "he's usually tired after work..."