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Post by Chikyu 'Groudon' Kiretsu on May 15, 2014 10:26:22 GMT -5
( エンター ) The slums. Dirty, poor, infested, it was such a down to Earth place, crime aside. It certainly had a rugged atmosphere to it; something that made it feel more real than any of those privileged Pravus and upper-class estates. People here weren't afraid to get their hands dirty, they worked and fought, they weren't handed anything in life. Chikyu preferred this type of human and Pokemon over the the upper class. Also, the food in those upper-class places was surprisingly disgusting, the legend just preferred her simple noodles or rice, something the chefs in the slums excelled at cooking. All that fancy sushi and fine steak dishes confused her. Why would you pay more money for less food? And so she walked through the dusty slums, not putting much elegance in her step as she fed her face with a cup of spicy noodles. There wasn't any room in the restaurant to sit down and enjoy them; all the seats were full. So she took to wandering as was her normal habit. The seemingly-seventeen year old stopped in her tracks when she saw a large coliseum rise up from the horizon into her field of vision. It was just as worn down as the rest of the area, but still, an arena meant combat. Combat meant fighters, and fighters probably knew of legends, and people that knew of legends might know where Kyogre was. Probably not in this low-class area, knowing her, but there was still the possibility of a lead. Chikyu ground her teeth at the thought of this; there was nothing she would love more than to kick that whale's ass. In a somewhat dramatic fashion, a dust cloud would overtake the entrance of the arena, slowly dying down to reveal that the girl had arrived, her noodles ditched and her unsheathed sword in hand. Pointing the weapon around to each individual she saw, she would make a very bold but general proclamation to the tough crowd: " Which one of you wants to fight me?"
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Post by Keldeo "Keenan Valero" on May 16, 2014 2:37:45 GMT -5
KELDEO "KEENAN VALERO"The homes of the downtrodden. The prison of the victims and playgrounds of the criminals. Darkness spread through human hearts on the heels of hunger and addiction. Shuttered windows, with thick metal bars, hung in alternating buildings. Dirty brick, oily puddles, rotting garbage, and the stench of stray Pokemon clogged the air. In truth, minus the lack of hoofprints and carriage tracks, a certain being felt as if he had moved back in time. Resisting the urge to sneer at Celebi, the idiotic thing, was difficult. A plague would likely make this into something closer to memory. Destroying the street lamps, removing the toilets, and putting human refuse into every corner would result in something closer to home.The days of sword fights, heroic deeds, wars, and charismatic words had long since passed.Keldeo sensed desperation in the air. Hungry eyes stared up from alleyways. When no one else was around, who may take advantage of kindness, food was tossed at the skeletal Pokemon. Desires and hunger were as palpable as any slum-dweller. The eyes requested help. Refusing each individual request, whether it was from the lonely prostitute or whimpering Houndoom, was difficult. Chivalry sang as loudly in his veins as water. “….” A few drops of rain fell upon his head. Waving, darkened teal eyes lightening, the cloud passed to another area.The Pravus uniform, dark blue with white trimming, seemed out of place in the area. The badge upon his chest, declaring him security, was a bit like a chain around his neck. Regardless, as he did nothing but prevent harm and stop crime in this job, it was simple to ignore his initial reaction. It is for the good of the people—Pokemon and humans. Helping both, whether the latter had a parasitic relationship with the former or not, seemed a better course of action. Hanging from his waist were an old machete, gun, and a sword. The latter had been approved when Keldeo had offered an explanation: some beings were protected from bullets. Psychic-types had an easier time with such objects.The coliseum rose above him on the horizon. A cloud of dust greeted tired of eyes. The smell of dirt cloyed the ear. A ramen cup rolled away. “Hmph.” Some girl was playing with a sword. While not sexist in the least, he did try to protect women the most, Keldeo doubted a child knew how to do this. Some of the older men seemed tempted. “That is not a toy.” Waving off some of the gathered, the nervous requiring nothing other than a glare, the musketeer moved toward the other legendary. Long hair, held against his skull with a pinscher-like hair piece, swung in a slight breeze. “Idiotie humaine ne cessera jamais? (“Will human stupidity never cease?”)” Blood would dot the square. She would trip on the sword. “You are an idiot. Put that down. “No doubt, in some new law book, this sort of tomfoolery was illegal. A visit to the hospital was not in his itinerary for the day. “All of these upstanding citizens wish to return home to their hovels—“ A hand rose to rub at his temples. Why was she holding the sword like that? Arceus, why must I run into morons?“If you do not, by the count of six—“ The word was said with a Kalosian accent. “I will disarm you, spank you, and call whatever lazy layabouts raised you. Mayhaps they are still allowed to beat sense into thickened skulls--” Humans, for having their children such long times, were dreadfully bad at keeping up with them. A few drops of rain began to fall.
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Post by Chikyu 'Groudon' Kiretsu on May 26, 2014 13:34:48 GMT -5
The teenager, or perhaps that would be an invalid term technically, but still, the girl turned her deep blue eyes to a particular gentleman. This one stood out from the crowd; he wasn't dressed in rags nor did he give an aura of humanity. No, this man gave off an uncomfortable vibe, as if he were hiding something. With an outfit and hairstyle like that, there was simply no way he was a local. She caught herself pointing her sword directly at this man for nearly a half minute while she examined him, causing the legendary to slowly lower it at the man's commenting of it being no toy. Of course it wasn't. Chikyu did not understand the next words that came out of the man's mouth, some forgotten language or simply one she did not know. It made her angry. Angry that this random guy would just show up and attempt to condescend her without first showing what he could really do. It reminded her of somebody. The legendary warrior motioned her palm over the right "eye" of her sailor outfit in memory. Though that person proved themselves time and time again. The man began to speak in a collected tone. Something was still off here, but by this time, the legend of the continents was already ready to engage him in combat. There was no turning back now, though he would be allowed a few more words before something of that nature took place. The girl with the red-highlights would soon regret this, however, as he did nothing but call her an idiot and tell her to surrender her weapon. Bold talk for somebody, who once again, has not yet proven themselves. Empty words, they were common amongst her enemies. Any warrior would run across this type of fighter at least a dozen times in their journey. "The count of six, huh? I take that as a challenge." Without unsheathing her blade, Groudon readied her sword in a typical attacking stance, giving an illusion that she was going to charge forth at any moment. "Also you're going to spank me? I didn't know I would get such a pervert as a first opponent." The rain came down harder, starting a downpour at this point. Thunder could be heard in the distance. These conditions only further reminded the warrior of her rival and further fueled her fiery rage and passion for battle. "Anyway," The girl said with a slight grin on her face, adjusting her outfit to fully prepare for the likely upcoming battle, "Let's get started, wouldn't want to waste your time." The legendary warrior raised her sword to the skies, the rain now pouring in full effect. Loud thunder could be heard in the distance and bolts of lightning fell down only miles away. She then brought down the sword and entered a lowered stance, one meant to strike from below and knock the opponent off their balance. Knowing there was no possible way any mere mortal could knock her off of her own, she firmly planted her heels into the ground, awaiting her big-talking company to make the first move. There was no need to give him a proper introduction, or even show off her skills, he was not yet worthy of even that privilege.
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Feather
EXECUTIVE
Posts: 2,835
OOC Name:: Feather
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Post by Feather on May 28, 2014 3:35:47 GMT -5
KELDEO "KEENAN VALERO"No glove rested upon his fingers to cast upon the ground. A sword pointed at his chest, by a likely ignorant girl, made him ill in his stomach. Gender did not matter. It was the fact that a weapon, a thing to be used when serious or brushing up to use it in such situations, was being abused. People like this, swinging it about like an enraged bull in a china shop, were why swords and weapons held such bad reputations. Thoughts against such actions, in French, did little to help soothe his ire. Red coloration slowly rose in his cheeks; centuries had tempered his anger to a tiny fraction of what it had once been, this situation was difficult not to find infuriating. It went against his beliefs as a musketeer. The people gawking were defenseless; the imbeciles lacked intelligence to fill a thimble—much less a knife.
In moments, tripping over laces or her own legs, the filly would likely collapse into a tangled pile of limbs. A sword would end up in gasping lungs. Being forced to wait for an ambulance, leaving his beloved to languish at the bedside, would be annoying. Bowing a bit sarcastically, his eyes lightening from dark teal to a middling shade, Keldeo again spoke in his native tongue. “Merci beaucoup, madame.” The bow only spoke of tiny amounts of the darkest sarcasm.
The man saw before him a bratty little girl. Someone who would likely end up on some late night show about Emergency Room stories or dead. Females were strong fighters. Children, those that happened to be so mentally, were never superior warriors. Battle required focus. It required, in most circumstances, a tight leash upon the tumultuous emotions. “I am certain you do mademoiselle.” A pause. “I am certain you might find it difficult to accomplish such a task.” His expression remained neutral as he began to count. Teal eyes steadily darkened and focused. “Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq…” The only blade he happened to have on him was a short knife; while he could easily disarm the woman with that, or the Taser, it was likely better not to allow her to flail about with extra reach. The open-mouthed crowd would likely stumble into it; humans, who made fun of sheep and goats, were rather idiotic herd animals.
The sigh from his lips at her comment about perverseness, which would not be inaccurate in most situations, he shook his head. Crimson hair fell from its pony in a rippling wave. “Non. It was once a technique used to discipline unruly children.” A pointed glance at the ‘teenager’, as he had not thought to check for a godly aura on someone so idiotic (unless it looked like Celebi), made it apparent who the target of his ire was. “It is far more effective than this nonsensical notion of grounding.” The patience required to put a child back into the corner, likely in excess of a dozen times, was not something he possessed. Storm clouds were a welcome friend to the god of chivalry. The water would send the humans scurrying into the little hovels they called home. His kinsmen, the Pokemon of the city, would wander free for most of the night. Thunder cracked. Keldeo remained with a somewhat apathetic expression.
Rain poured down his uniform and sent sopping wet hair flopping into his face. After the initial downpour, in which he gained control of the water around him, the god put up a shield against the moisture. Feet within his boots braced against the ground. Disarming her without a blade was simple. It did not mean it was fair.
A fog poured in from the left; a roiling thick thing that blinded those within it. The people in the crowd began to squeal and run off. Moments later, when it dissipated, the goat stood with a cobalt-shaded blade in his hand. “The only thing wasting my time is this nonsense; you have nothing to prove aside from your idiocy—there are tournaments for fencing, official ones.” The blade was perfectly balanced in his hand. The water raced down its tip as the rain continued to pour. A smile curled his lips---a crooked little smirk.
Some part of him was tempted to shrug and turn around. The crowd had vanished. The little showboat had lost her show. “Avoir une bonne après-midi, mademoiselle (“Have a good afternoon, miss.”)” His blade shifted slightly in his hand as the fog dissipated. He was no longer a thing to raise to any question of battle; he was assured of his skills. Harming school girls would do little to prove that; her attention would likely need to be found elsewhere.
Unless, in her hormone-addled mind, she decided to attack the fellow god. Muscles rippled beneath a field of navy blue.
(Please do not post for at least 24 hours. Preferably closer to 48 <3.)
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