(sorry if this is a bit sloppy - tell me of any problems with the setting I'm in, or if my characters are doing something they shouldn't be. I've only roughly read up on the past events, and I just wanted to get my introduction off so it would be easier to edit and RP further later.)
Being alone as the sky slowly darkens from a tinted blue to a foreboding midnight black hadn't been Navarro Jardenil's favorite pass time at any length. Sure, nature and Pokemon distinctly grasped the boy with a firm fascination during the day, where observation was simple, easy, and generally non - threatening. However, during the night, an unforeseen terror always vaguely seemed to prick away at the tan skin of the lean teenager, a certainly primal fear that was only realized during the one time of the day where no distraction exists to fend off the hordes of depressing and downright disturbing thoughts that plagued the human mind, unbeknownst to most thanks to the warm caress of sunlight.
"Pawn, Pawn..." Victor remarked suspiciously, looking around the dark, lush savanna that the duo of trainer and Pokemon were walking through at that moment. The petite swordsman seemed to hold the same suspicions of Navarro, which the latter found great irony in, given that the former happened to be a dark type that was naturally trained in the art of stabbing things. Despite this, the creature still reciprocated this fear of the unknown, just as he did with most emotions that were projected onto the mind of the young traveller, a subject that had been noted and wondered about countless times in his journal dedicated to information about the psyche of Pokemon which he observed during the day.
Well, maybe taking a rest and writing a bit about the Pawniard's mirrored fears despite his type could be a good pass time - after all, I won't be out of here for a few hours, and it could quell a bit of the anxiety. Fascinating. It appears my previous thoughts about the correlation between personality and type were wrong - perhaps Victor is an enigma, of sorts. Navarro thought, before pulling out the orange covered notebook from his pocket in which he stored this kinds of thoughts. He took a seat on the side of the road, retrieving a pen also from his pocket, and flipping to the most recent page he had been pouring his mind onto.
Navarro took the travel pack that had been slung over his shoulder down to his knees, opening it up and unzipping the top slot. The boy pulled out an electronic lantern, before looking to his right only to see Victor drawing figure 8's in the dirt with his sharp, sword like claws. In the light of the lantern, he pushed down the release mechanism on the ballpoint pen and began to write in the smooth, blue and white lined paper that was packed together within the journal.
Day 439
Time: Unknown, I've lost my watch, though it appears to be turning to night very rapidly.
I've stopped in the middle of a Savannah of sorts to write this entry. It's turning to night very quickly, much to my own unease, and so I write with a worried haste instilled in me tonight. While I've been moving onto the next town, guided by my town map issued to me from a local Pokemon Center, I've observed a queer sort of action within Victor. This has been present before, though I haven't exactly paid too much thought before this. Despite him being a Pawniard, a Dark and Steel type, Victor has displayed a
He stopped writing. What was that sound? It was a muffled talking sound - two people droning back in forth in what was likely some kind of conversation. They sounded somewhat young, however, and Navarro, in a spontaneous burst that usually never enveloped the boy, he decided to investigate. It beat sitting on the side of a dusty dirt path and just waiting for some kind of ghost Pokemon to scare him to death, didn't it? These were the thoughts that raced through his mind as he began to pack up his things, and motioned for Victor to do the same.
Sure, if anything started getting sketchy, then he could just run. That had yet to fail him, didn't it? He ran a lot, but wasn't good at it - just another thing to go on the list of ironic tedium that seemed to infest the life of the boy. Cruel irony, he thought, irony that benefited nobody except the deity that incited it upon him. Navarro felt himself begin walking, and it wasn't long until he stumbled upon the two forms of Peter and the other girl talking. They were around his age, and seemed friendly enough.
Just my luck. Well, here goes nothing.
"Hello? I'm s - sorry to interrupt, it's just I'm a bit lost here, you see..." He stammered, fibbing to try and make his appearance seeming a bit less sudden.
