Experiment #101 (Duncan)
Duncan has a very short temper, and gets downright unpleasant when his mood descends enough. When he's not an irritable, snappy mass of fur and claw, he is still quite merciless and picks fights easily. Assuming you can get him to think of you as something like an equal, he will treat you a little nicer. Don't expect him to drag you back from the edge of a cliff unless you two are best friends, though.
He was an experiment. He spent his life in a tube. Period.
Other: I liek Mudkipz
(stolen from my application for Lance on a different forum)
Lance drummed his fingers impatiently on the side of the boat. The man didn't quite know why he was so eager to get to the Mewforsaken island - the only thing that awaited him there was another boring off-season filled with a bunch of powerful Pokemon trainers strolling around a big castle trying to find something to do, wishing that this stupid 'vacation' would just end already.
Some people had tried to make it eventful in the past. They had had a tournament on many off-seasons of old, but even beating the stuffing out of another Elite's Pokemon can actually get old after a while. Lance had promised himself as the small group of the elite Trainers in the land got on the boat at the end of last summer that he would come up with a way to make the next summer actually be fun.
Obviously, he failed.
The other occupants of this giant ship were about as enthusiastic to get to this place as he was. That island - the Castle of Elite Fail, as the group had dubbed it a few years ago - was just about the only thing that could shoot down Lance's optimistic mood. It never failed to do that, but the bubbly hyperness returned. Eventually.
As Lance's brown eyes slowly drifted along the deck, he recognized many figures doing a variety of things that usually signal the coming of impending doom. Will was sitting against the wall of the cabin talking to himself, Lucian and Koga were trying to get Bruno to try some meditation (that never went over well), Agatha and Bertha were sharing stories about the Good Old Days (TM), and all was not well.
Nobody seemed to notice the boat had actually gone anywhere until it brought itself to a jerky stop in the docks to the Island of Elite Fail. As if to make it even more obvious that his passengers were doomed, the captain of the boat (a strange person in a black mask) had blared a horn. To the group of Elites and Clampions on the boat, it sounded like the alarm clock when you had to get up at 5:30 on a Monday morning.
A unanimous groan echoed from the surrounding area; everyone was clearly not pleased that they had arrived so soon. The group of Trainers clustered around the exit of the boat, slowly walking down the docks (of shame) and up the lane (of doom) and into the castle (of elite fail).
Another long, boring, arduous offseason awaited them.