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Post by Green on Mar 8, 2014 5:24:22 GMT -5
| YES, I AM THAT GUY How good were the trainers in Remoor? Were they up to par with other regions? Maybe they were even better. Green had these questions floating around his head as he strolled along the side path next to the lake. Eevee was perched up high on his shoulder as it had a natural preference of high spots. Besides his shoulder another place Eevee would find comfort on is Green's head (which Green doesn't allow in public because it messes up his hair).
As he strolled along his eyes were shifting left and right in an attempt to find a trainer of his stature. It was very hard to find a decent trainer, even harder to have a battle without humiliating the opponent. Sometimes he felt bad for his opponents, must be tough to face a beautiful trainer that is himself.
One of the few good battles he had ever had the pleasure of being in was with Lance when he was battling for the championship. Back and forth that battle went, the two sides looked match in power. But one small slip up and that was the decider. Maybe it was Lance taking it easy on Green as he was young; but surely that could not be the case. The other battle he somewhat enjoyed was with Giovanni. He held a grudge against Giovanni, so the satisfaction gained from that battle was high. Green has no idea where Giovanni is now, but if he knew he'd probably send some mail reminding him of their battle.
The lake was rather crowded, but Green knew this would play to his favor. Every time he passed someone he'd turn his head away to avoid being recognized, but his idea of getting someone to battle him was to do just the opposite.
Green walked pass a couple of other people before reaching the side of the lake where he called out his Gyarados (which looked huge compared to others). He got up on Gyarados' head as he was lifted to a higher position. Gyarados let out a roar to attract some attention. Green smiled.
"Who wants to battle?!" coded by electric of gs |
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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Mar 10, 2014 2:27:39 GMT -5
Besides trainers, which cluttered the shore in little clusters, one little thing was obvious upon the shore of the lake. It was a tiny little fishing shack. Dust coated the racks of reels outside; these ones, which were offered for easy borrowing, were truly on their last leg. It may have been kinder, instead of giving the fish metal-borne illnesses, to just throw the rusty old things in the trash. The nostalgic old bastard, also known as Madeline’s boss, refused to do it.
It was the end of the redhead’s shift—the first one. Her boss, finally granted access to a choice fishing spot in Fantasma, had departed for the week. With his luxurious and overgrown staff of two it had fallen to Madeline to man the entire shop. While it was annoying to work for 12 hours a day, in place of her usual six hours, she was glad for the relaxed rules. Why did it matter if she smoked in that musty old place if the elderly guy wasn’t there? No one gave a Rattata’s ass. The uniform, with its stupid vest, had been replaced with a plain black t-shirt. Dark-washed jeans sat just beneath her hips.
A two hour break waited before the burly woman. Carrying her lunch bag, and a plastic one containing food for her Pokemon, the McKenna had sat down at one of the unoccupied benches. She kicked aside the left behind napkins, food, and condiments with a thick boot. Folding her legs together, like a prim and proper woman, the redhead paused. Sneering, remembering all the time her father had yelled at her about sitting politely, she allowed her legs to open widely beneath the steel table. The tiny hint of rebellion made her ham and mustard sandwich taste like heaven itself.
Across from her, hissing at all the passerby, was a LInoone. He seemed to have been attacked by a mob of graffiti artists. Earrings, varying from studs to large hoops of gold, sat in his ears. His fur was cut and styled oddly. “This is bullshit. I’m glad the fucking kids are going home for the night.” Claws drew sparks from the table as he began to sharpen them with a fang-filled smirk. Madeline interrupted. “Don’t swear, Yakuza. There are midgets running around.” He sneered. “Why not, bitch? Daddy told you not to?” The Linoone chortled as his trainer turned red. Her right fist, followed by her left, turned into balls of peach. “Shut up, moron.” She tossed half of her sandwich to the brat as an offering.
Swallowing, his body rippling with pleasure, the weasel turned to see Green in the water. He snorted. Ham and chewed bread spewed across the table. “Look at that fucking dweeb!” The idiot was going to drown! It was funny as hell! His tongue, in anticipation, licked his thin lips. The good two-shoes across from him would run off in three…two…and one.
Orange eyes lifted from the half-eaten meal with a sigh. Groaning, and swinging her legs over the bench, Madeline walked towards the brunette and his scene. Was he really wanting to start a battle there? Did he know that there were children around and in the water? Hopefully the overgrown fish, whatever it was called, had not crushed anyone.
Ignoring the water around her ankles, the small tide lapping against her feet like a prostrate and eager to please dog, Madeline looked up towards where the man sat. While her words were shouted, they were not truly exclaimed. “More like: who wants to be robbed and not read the goddamned signs, moron.” Unlike the rest of her geeky family, who had trained their entire lives, Madeline had to beg to be allowed to fight. Nothing had happened until she had escaped from home. She had no idea who Green was.
Lifting a finger, pointing to a sign in the water, she waved him backwards. It was then that she heard the laughter. The rest of her sandwich, in one gulp, had vanished into the Linoone. “You know what, kick the shit out of Yakuza for me—just—“
One finger pointed to an empty piece of the lake. This was the area denoted for training and battling. Madeline, slogging throught he mud, moved towards it. “I’m Madeline McKenna.”
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