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Legal Age; Contains adult language.
Topic Started: Feb 9 2007, 04:00 AM (169 Views)
pyrostinger
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Sup?
"You're doing what?"

"You heard me, you little shit. I'm kicking your ass out." The old hag motioned a thumb for emphasis. "There won't be any discussion, and you can't get the fuckin' government involved, either. You're finished here."

Croy blinked, unable to wrap his mind around it. "That's bullshit! You're not gonna kick me out so easily, dammit!" He started to advance upon her, but was stopped by her gimlet stare. "You can't!" he said vehemently, but the wind had left him, and they both knew it.

"Oh, but I can, and I will, you ungrateful little shit!" Ophelia crowed in triumph. "That's because you're a legal adult, and I'm not responsible for you anymore!"

Croy took an actual step back. "No... you're kidding me..."

"Why do you think I took so much of your bullshit with Ethan the other day? It's because today is your birthday, Croy!"

He shook his head in disbelief, his eyes wide with fear. "No... no, you're fucking with my head! This is an lie, a fucking lie!"

"HA!" The middle-aged matron screamed the word into Croy's face. "I knew you wouldn't believe me, which is why I brought THIS!" With the smug smile of absolute triumph, she shoved a paper into Croy's face, which he reluctantly took, disbelief still on his features.

"This... this is..."

"Your BIRTH certificate! Read it and weep."

Croy's eyes flew over the document several times, trying to spot forgeries or mistakes... but it was all here. On this date, 18 years ago, Croy was born.

"You're eighteen years of age. That means I get to fucking kick you out, and you don't have a say in it. Unless you wanna start paying me rent -- which, believe you me, you can't afford -- your ass hits the curb TODAY. Pack up your shit, boy."

With a swirl of skirts and menthol cigarettes, Ophelia turned and walked away. Croy stared after his birth mother, then reluctantly began to pack up his things, such as they were. Ophelia had never been "Mom" or "Mother" to him, not since he had been old enough to realize that he was treated drastically different from all the other kids.

Ophelia had a big house, and ran a foster home, currently housing 7 or 8 kids besides her birthson, Croy. She was a lazy taskmaster, though quick to discipline. It was the only thing she was really good at. Granted, each of the children got fed, but the government check sent to support them went mostly to Ophelia. What love she held in her when not drunk and passed out in front of the TV or smoking one of her many cigarettes was placed upon the foster children... the "income." Croy was the only one spurned, and she tried to teach the same to the foster kids. However, it never caught on except for a select mean-spirited few. Croy managed to make friends with most of them, despite being forced to virtually clean the house while Ophelia did nothing. Croy, however, had a small amount of satisfaction that Ophelia had to clean up after her own mess now.

After he had packed up most of his stuff, he went and dug out his secret stash. It was all the money that he had in the world, given to him when Ophelia neglected to remember that he wasn't income like the rest. Due to her constant strung out state, it was quite a bit. Not wanting to wait until she decided when he was going to leave, he managed to pack a couple changes of clothing into backpack, as well as tucking away something that could be used for a blanket or a tent. Somehow, in the back of his mind, Croy knew that this day would come. Eventually, Ophelia would stop trying to be rid of him through legal means and would just wait until he's 18. And that day... well... that day was now.

Quickly, before she searched him, he gave the money to a Simeon, one of the younger kids he especially trusted and confided in. "Happy birthday, by the way," he said as he was given the money, tucking it away quickly.

"Thanks," replied Croy, then hustled out of the house before he could hear further banshee wailing.

So... now what? Croy thought to himself. I spent most of my life just trying to care for the kids and clean house... what do I do now? He looked, passing a old billboard for a Pokemon tournament, this one happening in a town that was blurred by time. Well... I should have enough money to do that, at least. Would probably get the police off my back so they don't think I'm some kinda vagrant...

Soon after, he heard Simeon's footsteps pounding along the path behind him, then coming to a stop, panting softly. "Here's your money, Croy..."

"Thanks, Simeon. Well... now that I'm finally gone, you're in charge, okay?"

"Yeah, I know... as soon as you left, Ophelia cracked open some wine in celebration. She was halfway through it when I left."

"Fantastic... " Croy sighed a bit and shook his head. "Look, just take care of the family, okay?"

Simeon nodded. "So what are you gonna do, be a pokemon trainer?"

"Probably, yeah... I'll call you guys. "

"We'd like to hear from you." Simeon smiled, then hugged Croy. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Croy nodded, then waved his good bye, setting off for Pokemon Lab.
Stats of the Journeyman
The File[inactive]

APL: 5

Currently: Hillmoss Grasslands

"A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy people enough to make it worth the effort."
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Realta
Bulbasaur
Well, looks like the old dried up hag managed to let you have 4250 :bling. Well, not let, you managed to tuck it away for a rainy day, which this turned out to be one. Hell, if this was a rainy day, can't wait to see what its like when it storms! However, digging through your things later, you find an old Poketech, not exactly the best in quality, but on it is a letter from all the kids at the home, wishing you the best of luck and reminding you that you did have a family with them. How sweet.
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Character: Willis Neran | Current Goal: Find Manaphy
Location: Grassland 3 | Heading to: Nowhere
APL: 5.0
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