Vincent Tram
NEUTRAL
Everyone has their own way of seeing. Some see the finer things or they just don't look.
Posts: 44
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Post by Vincent Tram on Sept 16, 2013 17:20:06 GMT -5
"True, they do say that. And sometimes it's true." Vincent said as he smiled. "Please, just Vincent. Vincent is perfectly fine."
Roko was smiling as he sat there, eventually laying down. Perhaps these two would be friends. It would certainly give Vincent someone else to interact with. Vincent was surprised though about Aubre's remark to him being stable and sane. Yes he was these things but, fry anyone's nerves to the point where the fuse was destroyed, you'd get someone pretty angry. Hence Vincent's berserk button. Thankfully though no one knew of the nickname so he didn't have to worry about it. Had he done something to suggest otherwise?
"Last I checked I was and I hope to always be." Vincent said, hoping to assure Aubre that he was those things.
When his job searching entered the conversation, he paused. Roko's ears twitched as he turned his gaze up to Vincent. Spark's ears slanted a bit as he sat on Vincent's head.
"Well.....funny thing there...I...um....well..." Vincent started, trying to figure out how to word it. "I really...don't...have friends besides Haunt, Roko, and Spark here..." it was clear just how nervous he was due to his constant pausing.
With art back into the conversation, Vincent relaxed. Even seeming to be back to what he was like originally before the friend subject came into the conversation.
"I can't draw all that good either." Vincent said. "I like it. Say, I could teach you if you want. You know...sculpting. I don't make anything fancy but, I make small things. It's really fun as well as relaxing."
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Post by Aubre Ellen McKenna on Sept 21, 2013 4:03:36 GMT -5
(Do not reply for 24 hours from the time-stamp)
Did laughter truly help anyone? Was it a good medicine? Aubre pondered on the old adage in silence. Had a good set of chuckling ever made her feel better? What came to mind, nearly instantly, was the glare of halogen light and the quiet buzzing of a heart monitor. Her father was making some stupid joke that belonged on the back of a Popsicle stick. It was not supposed to be funny; it was something to roll eyes at with a snort and a sigh. All she could remember was how her chest hurt, constrained by bandages, as she gave out a few weak giggles. Her father could always be depended on to try and brighten a situation; most of the time he did that by producing awkwardness.
The memory that was more prominent was in a much different setting: it was a dark alleyway filled with flames and the haunting sound of someone (a man) broken and cracked. Humor did not fix everything—especially not memories; it was just a weak salve in dark times. “Y-yes, it can sometimes help. Sometimes it might not. It’s better to laugh s-sometimes than to always be miserable, I suppose. Haunt might just be trying to h-help.” Cheeks, far too expressive for Aubre, flared up a dusky rose. The freckles disappeared under the color of blush as she realized her mistake. The redhead hoped she didn’t offend him—or make him feel old. Green eyes turned to the dry grass and began to trace its dry and dying strands. “It’s just habit---I try to be polite with everyone. It’s better than being rude. W-which is what I just did by ignoring your request, I’m sorry, Vincent...” How had she ever went through life without worrying about honorifics? The old-Aubre had just called people by their first names and edited by request. She had been bolder. Standing before Aubre, just two years later, was a girl who found it odd to call someone by their name. It felt dangerous and downright ballsy to be so forward—even if she called them by odd nicknames in her head.
Friends? Aubre was not thinking of that—she was caught up in the school in the distance and the potential battle before her eyes. The redhead did need some other people in her life; she just would be a bit frightened about forging a friendship with Vincent. Most men, being closer to her attacker in appearance than a lot of women, frightened the female. She had not meant to call him crazy—she had meant it to be a compliment. Her tail was a far worse enemy than the person who had hurt her in that alleyway. Wide and doe-like, as if facing headlights, she hurried to correct herself: “O-oh! I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t—that was the last thing I wanted. Y-you seem extremely sane and stable to me. I just meant… “ One scarred hand rose up, with its palm out, in a sign for pause and peace. Her own tongue, in part due to the gesture, stopped its series of mistakes. With a deep breath, tightening her fingers on Arthur's skull, the girl shrugged. She had no idea, outside of being offensive, what exactly she had meant to say. Why else, if he did not have something wrong, would people avoid making friends with other people? Was Aubre, accidentally, forcing an introvert to speak: “Oh? There’s nothing w-wrong with that—I’m the same. I just have my Pokemon and a single girlfriend. I used to have some more, we just grew apart. You’ll find someone.” She smiled and blinked to banish tears. She knew what it felt like to be alone and lost; Aubre felt like that almost all-of-the-time. The redhead just had to wonder why this boy, who seemed decent had no other friends---it wasn’t like he was a complete social-ignoramus (or dressed like a homeless-person (like Aubre)).
Guilt was heavy on her heart; it had to hurt to talk about such things—when the subject of art came up, she clung to it like a baby spider monkey.
Art was supposedly a medium for dispelling stress. The idea of fighting with a wheel, spraying flame-colored mud all over her, was not Aubre’s idea of a good time. She made an excuse: “O-oh? Is it? I doubt I’d be any good—I’d just end up cutting my hands. I'm r-rather clumsy, now.” She sounded the tiniest bit distracted. Both eyes were focused on the tip of the clock-tower. The university was less than a stone’s throw away (and a mile long walk). What was it like? Was it like her old school? Was the boy a freshman or sophomore? “…have you tried applying to---at---the school?” The feline, rolling his eyes at his trainer’s distraction, chose to continue: “Do they make sculpting equipment for Pokemon? It’d be nice to make my own vase—I could hide all of my snacks in it…” Green eyes, crawling onto his spine, made him shiver.
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Vincent Tram
NEUTRAL
Everyone has their own way of seeing. Some see the finer things or they just don't look.
Posts: 44
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Post by Vincent Tram on Sept 22, 2013 12:40:01 GMT -5
It was starting to get hard to think of what to say now. Vincent was doing all he could to not ask if she was sure she was okay. She was just so nervous, something could be wrong. She could be hurt or something. As he listened to her talk, he tried to think of responses he truly did it was just that nothing was coming to mind.
"No it's okay to be polite, I just like plain old Vincent." Vincent said. "Just being called Vincent, I mean."
He would've continued but when Aubre's hand came up he went silent. Not just because he knew why she held her hand up, it was for a pause and peace. It was the scar he ended up seeing. So that was why she was so nervous, she had gone through something horrible. He decided to drop the friend subject and focus on the art.
"It is relaxing but it also helps your creative side, unless it takes completly over and then all you'll want to do is work on that one project." Vincent started.
"Vincent has lost himself to that side a few times." Roko said with a smile, Vincent sighed and shrugged with a smile.
"So sue me, I like sculpting thank you." Roko laughed.
"You worked on one project for the whole day and half of the night. Haunt had to use hypnosis on you to get you to fall asleep." Vincet folded his arms and looked at Roko.
"You gave him the okay for that didn't you?" Roko just laughed, Vincent sighed and shook his head as he looked back at Aubre. "Alright moving on. I'm not sure if they have tools for a persian to use but Spark here can help you make a vase. Spark enjoys making bowls and stuff so he's the best to have to lend you a paw."
"That be me!" Spark said with a smile as he waved to Aruthur.
"Course, in order to get into the art room you'll have to enroll in the school. I can help with that in a way." Vincent said. "My dorm is big enough to share and there's already two beds in it. You could just tell the head master that you want to room with me. One bed is visible as soon as you enter the room but there's another one that is in a room all by itself. You can have that one and I'll take the one that's the first thing you see when you enter the room."
"It would do us all some good to have others around." Roko said. "Besides, it's pretty peaceful in the dorm. Save for when Haunt scares Vincent but that's easily taken care of."
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Feather
EXECUTIVE
Posts: 2,835
OOC Name:: Feather
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Post by Feather on Sept 27, 2013 14:29:59 GMT -5
Conversation was an awkward process in the past few years; she felt like a filly, repeatedly stumbling, as she tried to regain lost footing. She had gained an aspect of anxiety and self-consciousness that had not existed before the attack; old Aubre, innocent and more naïve than the current, had never imagined someone setting her on fire for an offensive word or two. That imagery now dogged her every step with the constant rumbling of storm clouds. Talking seemed to drain her energy (likely because her mind was racing so fast). Vincent could do little for her—unless he could change the past.
Lips stretched flatter for a moment as she pondered the tone of his words. Fingers increased their nervous little samba. Her sleeves hid most of the movement. With a shaky breath, chastising herself for being foolish, Aubre allowed her lips to curve slightly upward. He wasn’t mad (and his momentary slip up made her a bit more comfortable). “That’s perfectly fine; I guess I’d find it weird if someone ran around calling me ‘Mistress’ Aubre. I’ll remember to c-call you that and only that, V-vincent.” The image of herself as a mistress just hit her as incredibly strange. It brought to mind two hundred year old plantations, slaves (both Human and Pokemon), and being involved in a torrid affair. She felt a bit guilty for insisting on being polite; she hated when her stubbornness showed (especially when she spoke)
Her hand hung out in the air for a moment. It had been a gesture meant for herself; she had wanted to stop the constant stream of words (before she started saying awkward things). Her own hand, while it did not intimidate her, stopped the beginnings of a verbal avalanche. The second she realized her palm was in his face—a rather presumptuous and ballsy gesture—Aubre felt her cheeks light up a bright pink. She had not meant for him to be quiet! Shit. “I d-didn’t mean that towards you—I was trying to calm myself down. That’s not w-what it really l-looked like—I usually don’t….” Her shoulders folded inward as she stared at the hand still hanging out in empty air (with one of the smaller scars easily visible). It dropped back to her side very quickly. She had managed to accomplish two things: 1) look like an extremely bossy person and 2) resemble some 1980s singer lamenting about love. Fantastic. Her thoughts turned bitter: That’s a great way to start a potential friendship, Aubre. Tell him to shut up.. When he spoke again, which she linked to her hand returning to her side (which felt awkward by her hips), she took a shaky breath.
There were times, when lost in her own little world, in the midst of a flashback or at work, where her mind narrowed into one-track; to each side of it were potentially dangerous pitfalls (and some frightening trees). Didn’t art taking over your life, with its shackles, make you more creative? “I’d be too scared I’d end up stabbing myself—or end up with hands frozen in clay. Y-you seem pretty creative; I w-wager your work looks amazing, Vincent.” The Vulpix’s words made her smile. As long as she didn’t imagine flames, easily grown from that stomach, he seemed like a good guy. She never hated fire-types; she just did not like how they made the tremble in her hands more obvious. She listened to them talk; it was hard to put any malice in the words. She leaned against the tree (after quickly checking it for birds or bugs). The involuntary hypnosis made her shiver; that was potentially dangerous. None of her Pokemon knew a move like that—which was a good thing for the constant insomniac.
Her sculptures would come out horrid. The Persian on the other hand, less afraid of claw (as long as it stayed apart from his whiskers) was actually looking forward to such a thing. He lifted one of his paws—to clean grass from it. His feet were huge—even for an average Persian (people constantly mistook Arthur for a kitten). Claws flashed as he imagined himself at a potter’s wheel: “I would love some help—there’s not many artistic endeavours that are feline-friendly, hmm? Besides, it is better than sitting on a couch. Thank you, Mister Spark. I promise I’m not the type to eat mice—too many little bones and doo-hickeys.” The warm laughter indicated he was kidding; he had only heard how mice tasted from his long-deceased mother and father. For some reason his sly smile, where the tips of his canine showed, bugged his trainer a bit. Her hands dug deeper into his scalp as she leaned closer. Not wanting to embarrass her friend about his weight, which he moaned about sometimes, her words were a whisper. “Y-you would still need to exercise—it’s not going to help with the problem…” “I never said I would stop with our little workouts, Ducky.” Sandy fur scratched across her cheek as the friendly and gentle thng, who weighed far more than her trainer, gave a quick nuzzle. The fact that he’d to be enrolled in the school (which likely did not accept cats), ruined that dream. He sighed.
Aubre realized he was talking to her—as cats could not exactly enroll in a human university. She looked like a blob of cotton candy. Had he just offered a place to stay—after five minutes? That actually made her second-guess some of her thoughts about his mental stability; he knew nothing about her. “Oh no! N-no, I could never do that—I have my own place. It’s not that far. T-that was a very k-kind (and extremely sudden) offer, V-vincent.” The smile, forced, quickly faded as she stared at the school. She frowned as she stared at the university in the distance. She had avoided walking by this place for a while—because it had once been her dream. Aubre had wanted to come home, after finishing at her Pokemon academy, and pursue a degree at Avarius. The dream was short-lived; she didn’t exactly have a job or live in a mansion. “I c-can’t afford it anyway. Any chance at scholarships w-were smashed after…” Her lips hardened into a hard line. She shook her head vehemently.
She would never talk about the incident with an admission’s officer. She would lie. Aubre would never get in on her own merits—without admitting that she was insane. “Your uncle owns the region, I don’t see any fiscal problem.” A startled squeak, worse than anything Spark had made, resulted in her hand over the gossip-loving cat’s muzzle. Was he trying to get her shot?
(I apologize for the length! Aubre is now back-- with all of her muse. It's amazing. No reply for 48 hours this time, thanks Lu!)
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Vincent Tram
NEUTRAL
Everyone has their own way of seeing. Some see the finer things or they just don't look.
Posts: 44
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Post by Vincent Tram on Sept 29, 2013 13:02:12 GMT -5
Seeing Aubre panic about when she held her hand up, Vincent wondered if he misunderstood the gesture. Great. Now he was making her more nervous.
"It's okay. I..I just misunderstood the gesture." Vincent said. "It's not your fault."
Vincent went silent as he tried to think on something else to say. Something to get off the subject. Soon though, a solution came to his ears.
"You don't have to use sharp objects Aubre." Vincent started. "You can use your hands to shape the object. If you want to put detail in, you can use plastic tools instead. Or you can still use your hand. And don't worry, you can't freeze your hands in the clay. The clay might get stuck to your hands in small amounts but that's it."
"You're welcome." Spark said, he really didn't care about being called Mister.
He said something wrong didn't he? About the offer to share his dorm? Oh death.
"I didn't mean anything bad by that!!! I was just trying to help out and lost of people have a roommate here!" Vincent said. "Trust me I, I meant nothing bad by it. I was just trying to help with the cost for you to be able to attend and all! I...."
Vincent went silent. What was he doing? He was going on and on like he was a record playing trying to get to the next part but couldn't. He hung his head and stared at the ground. "Sorry." Vincent said as he looked at the ground, he really was only trying to help but yeah....just making that offer out of nowhere was kind of....stupid.
"He really meant nothing wrong by the offer. Vincent is just a really nice guy and he likes to help others out." Roko explained.
However, Arthur's words soon caught them all off guard. Vincent's eyes widened a bit and he looked. She? Her uncle was? And he was just stupid enough to? Oh death. Oh death, oh death!! What if they had meet before? If her uncle was really that, then she was part of the high class. Vincent was half of it but was only in it when he was living with his parents. What if his father knew her uncle? What if she told her uncle about this encounter?
Vincent's face went pale as he stood there panicing in his head. How stupid could one get? Spark looked at Vincent and poked him. No responses.
"Vincent? You okay?" Spark asked. "Vincent?"
"I...I..." Vincent stuttered as he tried to find something to say.
"Vincent?" Vincent shook his head real fast and was about to speak when...
"BWAH!!!" Haunt exclaimed as he appeared right in front of Vincent making a face.
"AAHHH!!!!" Vincent exclaimed, only for that to be the final straw.
Vincent fell down to the ground and passed out. Too much. He had already been scared enough for the day, he was having a hard time talking to Aubre; mainly at the current time, and he just learned some shocking news. Haunt had wide eyes when Vincent passed out and he stared.
"VINCENT!!!" Roko and Spark exclaimed.
"Whoops....." Haunt said.
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Post by Aubre Ellen McKenna on Oct 5, 2013 4:21:54 GMT -5
Aubre had just killed a man.
Her name might as well be changed to ‘Social Dunce McKenna’. Her efforts to make things better, by telling herself to shut up, always backfired. In this case, with her hand getting the reverse of its intended effect, it was a very literal instance. Her heart beat harder; her mind began to race. Why had she not thought out her actions first---hadn’t she learned not to dive headlong into situations? It took her a moment, drowning in her own cycle of self-depreciation, to realize the brunette had spoken. Aubre shook her head—she had never meant for him to feel guilty! “N-no, I just made it e-easy to misinterpret—it looked like I w-was telling you to stop. You d-didn’t do anything wrong, Vincent. I’m s-sorry; I d-don’t mean to sound like a b-broken record.” Would it have worked better, without the unintended consequences, if her palm had been pointed toward herself? She lapsed into an awkward silence. Threads from her hoody, slowly dismantled by nervous fingers, drifted off to repopulate the city with disembodied cotton.
The redhead, who rarely worked with clay outside of a silly class or two, knew nothing about sculpting---it just brought to mind images of razors and scalpels. Cheeks flushed when Vincent spoke; sometimes it was not polite to pretend to be a bit knowledgeable about something. She took a deep breath, scolding herself for her brief flash of childish pride, as the redhead quietly ventured: “I w-would like to s-see that sometimes. I’ve never used a real pottery wheel—I just made an ashtray.” Green eyes widened. Aubre quickly repaired her last statement---in case Vincent thought she smoked two or three packs a day. The tiny woman had never even tried one of the deadly sticks: “It w-was for my father; he n-never used it. He stopped smoking right after I was b-born. If y-you smoke, there’s nothing wrong with that—that s-single thing is all my sculpting experience I d-didn’t mean it’d literally eat my h-hands, I s-sounded insane. I w-would like to learn—as long as I c-can't destroy my finges..." The memories briefly brought a smile onto her anxious features. The bowl had been crooked, she had misspelt some words on its rim, and the seams had been apparent. Her father, in his jovial manner, accepted the little bowl with heaps of pride. In fact, when Joel died, the little monstrosity had clung to his desk—Aubre figured he secretly wanted some blackmail.
The awkward offer, where two strangers shared a room was overshadowed by another issue: her Persian’s overly free-tongue. The fact that her uncle was a ‘homicidal dictator’ required more attention than an invitation. The world had slowed to a crawl. Fingertips tightened on the old cat’s muzzle. Her ribs had a hard time restraining her heart—its angry rebellion grew more apparent. Her expression, comical and horrified, stared up at Vincent. The boy looked ill. Was he angry? Did he know and remember who her uncle was? Why had Arthur decided to keep prattling on? Her nails, blunt and chewed, released their hold on the Persian’s nose. Ebony and emerald eyes stared at Vincent as he began to fret and worry. Aubre felt her throat bobbed in silence. Why did people care who her uncle was: “I d-don’t know him very well—it’s nothing to be w-worried about. I’m not Pravus-aligned—that’s not to s-say that I’m anti-Pravus. I’m just very n---“ Words curdled in her throat. She shrieked as Haunt appeared an inch or two in front of her. The world Dark green vanished as Aubre tightly closed her eyes. Her back gave an involuntary shiver. The thump of a body hitting the ground, making her curious, finally allowed light to seep back in.
A corpse lay prostate just a few inches away. The redhead imagined the stench of death; she could feel it cloying her nostrils and day-to-day injuries.
Her lungs constricted painfully as she gave a strangled squeak: “O-oh no! I k-killed him! I d-didn't mean too! Is he b-breathing?” Dropping to her knees beside him, pulling a Pokeball from her belt, Aubre called out a tiny Mudkip. The brunette’s chest rose and fell. Numbers flooded her mind and hours upon hours of late night medical dramas. What was the best thing to do in this situation? Her entire body shook. Tears threatened to geyser out. “Wake up, p-please? I don’t need to be arrested..” Timid fingers, acting as if it were a poisonous snake asleep in the noontime sun, gently reached out to try and grab his shoulder. She would shake him awake—Aubre did not know what else to do. Why couldn’t medical professionals agree on these things? Quiet, barely a whisper on a normal scale, she gave a fiftieth apology. “I’m so s-sorry. I d-didn’t mean to scare him..” The cat, feeling horridly abashed and guilt-ridden, drooped beside his mistress, offered up a nervous smile. Pink tinged his wide cheeks. His claws alternated between sheathed and open. It was his sign of nerves: “Neither did I, Ducky—it just sort of slipped out. I know it’s meant to be a s” Turning toward his Pokemon, too scared to move, Aubre waited for lightning to smite her. The Pikachu, judging by its level, had that ability. Her nervous system, justifiably, would end up fried. Gulping, her anxiety apparent, her anxiety circled closer.
She hoped the Pokemon left her body in one piece.
(Please do not respond for at least 48 hours)
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Vincent Tram
NEUTRAL
Everyone has their own way of seeing. Some see the finer things or they just don't look.
Posts: 44
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Post by Vincent Tram on Oct 7, 2013 12:44:18 GMT -5
Roko jumped onto Vincent's chest and leaned forward. Just so a ear would be against his chest. He could hear a heartbeat, so that meant he was still alive. Moving up to Vincent's face, he dangled a paw above his trainer's mouth. A sigh left him as his ears slanted a bit. Only to raise them and turn around.
"It's okay, he's breathing." Roko said. "He's still alive."
"What do you think you're doing Haunt?!!" Spark ordered out of the haunter. "Are you trying to kill him?!"
"Don't be absurd." Haunt said, however the ghost started to float away with the pikachu following it.
"Those two....when will they knock it off?" Roko muttered, he went over to Aubre and looked up at her. "Hey, it's not your fault. Haunt just choose a bad time to scare Vincent. He was most likely worried that he offended you by his offer and that you would tell your Uncle and his possible reaction. Vincent doesn't hate you or anything, he was just afraid that he insulted you and your family. He's a nice guy, really kind and everything."
The vulpix waited a few moments to allow Aubre to absorb what he said. After he was sure that she did, his ears twitched as he continued.
"You see, Vincent's father is of the high class society that your Uncle most likely is. Although...Vincent's not fully a high class born person. He's mother was of the middle class, almost poor. So he's half." Roko explained. "Growing up, the only other children that he knew were all pure bloods of the high class you could say. So naturally, he was out of place while his siblings seemed to fit in. His brother was okay on the terms of being accepted, and many of the boys thought that his sister was too radiant to be half."
The sound of Spark and Haunt's voices drifted to his ears for a moment. Causing Roko to stop his explaining and look. Things were fine. Spark wasn't using any attacks. He returned his attention to Aubre.
"Vincent was afraid that his father knew your family and once he learns about this, he didn't know what his father would do. Would he tell or not? So, that lead him to be afraid that he offended you and the rest." Roko finished. "So there's no need to worry."
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Post by Aubre Ellen McKenna on Oct 16, 2013 3:03:21 GMT -5
(This is horrid, I apologize for the wait. Please don't respond for 48 hours.) No one had died (even though both knew that possibility had been slim)! The cat and girl both seemed to lose their strings as they allowed their stiff muscles to slump forward; the announcement, which seemed to confirm the visible rise and fall of Vincent’s chest, calmed any anxiety. “T-thank Arceus..”
That momentary sense of relief, made obvious by a tiny smile and an extended sigh, was quickly washed away. The boy had still crumpled to the ground like some sort of invertebrate. The possibility that he had hit his head, with all the hard vines and roots threatening to trip people nearby, was present. Some little grass-bound parasite might hurt him, burrow into his skin, or chew at Vincent like a canine at a bone. The girl had underwent emergency response training—she just had a hard time remembering.
The beginnings of a shouting match, with the Pikachu and Haunter again, made Aubre startle. She nearly jumped out of her pants (which were baggy enough to allow such a thing). Swallowing her own yelp, green eyes watched above closed lips. The redhead resisted the urge to run—the ghost and electric-type, while angry, seemed unlikely to seriously harm anything.
Was that a rhetorical question? The young trainer decided, as the Vulpix seemed fixated on the bickering couple, that the muttering did not apply to her. Fingers continued to dance nervously around one another. She felt guilty; Arthur, wilted beside her like a plant, looked like his birthday had been cancelled along with his favorite television drama. The redhead, having made plenty of her own faux pas in life, did not say a word.
Awkwardly and self-consciously, lifting her hands to rub at her arms, Aubre shook her head. She kept staring at the passed out brunette. The boy, besides making a sudden and unexpected offer, had did nothing wrong. “No, I wasn’t insulted. Vincent was t-trying to do something nice. I’m sorry if I hurt him..” Why did everyone look at her and think she was a dear friend to her uncle? The redhead loved the man. A few times, in her life, they had eaten holiday together. Currently, with no real use or need to contact him, Aubre had gone nearly four months without direct communication. Her head bobbed once—the dark haired boy seemed to be kind. Aubre would never wish anything bad on anyone—much less someone like Vincent Tram. Was her family really so scary that impressing her outweighed concern for his trainer? The orange ears twitched and stopped thoughts form wandering.. The little fox continued.
In silence, wondering how her family had ended up characterized, Aubre listened. The poor boy—and his family—seemed to put a lot of money in bloodlines. That was the kind of thing that had killed off large percentage of foreign monarchs. Could someone even be half of an economic class? When Roko finished, not wanting to anger the Vulpix, Aubre made a non-committal noise. Her family was nothing like what the tiny vulpine described. She just did not have the courage to vehemently disagree; the paranoid girl worried it might scare Vincent into an even deeper comatose state
He was scared of her because of Uncle Ethan? Did he see him hiding in a nearby bush? The carrot-topped trainer had never heard of the Tram family; then again, mostly living in her bedroom, Aubre might take a while to figure out the sky had fallen. “It’s f-fine. I d-don’t even talk to my uncle. I won’t make any trouble, I’m not very upper-class either…” Her home had been no different than the ones visible from the shores. They had five bedrooms. The house was slightly older than the redhead. It was now nothing more than ashes. Finally, realizing that that she was being appeased, Aubre moved on to tackle another problem (in a passive aggressive manner). “I d-do not mean to worry but, I have a water-Pokemon, do you want me to wake him up, Mister Roko?” Reaching beneath her shirt, revealing an old leather belt, scarred and clumsy fingers found their target. A little Pokeball, which she imagined she could hear quivering in anticipation, now rested in her palm.
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Vincent Tram
NEUTRAL
Everyone has their own way of seeing. Some see the finer things or they just don't look.
Posts: 44
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Post by Vincent Tram on Oct 17, 2013 21:59:48 GMT -5
"Well, that'll certainly help keep his nerves calm when he comes to. That he didn't end up insulting you." Roko said with a smile. "Vincent likes to help others out."
Upon hearing the offer made by Aubre to help wake Vincent. Roko made a thinking sound that sounded a lot like 'hm'. The vulpix jumped down from Vincent's chest and went over to his trainer's face. Raising his paw, he poked Vincent's face a few times gently. After getting no response, Roko walked over to the tree and sat down there.
"If it's okay with you, you may." Roko said with a twitch of his ears.
He didn't want to wet. So it was best to move out of the way. Spark and Haunt were long gone, seeing as Roko couldn't hear their arguing anymore.
ooc: It was a good post. Sorry that this one is so short.)
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Post by Aubre Ellen McKenna on Oct 19, 2013 2:01:29 GMT -5
(Please do not respond for at least 48 hours)
It had unnerved her a bit. The offer to live in his apartment, with a strange man who could potentially turn people into light shades, had left her a bit shaken. The fact that the boy had passed out, likely hurting himself on a tree branch, made life feel like an Earthquake. Her hands trembled slightly. Aubre had read all the manuals on emergency situations and had a CPR license; her adopted brother and uncle had coached her through responding to everything from rape to a terrorist attack. For some reason, when faced with a true crisis (of a sort), all of the training seemed to completely vanish. She wanted to do an imitation of Chicken Little—or whichever one ended up getting them all eaten by that fox.
Again, as if it might reassure the unconscious boy, Aubre shook her head. She gave a nervous smile. The woman, even being paranoid, could not wrap her mind around what might be insulting about it. Maybe it implied that she was some kind of floozy? Wasn’t that forbidden in dormitories? The redhead didn’t know honestly. A third time, this time just once instead of repeatedly, she made a negative gesture. Aubre reassured the little fox. “He d-didn’t insult me—that was a v-very kind offer. N-nothing about the offer bothered me, Roko..” To be honestl, it had been a stranger making it that put her ill at ease. Her eyes did not give out her tiny fib. Aubre could tell that Vincent was a somewhat decent guy. He enjoyed helping people out. Having been homeless once or twice, Aubre knew what a hard time felt like (or thought she did).
Would it be acceptable to wake him up with water? Could he drown? Would he be mad if she ruined his clothing? She hoped the poking would work. The boy’s head just flopped limply from side to side. Allowing herself a moment more to be indecisive, Aubre prayed the college student woke up. When he did not, sadly, she frowned. Reaching down to her belt, fumbling for a ball, she blinked. She didn’t have her Pokemon! What if someone attacked her on the way back home? Panic was evident in her green eyes. She chuckled sheepishly and pawed at the ground with one work show.“I c-can’t, actually. I’m sorry. I left my o-other Pokemon at my aunt’s; t-they were tired.”, she turned to stare up at Roko nervously.
If she had her Pokemon, she could have easily done such a thing. The Breloom could have made a mixture that woke up Vincent; it would be like a smelling salt. The Mudkip could have gently bubble-beamed his face into wakefulness—hopefully not drowning him in the process. The Illumise could have sang him the opposite of a lullaby and drug him out of sleep. The little fish could have just used a water-attack and gained the same attack (though she had a feeling her eldest Pokemon would be mischievous). Instead, Aubre just had a cat. The feline was looking guilty. The redhead thought for a moment.
Did Persians have anything that might help—a way to redeem Arthur before anyone was angry or Vincent ended up injured or infested with some parasite? “Arthur, quietly, use screech…” Gulping a few times ,plugging his own overly sensitive years, the feline prepared his lungs. Taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, Arthur attacked. The resulting sound was a high-pitched yowl; its volume, even toned down, made her wince. The feline had woken her up like that a few times—mostly from nightmares.
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