Plip....plip.......pliplip....
The sky was ashen in color, sporting bitter grey blotches that stretched across the horizon without any tinge of blue. Far off, in the distance bordering on the edge of accurate perception, the color was smudged darker - murky charcoal rubbings in the atmosphere. Swaying slowly in a soft, listless wind, the closely-knit pine trees embroidering the edge of Route 33 sent their needles shivering. Droplets of beaded rain water dripped from the thin, pointed leaves, disappearing into the blanket of yellow-brown needles that carpeted the grass around the trees. The occasional flare of stamina resulted in a fierce gust of wind, just brief enough to claw its way through the bundled needles and whistle through the untamed tall grass before settling back down into lethargy. Huddled down within the knothole of a deeply-set oak, slightly beyond the carefully planted rows of evergreens, a Hoothoot blinked its large, baleful red eyes and ruffled its downy breast feathers. It clicked its beak once or twice with accompanying chirrups of sound, unnerved by the impending storm. Outside the thick, deep knothole, clinging with its clawlike yellow legs to the tree bark, a lone Spinarak shifted its weight before continuing its climb up into the foliage.
The hard-packed dirt road, wide and carving clearly through the natural forests surrounding Azalea, was oaken brown. Dust made to soften the color on clear, bright days when genial white clouds drifted easily across the sky, but the rain had pounded it away temporarily. The occasional clump of wild weeds erupted out of the compact earth, a miracle in itself. Enough feet had tamped the ground that no plant life should've been able to take root in the road; yet they were there, albeit small, and age had yellowed them at the tips.
Jutting stubbornly out of the collective forestland every now and then, large rock formations grated against the green state of the land. They had once probably clung to the cavernous area just to the east of Route 33, where Union Cave linked Azalea to Violet City, yet time had nibbled away at them until they found themselves severed from the main section.
Plip...plip plip plip....plip...
A lone figure, dulled by the steady downpour of quiet rain, glanced wordlessly up at the peak of one of these rocky hills, ignoring the bitingly-cold droplets of water that stung his unprotected face. The rain arced over his cheeks, collected swiftly on the tip of his chin, and dropped to the ground to be dismissed from memory altogether. The figure's half-lidded eyes, horribly bright in contrast to the grey evening, were a merciless gold, highlighted in orange fire that was unexpressed by his face. An emotionless frown lay heavily on his thin lips as he readjusted the undetailed black satchel slung over his shoulder, and it remained as he continued down the hushed path.
A slender, form-fitting trenchcoat fluttered out behind him as a short-lived gust attempted to buffet his soaked hair, held away from his bored eyes by a set of jet-black goggles. The locks were navy-blue with saturation, a shade darker than his natural color. His loose bangs lay damply against his face, and the hair kept away from his eyesight by the goggles hung against the nape of his neck in wet, jagged clumps. A black, scar-like triangle shape lay upon his left cheek, almost two inches long and starting along his jawline. A thick turtleneck shirt lay beneath the shrouding dark fabric of his coat; a glittering crystal of emerald hung around his neck on a black string, glinting in spite of the overcast shaded sky.
Slowly, with the deliberation that comes with unconscious movement, the boy flexed the fingers gripping his pack by its long drawstring. The slim white gloves acting as a second skin kept his hand from turning numb from the dreary weather, yet the lack of circulation send pinpricks of uncomfortable pain to his fingertips if he kept the same grip on the leather strap for too long. His boots, the same contrasting shade of white, were of similar material; at least the insulation was the same. They were, however, splattered with mud and a clogged mixture of grainy pebbles picked up during his trek within the Zubat- and Geodude-riddled Union Cave.
Within the passing moment between one breath and the next, the figure's eyes lost their skeptical quality and regained it again. The change consisted of him detecting a curious figure casting a dark shadow across the grass, and reverted when he recognized what the towering form was. Looming ahead, given height by the jagged cliff it rested on, was the queerly named "Slowpoke Well". More an underground cavern, long-flooded with water, than a well of any sort, it was where, long ago, a small group of independently-working Rockets had created their base of operations for selling severed Slowpoke Tails. The structure's entrance was chiseled out of rock - the same no-color brown as the other outcroppings scattered within the heavily-populated forest area.
Not that what purpose it served mattered to the boy. What was important was that the damp cavern was within sight of Azalea Town.
-
The mousy-haired brunette, serving as Azalea's head nurse while their head was out on some highly-important business meeting or another, slumped lower behind the Pokémon Center's polished oak counter. Her hair, tugged back into a ponytail that was definitely not within protocol, was frizzed from the humidity in the hair, and her mood was likewise out of order. The head's Chansey bobbed from one end of the Center to the other, its pink body emitting a level of positive happiness that the young woman wished she could leech. It dusted random surfaces that needed no cleaning, tidied the orderly guest rooms, and performed the medley of menial chores the brunette couldn't secure the energy to attempt on her own.
Rain streaked down the building's glass doors, throwing queer shadows onto the muted-green linoleum; she had heard no telltale murmurings of thunder or lightning yet, but she was certain the inseparable duo would make an appearance soon enough. With no sane civilian bold enough to venture out in such a heavy downpour, business was more than dead. She hadn't seen a trainer, flying through the doors as if their soul was going to explode if they didn't get their Pokémon healed ten seconds faster, in nearly a full day. Azalea being the cozen hometown of the second badge-wielding Gym Leader of the Johto region, that was saying something.
Listening in a detached sense to the pattering of rain on the glass, and the duller sounds of the rain on the rooftop, the assisting nurse rested her head on the counter, replacing a pillow with her folded arms. The Chansey paused to give her a long-suffering look before trotting down one of the Center's few hallways, muttering its name indignantly under its breath - a carbon-copy of the brunette's boss. Only pink. The lights from the restoration machine idling beside her hummed with its eternal, cold, and calculating life, forever waiting for her to tap the series of buttons that would cause it to thrum with the rejuvenating life; which would, in turn, transfer itself to the small red-and-white spheres placed on it and to the creatures within.
"..."
The drowsy nurse continued staring vacantly into space until a sharp throat clearing itself jolted her from her reverie. She sprang to life, flushing and blinking widely at the small boy in front of her. He held the sulky, bored expression of a child, without any of a child's presence. His clothes were positively drenched, his hair soaked and dripping with rainwater, and he was staring up at her in one of the single most condescending manners she could recall. The typical barrage of customers (if you could call them that. They got service for free, for hell's sake) she had seen were ten years old, generally figured it best to drag their Pokémon around until the poor things passed out, and in no way could muster up the kind of icy glare the yellow-eyed boy in front of her was dishing out.
"Welcome to...the...eh...Azalea Pokémon Center....h-how....may I help you?" She asked timidly, uncertain of what he expected her to do.
"..." the blue-haired figure scowled with displeasure before speaking. When he did, she wondered if he wasn't ten years old himself, regardless of his serious demeanor. "A room for the night...maybe longer...will do for now."
No injured Pokémon? she wondered skeptically. Not that she was going to ask this kid about it.
Fishing under the shined wooden countertop, she returned his hard golden gaze, wondering if he was just dour over being caught out in such steady rain. Her hand clasped around a rectangular piece of plastic at random, and she tugged it off the ring of similar cards hung underneath the counter. Another protocol was requesting to see some form of trainer I.D....and it was another she intended to bypass.
Her eyes swept past the number imprinted under the coding on the key card, memorizing it to type it into the database once he left.
"Your room should be the third door on the left - number five. Just-"
"Should be?" The pale-skinned boy interrupted. "What does that mean?"
The hazel-eyed nurse blushed for the second time since the alleged trainer had greeted her. Flustered she stuttered out, " I...it's...I didn't mean - it is the third door on the left. Just a...erm..a...I guess I wasn't think...."
The wet-haired boy, wearing an odd combination of black and white, was already walking away. The bored expression was in place, perhaps worse than before.
"....ing...."
{{
OMFG BIG EFFING POST!
IT ATE UR BABIES!
UR BABIES!
-shotshotshot-
(it wasn't as big as that one Gates post...)
}}
The sky was ashen in color, sporting bitter grey blotches that stretched across the horizon without any tinge of blue. Far off, in the distance bordering on the edge of accurate perception, the color was smudged darker - murky charcoal rubbings in the atmosphere. Swaying slowly in a soft, listless wind, the closely-knit pine trees embroidering the edge of Route 33 sent their needles shivering. Droplets of beaded rain water dripped from the thin, pointed leaves, disappearing into the blanket of yellow-brown needles that carpeted the grass around the trees. The occasional flare of stamina resulted in a fierce gust of wind, just brief enough to claw its way through the bundled needles and whistle through the untamed tall grass before settling back down into lethargy. Huddled down within the knothole of a deeply-set oak, slightly beyond the carefully planted rows of evergreens, a Hoothoot blinked its large, baleful red eyes and ruffled its downy breast feathers. It clicked its beak once or twice with accompanying chirrups of sound, unnerved by the impending storm. Outside the thick, deep knothole, clinging with its clawlike yellow legs to the tree bark, a lone Spinarak shifted its weight before continuing its climb up into the foliage.
The hard-packed dirt road, wide and carving clearly through the natural forests surrounding Azalea, was oaken brown. Dust made to soften the color on clear, bright days when genial white clouds drifted easily across the sky, but the rain had pounded it away temporarily. The occasional clump of wild weeds erupted out of the compact earth, a miracle in itself. Enough feet had tamped the ground that no plant life should've been able to take root in the road; yet they were there, albeit small, and age had yellowed them at the tips.
Jutting stubbornly out of the collective forestland every now and then, large rock formations grated against the green state of the land. They had once probably clung to the cavernous area just to the east of Route 33, where Union Cave linked Azalea to Violet City, yet time had nibbled away at them until they found themselves severed from the main section.
Plip...plip plip plip....plip...
A lone figure, dulled by the steady downpour of quiet rain, glanced wordlessly up at the peak of one of these rocky hills, ignoring the bitingly-cold droplets of water that stung his unprotected face. The rain arced over his cheeks, collected swiftly on the tip of his chin, and dropped to the ground to be dismissed from memory altogether. The figure's half-lidded eyes, horribly bright in contrast to the grey evening, were a merciless gold, highlighted in orange fire that was unexpressed by his face. An emotionless frown lay heavily on his thin lips as he readjusted the undetailed black satchel slung over his shoulder, and it remained as he continued down the hushed path.
A slender, form-fitting trenchcoat fluttered out behind him as a short-lived gust attempted to buffet his soaked hair, held away from his bored eyes by a set of jet-black goggles. The locks were navy-blue with saturation, a shade darker than his natural color. His loose bangs lay damply against his face, and the hair kept away from his eyesight by the goggles hung against the nape of his neck in wet, jagged clumps. A black, scar-like triangle shape lay upon his left cheek, almost two inches long and starting along his jawline. A thick turtleneck shirt lay beneath the shrouding dark fabric of his coat; a glittering crystal of emerald hung around his neck on a black string, glinting in spite of the overcast shaded sky.
Slowly, with the deliberation that comes with unconscious movement, the boy flexed the fingers gripping his pack by its long drawstring. The slim white gloves acting as a second skin kept his hand from turning numb from the dreary weather, yet the lack of circulation send pinpricks of uncomfortable pain to his fingertips if he kept the same grip on the leather strap for too long. His boots, the same contrasting shade of white, were of similar material; at least the insulation was the same. They were, however, splattered with mud and a clogged mixture of grainy pebbles picked up during his trek within the Zubat- and Geodude-riddled Union Cave.
Within the passing moment between one breath and the next, the figure's eyes lost their skeptical quality and regained it again. The change consisted of him detecting a curious figure casting a dark shadow across the grass, and reverted when he recognized what the towering form was. Looming ahead, given height by the jagged cliff it rested on, was the queerly named "Slowpoke Well". More an underground cavern, long-flooded with water, than a well of any sort, it was where, long ago, a small group of independently-working Rockets had created their base of operations for selling severed Slowpoke Tails. The structure's entrance was chiseled out of rock - the same no-color brown as the other outcroppings scattered within the heavily-populated forest area.
Not that what purpose it served mattered to the boy. What was important was that the damp cavern was within sight of Azalea Town.
-
The mousy-haired brunette, serving as Azalea's head nurse while their head was out on some highly-important business meeting or another, slumped lower behind the Pokémon Center's polished oak counter. Her hair, tugged back into a ponytail that was definitely not within protocol, was frizzed from the humidity in the hair, and her mood was likewise out of order. The head's Chansey bobbed from one end of the Center to the other, its pink body emitting a level of positive happiness that the young woman wished she could leech. It dusted random surfaces that needed no cleaning, tidied the orderly guest rooms, and performed the medley of menial chores the brunette couldn't secure the energy to attempt on her own.
Rain streaked down the building's glass doors, throwing queer shadows onto the muted-green linoleum; she had heard no telltale murmurings of thunder or lightning yet, but she was certain the inseparable duo would make an appearance soon enough. With no sane civilian bold enough to venture out in such a heavy downpour, business was more than dead. She hadn't seen a trainer, flying through the doors as if their soul was going to explode if they didn't get their Pokémon healed ten seconds faster, in nearly a full day. Azalea being the cozen hometown of the second badge-wielding Gym Leader of the Johto region, that was saying something.
Listening in a detached sense to the pattering of rain on the glass, and the duller sounds of the rain on the rooftop, the assisting nurse rested her head on the counter, replacing a pillow with her folded arms. The Chansey paused to give her a long-suffering look before trotting down one of the Center's few hallways, muttering its name indignantly under its breath - a carbon-copy of the brunette's boss. Only pink. The lights from the restoration machine idling beside her hummed with its eternal, cold, and calculating life, forever waiting for her to tap the series of buttons that would cause it to thrum with the rejuvenating life; which would, in turn, transfer itself to the small red-and-white spheres placed on it and to the creatures within.
"..."
The drowsy nurse continued staring vacantly into space until a sharp throat clearing itself jolted her from her reverie. She sprang to life, flushing and blinking widely at the small boy in front of her. He held the sulky, bored expression of a child, without any of a child's presence. His clothes were positively drenched, his hair soaked and dripping with rainwater, and he was staring up at her in one of the single most condescending manners she could recall. The typical barrage of customers (if you could call them that. They got service for free, for hell's sake) she had seen were ten years old, generally figured it best to drag their Pokémon around until the poor things passed out, and in no way could muster up the kind of icy glare the yellow-eyed boy in front of her was dishing out.
"Welcome to...the...eh...Azalea Pokémon Center....h-how....may I help you?" She asked timidly, uncertain of what he expected her to do.
"..." the blue-haired figure scowled with displeasure before speaking. When he did, she wondered if he wasn't ten years old himself, regardless of his serious demeanor. "A room for the night...maybe longer...will do for now."
No injured Pokémon? she wondered skeptically. Not that she was going to ask this kid about it.
Fishing under the shined wooden countertop, she returned his hard golden gaze, wondering if he was just dour over being caught out in such steady rain. Her hand clasped around a rectangular piece of plastic at random, and she tugged it off the ring of similar cards hung underneath the counter. Another protocol was requesting to see some form of trainer I.D....and it was another she intended to bypass.
Her eyes swept past the number imprinted under the coding on the key card, memorizing it to type it into the database once he left.
"Your room should be the third door on the left - number five. Just-"
"Should be?" The pale-skinned boy interrupted. "What does that mean?"
The hazel-eyed nurse blushed for the second time since the alleged trainer had greeted her. Flustered she stuttered out, " I...it's...I didn't mean - it is the third door on the left. Just a...erm..a...I guess I wasn't think...."
The wet-haired boy, wearing an odd combination of black and white, was already walking away. The bored expression was in place, perhaps worse than before.
"....ing...."
{{
OMFG BIG EFFING POST!
IT ATE UR BABIES!
UR BABIES!
-shotshotshot-
(it wasn't as big as that one Gates post...)
}}
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So...liek...Can I possibly join?....