Red
NEUTRAL
Posts: 25
OOC Name:: Karkitten
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Post by Red on Apr 8, 2014 7:44:20 GMT -5
With an unusual amount of care that he had never shown his pokeballs, Red pulled a book from the shelf. He returned it to its place a moment later before leaving to locate the library's computers. The red eyed male grimaced at the sight of the older computers before bringing up a search to see if the library had files or any data on the events of the Silph Co incident all that time ago. A part of him wanted to know how media had spun the tale of the group suicide he had accidentally created in his panic. Though he didn't really suspect that this library would hold any of that data.
He was out of his usual outfit, due to the paranoia of being found looking at what he considered to be a murder that he had caused. Today he was wearing monochrome, which unfortunately seemed to bring attention to his eyes, he probably should have picked something more gaudy. His pokeballs rested at his hips. He tended to panic if he didn't keep his pokemon with him, even if his pokemon were somewhat notable.
Red eyes focused on the text of the screen, before he picked up paper and one of those eraser-less library pencils to write down the file of the newspaper he was looking for. His mistake was in leaving the search still up as he went to find the newspaper. Curiosity was a damnable thing at times.
Red pulled up the hood of his white and grey sweater as he reached where he would find what he was looking for. Though it seemed someone else was in this area of the library and that put him on edge, pausing a moment or two before walking to the shelves. Library goers were usually too concentrated on what they were doing to much care about what others were doing, though maybe the same couldn't be said for this particular being who just happened to be around when Red had come by.
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Post by Forrest Edwin Antias-Robertson on Apr 11, 2014 22:59:18 GMT -5
How many masks did he wear? Husband. Thespian. Professor. Morale coordinator. Department head. Then there was, piled on top of the others, the literal mask. In truth, as a normal mask would not help his issue, it happened to be a bandanna. Today, as he knew he was paying a visit to the library, it happened to be coated in famous quotations. Authors from Poe to Dickinson cluttered the sepia colored strip of fabric with random sayings. Fingertips, coated in taupe-colored chitin, gently stroked the spines of classic literature. Eyes just a shade or two darker than his ‘armor’ read up and down various titles. The most important disguise at the moment? All of the rest.
Forrest Antias-Robertson was just an ordinary library patron—and an actor. He had come in to pick up a rare book. His ‘lips’, which were just mandibles, pulled upward in a smile. The veil of the bandanna shifted. The edge of his brows crinkled with the signs of happiness. In truth, while he needed the book, it was not his reason for coming here. This building butted rudely against the edge of Avarius. It was within his jurisdiction—which wasn’t the campus. His second job, or sixth if you counted volunteer positions, was that of a spy. While he did not have a magnifying glass, as that’d be conspicuous, he had his mind on the job. At his core, the man was sweet. The professor truly cared for all of those around him. Some nights, after exposing someone to the hounds of hell, he cried himself to sleep. The wedding band burned. It was rare . Just a little bit. Those people were anarchists, right?
A high-pitched voice, evidently feminine, squeaked out from nearby.“There he is Forry!” The Flabebe, seated in a pocket like some sort of kerchief, pointed through a gap in the books. The words were quiet—barely a whisper. The ears of a Pinsir, surprisingly sharp (or decent to sensing vibrations), easily captured the sound. Pretending not to hear his fairy-type friend, as his job demanded, he continued to wander the aisles. The assignment detail, containing a picture of the former champion, was still fresh on his mind. It rested at the very top of the papers in his briefcase. Forrest knew what books were in that area. Was he examining his past for some reason or another?
The dark haired boy, with the red eyes, was his current target. Notes would be sent back to headquarters. Any notable transfer, including gym leaders and champions, would find themselves with quite a few random acquaintances. “…” The numbers were noted on the file. Sadly, as he moved to walk past the hoody-wearing boy, the actor paused a moment too long. Counting the Pokeballs, with the clothing above, had been a bit difficult.
Swallowing, tugging at his bandanna, Forrest boldly walked towards him. Hands rose in a silent wave. Sincerity leaked from every centimeter of his dark eyes. Tucked beside his ancient book, which dripped bits of yellowed paper, was a dry erase board. The tiny figure in his shirt front, a polo-shirt with a useful pocket, steadied it. Looking up briefly, pausing as a sour-faced librarian walked by, Forrest turned the board around. “Edwin! Long time, no see! How is Professor Jenkins? : ) “ The handwriting, which was cursive, was clear and concise. Was it not better to be a mistaken idiot than some sort of supposed stalker? Just because he was a spy, in every sense of the word, did not mean Forrest had to be inconspicuous.
What was less suspicious than an honest, open, and mistaken person?
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Red
NEUTRAL
Posts: 25
OOC Name:: Karkitten
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Post by Red on Apr 12, 2014 7:58:07 GMT -5
Red had spotted the article he was looking for and reached toward it, his hand lingered over his prize. He had to admit, he was scared of what he'd see when he looked at it. The champion's hand dropped to his side and he stared down at the floor, gathering his courage. Though it seemed he didn't have to as Maia's pokeball started jiggling on Red's belt, waking the mutant too a rather more alert status just in time to watch the strange man approach him with a... whiteboard?
Red must have been more out of it than he thought, this person must be mute and had mistaken him for someone else. He lifted up his hands and quickly signed out, 'I'm sorry, you have me mistaken, my name is not Edwin.' Maia's pokeball jiggled again and he looked toward the file he'd been trying to take off the shelf earlier, Maia was always trying to get out and explore the territory Red visited when he left home. He couldn't let her out around too many humans, he was still worried she'd eat them. He turned to face Forrest, which by proxy hid Maia's ball from view.
'Is there any way I can help you sir?' Red slowly arched an eyebrow curious as to who this Edwin was that he had been mistaken for. 'I'm a little busy otherwise but I guess its not such a big hindrance.' He reached up and took the file he'd been hunting from off the shelf and tucked it under his arm. He didn't mind if it showed that he was looking at information of the Silph Incident, they had never really found evidence of children being there anyway... had they?
Red just blinked at the man, his slight color blindness muddying his world. He didn't mind the calming dull colors and shades, it was all he'd ever seen though Pika continued to insist that the colors of Red's world were always brighter than the man himself could see.
Red shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, he'd have to walk past this guy to set down what he'd come here to get. If he didn't have both hands free, it would take him longer to sign out replies. He wasn't about to sacrifice what he'd came all the way from his home at the mountains to get just to help a stranger he knew nothing about. The mute man would have to deal with slow replies and that was that. If worst comes to worst, he could attempt to threaten the guy and use his powers just a tad.
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Post by Forrest Edwin Antias-Robertson on Apr 13, 2014 1:03:21 GMT -5
An article? Why did Pinsir not have better vision?A pair of glasses upon his nose helped with the tiniest of text; they usually hung upon his chest with a small silver chain. Even these, which worked a bit like a microscope, did not assist in reading anything but a single word in the headline. It was simply too far away. His superiors would not take that as an excuse. The reason he had been given so many masks, or carefully sculpted them, were reasons just like this. Naughty reasons—it was the only reason he had a beautiful husband. It didn’t matter. It was not as if he hurt people. Forrest would avoid that if he could—no matter the payment. The professor loved his students.
Mute? The actor was exactly the opposite—he just did not wish to speak. His voice, which had once charmed baby birds from the nest, was now monstrous. It sounded as if a blender, laryngitis, Dart Vader, and a chalkboard had decided to procreate. In order to hold a conversation, without it being muffled by layers of fabric, required that he expose the lower half of his face. Forrest Robertson was at times a shallow man. The mandibles were his shame. Insects were beautiful and fascinating things—as long as they did not erupt from his chin. He would just pretend his years of therapy had not worked.
Fingers stroked the edge of the white board. Judging by the scratches around the edges, left by the claws on every other finger, this particular piece was both loved and used. The marker happened to be dark blue; it was also a shade known to belong to Pravus. Fresh from its package, smelling strongly of dye, it made the writing simple to read and decipher. The other shades, ranging from neon pink to crimson, had varying purposes. The signing made him chortle; it was clumsy, serviceable, but completely unrequired. The sound escaped—even if was muffled and strange. Twisting the board deftly, erasing its edges, Forrest seemed to wilt. The mandibles rippled like a disturbed pond. “It’s not?” He had scribbled beneath it: ”My ears are fine young man. Unless you’re deaf— Fingers erupted in a blaze of motions. It was easier to sign than write—unless you were playing hangman.
The Flabebe noticed the shifting of that Pokeball. Fingers, tiny by any standards, pulled at her friend’s sweater. Her ebony eyes twinkled with questions. Dark met taupe for a brief moment—Forrest understood. As his target could sign, something that was rare, the Pokemorph tucked the board beneath his right arm. Fingers flew. ”Well, truthfully, I thought you were Edwin. Are you a student at Avarius?” The boy most definitely wasn’t. Busy? Is there any way that I can help? I’m a volunteer librarian.” It depended on which week it was—at the moment it was a lie. He could worm his way to somewhere important. ” The rest of those are downstairs.” Eyes smiling, as he flexed his finger, Forrest gave a moment of pause. The fact that Red was busy made him more determined to investigate. His superiors would want to know if he was up to anything illegal.
Truthfully, as Nikita Harris was less than kind, Forrest hoped not. The boy, while odd, did not seem dangerous. Then again, as most people knew, librarians were once anarchists.
The only thing that seemed improper so far, aside from his dress, was the jumpiness. The tiny figure in the pocket, craning forward, peered at the paper with curiosity. “What are you reading young man? A paper? It’s good to see a gentleman up to date on things—“ Her lips pulled up in a small smile.
Glasses, with faux tortoisehell frames, were straightened upon a nose.
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Red
NEUTRAL
Posts: 25
OOC Name:: Karkitten
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Post by Red on Apr 13, 2014 22:29:11 GMT -5
It took less than a second for Red to spot that this man was more deft at sign language than himself. The humor in the situation was not lost to him but he didn't react to it. 'My apologies sir,' he managed out, trying to keep up. He was a bit intimidated at the speed he was being presented with. 'No, I'm not a student actually. I don't really need help unless there's more here on the suicides at Silph back in Kanto. I need some more facts on it before I can put my theories up on my blog,' he flapped his hand a little after, shaking out the slight muscle cramp.
He blinked at the pokemon, and then looked to the paper. 'Well this one isn't exactly fresh out mind you. I had to wait a few years until all the excitement died down.' That reminded him of something else, he'd have to check with the newspaper clippings he has up on his basement walls as to how long he'd been in Kanto before he left, just to make sure of one more thing on his list. He had a long list he had to get through until his psyche calmed a little. It was almost like Red was a spy, trying to live a double life. In reality, he was more of a horrible victim of circumstances and his own mutant power.
Red continued to look rather paranoid and of course he had his reasons for why. Though he knew he would look like he'd had too much coffee and he could play it off that way with the bags under his eyes and all. 'So you volunteer here, huh? What section do you think has the most material in it, currently?' he signed out, 'Maybe I can pick up something to occupy myself with later when I'm waiting for these computers to load up a search of cafes nearby.'
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Post by Forrest Edwin Antias-Robertson on Apr 19, 2014 23:02:53 GMT -5
Was it not funny when people assumed things about others? The brown haired man saw it consistently in the classroom. The person wearing the lettered jacket, even if f it was false, seemed to be avoided by the more introverted. It was equal parts saddening and maddening. Forrest had little issue talking with all sorts. The racist who despised him for being a Pokemorph? The middle-aged man, regardless of threats, would sit them down for a simple and forward chat. The extrovert, stricken mute for years, truly loved people. He loved helping. It sometimes hurt when he betrayed trust; there was a reason he spent many morning hours, head in the fridge, dining on chocolate-coated strawberries. Guilt.
It was truly not his fault. All he did was parrot information. His own recommendations, unless someone was truly heinous, never included violence. The actor tried to ignore and make up for any of the so-called consequences. At the moment, staring at Red, the taupe-haired man hoped thigns went well. If there was no crimes occurring, and the country’s stability was not endangered, he might play ignorant. The game of double agent, or brushing over issues for those he liked, was another set of masks he wore well. Fingertips rose to pull at his bandanna; the new detergent had left a rash across his nose, the lines of his glasss, and ruddy cheeks.
The look of shock upon Red’s face, which was a bit like seeing a frog surprised, drew a warm chuckle from the professor. Allowing his hands to slow, to a pace where the inexperienced could understand, Forrest could not fight his growing smile. For some reason, as Red was not the only one, people equated muteness with an inability to hear. “It’s quite alright.” The whiteboard was placed beneath the pit of his arms. “Most people never bother to learn how to sign. The deaf have to play charades instead.” His poor husband, at times, likely felt adrift at sea. Then again, as he disliked most of his lovely coworkers, the silence might have been relieving. “Sorry for being a bit of a show-off.” The man winked. He truly wasn’t the least bit apologetic. It was just a bit of fun.
The flower-fairy pushed herself higher. In truth, if she had jumped onto the crinkled paper, it likely would have barely bent. The little thing, far overdue for an evolution, enjoyed her size. One tiny eyebrow rose toward the peeling ceiling of the ancient building. “Oh? Wouldn’t a blogger want to be up to date, sweetie? I can’t write too well—the keys are bigger than me. But you’d know more, tehee!” Tiny fingers reached for the edge of the paper to peer at it better. Her master left his hands free to gesticulate and throw about as he wished. It was not for punching though. Forrest was never the violent sort.
The dark-haired man, waiting patiently with an open ‘smile’ and an interested gaze, rocked gently on his feet. Beneath his breath, quiet as a whisper, he hummed an old tune; it had become stuck in his head on the bus ride over a few blocks. “I happen to volunteer here—and the soup kitchen. Is that where I’ve seen your lovely face before? Or was it the sleep clinic?” Chortles emerged. The paternal figure fought the urge to brush the bags beneath those eyes. It was an important clue. Did he have anywhere to sleep at night? Was his target homeless? Transience was common in those who battled Pravus’ might.
“Likely the basement newspapers. There may also be some academic papers in the databases—“ Dark eyes strayed to the rows of public computers. They reminded him, with their wheezing, like overworked smokers. “I wouldn’t suggest here, or those cafes, you could come to the university with me—I doubt anyone would notice. “ To have you closer to spy upon my dear lad. “I can go into the basement to see if there’s anything on your topic—“ It felt as if, moving this slow, his hands were broken. Fingers reached out, as they stopped their signing, for the paper.
“I’ll be back in a shake of a Mareep’s tail!” What had happened to this poor boy? A trip to the computer lab? Forrest wondered if it would be better to offer a couch. It was for the best if he didn’t. His superiors would break his fingers if it was found he didn’t report honestly. Without honest testimony, especially where his husband was concerned, Forrest would find his neck upon the block. Such things weren’t enjoyable outside of a play.
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Red
NEUTRAL
Posts: 25
OOC Name:: Karkitten
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Post by Red on Apr 20, 2014 9:08:13 GMT -5
'I liked learning, it gave me something to do with my time.' He replied and rubbed the back of his neck, his expression blank but his dead eyes had a flicker of something in them, probably just memory. Red's attention was pulled to the fairy pokemon. 'You don't need to be up to date to cover an event that you're just making hypothesis about. Besides, it happened long before I ever got my hands on a laptop,' he replied, doing his best to sign one handed to keep a grip on the newspaper. He watched the little pokemon tug at the pages and automatically adjusted his grip to let her pull at it, but not enough that she'd be able to read the headline.
Red was somewhat amused, even though none of his expressions ever really showed on his face but for rare times. His amusement wilted at the man's words about a soup kitchen. He reached back and tapped a knuckle against one of his pokeballs. 'I have a home to go to, don't worry, its just not local. I have to travel to get here.' He looked past the man in front of him to a nearby table. 'About my eyes, don't mind them... My Espeon seems to think I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but I can't really see why he'd think that,' besides the reoccurring nightmare he kept getting of that very group suicide he had accidentally caused all those years back.
The other took his newspaper, while Red wasn't exactly worried, yet his paranoia was starting to kick into high gear. His fingers twitched as he almost wanted to snatch the newspaper back and make a break for it. Vee would probably be disappointed but he'd get over it eventually. Its not like Red felt like he was being cornered every day, just most days when he went to the city. 'Okay...?'
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Post by Forrest Edwin Antias-Robertson on Apr 29, 2014 0:26:28 GMT -5
His heart swelled with compassion. This boy would likely be the dream pupil for nearly all college professors. The fact that he was voluntarily in a library, with books and papers instead of a keyboard, was rare. “Liked learning?” The first word was punctuated with a pause; it remained frozen in the shape of a ‘d’. Beneath the bandanna, his mandibles remained pointed downward; it was the closest thing to a frown that Forrest Antias-Roberson could achieve. “Why not ‘like’?” It was difficult, without a voice or dark marker, to properly give emphasis. “There’s always room at the university—“ Most of his students could not find the library when tied to a bookshelf.
The flower-dwelling being, leaning further and further over, blinked up at him. “Have you checked the most recent research on the topic? Most original things have been done before—“ She smiled cheerily. It was not as if the Flabebe was attempting to be cruel or critical; she had just dealt with a lot of ‘famous’ bloggers before. “What would attract people do it?” Little fingers formed in a square meant to represent a camera. “A new angle?” It was her job to disarm him—her boss, while friendly, still frightened people. What could a little fairy-type do? When the paper stopped moving, refusing to give, she lamented her side once again—it hurt.
Dark eyes moved down toward the Pokeball at the waist. This trainer seemed fairly confident with the Pokemon—and comfortable around them. “I am glad to hear it—there is nothing worse than homelessness.” A sound came from his mandibles; it was metallic and a bit frightening. In truth, growing up in a large home with servants, he did not truly understand the plights of the underprivileged; Forrest was just a big heart. “It’s not local? Fantasma then? There’s not much else unless you live in a ruin—“ The rest of the land was gone. No buildings taller than two stories remained outside of rare instances.
His eyes? There was nothing wrong with his eyes? What on Earth did the boy mean? Forrest waved it off. “Have you gone to see a therapist or psychiatrist about the matter? The college does free examinations for those without insurance.” What might cause PTSD? It was likely the incident being read about in the paperwork. Forrest quickly connected the dots—it was apparent that the situation resulted in a great deal of discomfort for the strange boy. “I can leave you a card if you wish—“ He was always prepared.
Fingers browsed the lines. Nothing was wrong with the taupe eyes. Occasionally, rustling out, came a noise of wonder. “I’ll find you an up to date article—this is apparently one of five on the topic. Do you wish to know more about the organization itself or the mysterious string of suicides?” The forehead crinkled in the now familiar smile. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a Mareep’s tail, kiddo—if you know.”
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Red
NEUTRAL
Posts: 25
OOC Name:: Karkitten
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Post by Red on May 1, 2014 8:29:26 GMT -5
Red clucked his tongue and his hands moved at a blur. 'Yes, liked. Past tense, as in I don't do as well in crowded enclosed spaces as I used to be able to. Books are a comfort to me, an escape route. The past hasn't been too good to me and I don't want to talk about it. To anyone.' He'd jumbled all his answers together, trying to close himself off from the friendly stranger.
However... Red was fond of Pokemon and looked down to the little flower to answer it. 'No I haven't checked the most recent files on it yet, I am gathering them together first, to see if anyone else had the idea I've got.'
His attention drawn back to the trainer by that strange noise... Red shrugged. 'No its not local.' He didn't say he was living by the ruin in a cozy wood mansion he built with his Pokemon. He had a feeling this guy would likely try to visit and it was rough terrain if you didn't know where to place your feet.
"I refuse to talk to people about why I have it," he said aloud in a rather dead tone before going back to signing. 'Its a rather unsavory thing and its bad enough that I remember it, I don't want anyone else remembering it for me.'
Red watched as Forrest looked over the newspaper. 'I'm after more about the string of suicides than the incident itself.' Of course, if he found anything that hinted at it having been a mutant who did it, he would likely begin to panic. If anyone got too close to it being him, he'd have to do something about that, for his own safety. Not to mention the paranoia that was looming in the back of his mind again. Red was worried. "Why are you asking me all these questions?"
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Post by Forrest Edwin Antias-Robertson on May 7, 2014 3:25:53 GMT -5
The chitin-coated fingers, which resembled the legs of a crab, clicked together. It was almost like the beat of a metronome; it was actually the rhythm to an old song playing through the loud speakers. Forrest had to chuckle at the image. His hands reminded him, laying by his side, of a quick-shooter about to draw his weapon. “Liked to learn, it is such a pity when the torch goes out—“ With a sad sigh, shaking his head, the Pinsir Pokemorph tried to determine what could cause such a thing. “ You could find a therapist for any silly agoraphobia.” Fingers paused as he listened. “So you do like learning?” Inquisitive brow rose. Could you not, in this digital world, learn better alone than ever before? “I understand. It’s likely confusing with a past like that. I know.” Taupe eyes filled with sympathy. He truly had little idea of the pain Red had went through; mind control was something even Forrest, skilled spy, would refuse to use.
The astute man, lifting a finger to adjust his overly loose glasses, made a humming noise. The target was lockng himself in. It would be advisable to back away from the sensitive topic for the time being. A slower approach was needed. Some people took a few more circles of the clock to warm-up to him. There is little need to rush, Forry. Just take it nice and slow. The poor thing is frightened. A sharp ivory claw inserted into a tiny screw-hole. Slowly, bit by bit, it was tightened into place. Careful. Gentle. Fragile things broke easily; Forrest truly had no intention to hurt Red or his friends—or his expensive glasses.
The flower-guardian just nodded dumbly. It seemed the key to the boy’s heart might be found in the confines of a ball. Drawing its hands across the paper, taking little bits of ink, she leaned back and peered upward. “I hope not. It seems like an interesting idea, mister.” Fingers tightened around her master’s front pocket. Sharing it with three pens, and a pink highlighter, made it a bit cramped. She would still do her job. Not local? Black eyes met dirt-colored ones. Forrest spoke.“Oh dear, that likely means it’s dangerous. Be safe—you likely brawny boy.” Little amounts of money could convince him to go outside the walls.
Letting out a sound of pity, shaking his head at the idea, the professor remained silent. The sensitive place, with the dark-haired boy on the fence, was likely best left untouched. Turning away for a moment, pondering at the implications and locations of these articles, Forrest nodded to himself. Something tugged at him. The eye-contact was brief. He felt a tug against his acting and urges to be dishonest. Lying was impossible. That did not mean he had to tell the truth.“I enjoy helping young men like yourself—“ One hand rose over his face. It was a mutation. “I have a sudden headache…I will go get a drink and find that article.”
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