Peaceful Protest [Senshi\
Dec 11, 2013 1:20:48 GMT -5
Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Dec 11, 2013 1:20:48 GMT -5
He preferred eating robin’s eggs to looking like one; still, that comparison aside, many humans compared his peepers to that particular shade of blue. Tucked in between tufts of cream fur, tipped in neon shades, the icy eyes stood out. It was easy to trace the source of their attention a simple sign. The background was plain white; its border was a startling shade of crimson. What mattered to the Linoone, known as Edgar, was the giant ‘x’ through the center of a pokeball, “Ain’t no Pokemon allowed?” The growl underlying those words might have frightened some individuals. Needle-like teeth, bared in a smug smirk, seemed ready to draw blood.
The woman in front of him, thick plastic dags dangling from one hand, noticed the lack of profanity and immediate swearing. Burnt orange eyebrows rose upward. Lips, feminine on the bottom, pulled downward in a frown. Pivoting on one foot, which was clad in an old boot, Madeline felt her lips stretch further down.“I didn’t think you could read, Yakuza. You happen to prattle on about that bullshit, enough.” The growl that met her words made it obvious that her companion had suddenly become concerned about equal rights. Madeline signed.
Rather large fingertips grappled for the dented Pokeball on her belt. No doubt, being himself, the stupid weasel had just caught hint of some free samples. The McKenna woman had to admit, deep down, that it wasn’t truly fair to ban harmless Pokemon. Then again, with the Linoone cruising for some property-vandalism, the oddly-built female had to lift her shoulders in a shrug. Short of hog-tying him, with missing rope, Madeline doubted she could stop any sense of vigilante justice. Still, staring upwards at the sign, with its accompanying text, a smile appeared. The rodent was finally letting some intelligence into his thick skull. A cigarette, in a show of rebellion against the no-smoking sign, now peeked out between her lips. Grey clouds sinuously, like a serpent’s coil, shifted across the sign.
It can be fun to be a rebel, sometimes. Her father had created a monster; strictness could produce some unintended results.
Claws clapped against the cracked sidewalk as he took a few steps toward the door. The piercings in his ears, ranging from silver hip to gold-stud, seemed to ripple with afternoon light. The furry beast sat upon his haunches to garner a closer view of the sign and the grocery store’s occupants. “It ain’t that fucking hard to read bitch; I said it was stupid.” His muzzle twisted into a snarl. Claws pulled at the door to the wealthier store. It took him a few tries to realize the door’s handle likely said something different. He had just interrupted the pretty pictures—he wanted to kick Madeline’s ass for insinuating he was illiterate (which he was). Instead, seeing a good old fashioned bit of racism before him, Yakuza set out to bust some noses. “I remember needing some Baloo caviar.”, he was surprisingly angry as he stepped into the shadowed place.
Madeline McKenna, who preferred to go by “Madd”, followed after him. Her outfit of dark jackets, rough cotton, patches, and combat boots cut an intimidating figure. Her wallet was nearly empty; her weekly supply of groceries was contained in the bulging sacks. Just beneath her jacket, hidden by copper zippers and cheap rivets, was the t-shirt required of her work uniform. Shopping, a least now, was not a full-day affair for the tall red-head. Then again, this place reminding her of some familiar clothing boutiques, the memories of time spent perusing shelves was far from happy.
The Linoone, looking each and every bit like the dangerous thug that he was, lifted his head higher than any show Furfrou. He seemed proud of his battle-scars, injuries, and badly done highlights. With a grin at one of the shoppers, snotty little teenage brat, he commented: “I bet, if it was one of those human-looking fuckers, that the racist Spoinks wouldn’t say one damn word.” Like an icy lake, hiding dangerous secrets, light blue eyes lifted to survey the room.
The woman in front of him, thick plastic dags dangling from one hand, noticed the lack of profanity and immediate swearing. Burnt orange eyebrows rose upward. Lips, feminine on the bottom, pulled downward in a frown. Pivoting on one foot, which was clad in an old boot, Madeline felt her lips stretch further down.“I didn’t think you could read, Yakuza. You happen to prattle on about that bullshit, enough.” The growl that met her words made it obvious that her companion had suddenly become concerned about equal rights. Madeline signed.
Rather large fingertips grappled for the dented Pokeball on her belt. No doubt, being himself, the stupid weasel had just caught hint of some free samples. The McKenna woman had to admit, deep down, that it wasn’t truly fair to ban harmless Pokemon. Then again, with the Linoone cruising for some property-vandalism, the oddly-built female had to lift her shoulders in a shrug. Short of hog-tying him, with missing rope, Madeline doubted she could stop any sense of vigilante justice. Still, staring upwards at the sign, with its accompanying text, a smile appeared. The rodent was finally letting some intelligence into his thick skull. A cigarette, in a show of rebellion against the no-smoking sign, now peeked out between her lips. Grey clouds sinuously, like a serpent’s coil, shifted across the sign.
It can be fun to be a rebel, sometimes. Her father had created a monster; strictness could produce some unintended results.
Claws clapped against the cracked sidewalk as he took a few steps toward the door. The piercings in his ears, ranging from silver hip to gold-stud, seemed to ripple with afternoon light. The furry beast sat upon his haunches to garner a closer view of the sign and the grocery store’s occupants. “It ain’t that fucking hard to read bitch; I said it was stupid.” His muzzle twisted into a snarl. Claws pulled at the door to the wealthier store. It took him a few tries to realize the door’s handle likely said something different. He had just interrupted the pretty pictures—he wanted to kick Madeline’s ass for insinuating he was illiterate (which he was). Instead, seeing a good old fashioned bit of racism before him, Yakuza set out to bust some noses. “I remember needing some Baloo caviar.”, he was surprisingly angry as he stepped into the shadowed place.
Madeline McKenna, who preferred to go by “Madd”, followed after him. Her outfit of dark jackets, rough cotton, patches, and combat boots cut an intimidating figure. Her wallet was nearly empty; her weekly supply of groceries was contained in the bulging sacks. Just beneath her jacket, hidden by copper zippers and cheap rivets, was the t-shirt required of her work uniform. Shopping, a least now, was not a full-day affair for the tall red-head. Then again, this place reminding her of some familiar clothing boutiques, the memories of time spent perusing shelves was far from happy.
The Linoone, looking each and every bit like the dangerous thug that he was, lifted his head higher than any show Furfrou. He seemed proud of his battle-scars, injuries, and badly done highlights. With a grin at one of the shoppers, snotty little teenage brat, he commented: “I bet, if it was one of those human-looking fuckers, that the racist Spoinks wouldn’t say one damn word.” Like an icy lake, hiding dangerous secrets, light blue eyes lifted to survey the room.