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| La Suite de la Vie; I: Prélude | |
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| Topic Started: Jun 3 2008, 08:08 PM (199 Views) | |
| The Fritalian Fruit | Jun 3 2008, 08:08 PM Post #1 |
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Weedle
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Springtime always brought such a sweet rustle of life to the world. As the icy grip of a winter passed relaxed, bursts of joyous color came to sparkle across the Hillmoss Grasslands, young Pokémon bore witness to the thawing of streams and the swelling of the boughs and bushes in which they'd been birthed; everything was simply joyous. Even the humans felt it; as they stowed away their heavier overcoats and took their children outside to frolic with said young Pokémon, people generally tended to smile easily up at the warm, beaming sun. It was simply an all around better time of year. Hell, even the occasional angsty teen was unable to avoid feeling generally "good." As a warm breath of sweet Hillmoss air rolled in through the window, caressing his light skin and ruffling his mussy locks of frosted hair, Jean Cartier allowed a smile to grace his soft, contented lips. The sigh of the wind which embraced him so wasn't audible, however, as he was seated before a marvelous grand piano, his long, graceful fingers splayed across the keys as he absorbed himself in one of his favorite piano sonatas. As he lost himself in the emotional variances of the music, few things in the wide world could have disturbed him; even had the wind in the window born the bitter hiss of a winter snowstorm in Pontarctica Village, his eyes would have been softly closed, corners crimped by a smile to thaw the Glacier Valley. Even though the weather had been warm and balmy for several weeks now, Jean was seated before the piano in a rather warm wardrobe; the shaggy locks of hair which fell upon his neck flirted with the silken fibers of a massive scarf of an oceanic blue which reflected the deep pools of his hidden irises. His delicate fingers worked their art while avoiding the trailing edges of his long, deep-blue sleeves, which at rest would have enveloped his hands entirely; said sleeves were part of a cozily knit sweater, whose deep v-shaped neckline revealed a tight black shirt beneath, clinging to his well-worked form. Though his upper clothing was on the form-fitting side, the gently toned structure of his legs was mostly hidden by loose black slacks, the kind which seemed to float in the wind. His feet, propped upon the brass pedals of his family's heirloom, were encased in surprisingly ornate black tennis shoes, somewhat contrasting with the high-end belt about his waist and the glinting blue Pokétch on his left wrist. As the music shifted its feeling, Jean's deep eyes revealed themselves, glancing down between thin waves of decadently silver-frosted brown hair at the Pokétch. Its presence was a reminder of the fact that, once he finished this sonata, he wouldn't be touching this piano again for quite some time. Today was the fabled "big day" for any up-and-coming Pokémon trainer... or something like that. Jean wasn't exactly excited beyond all possible belief about this fact, though he'd never tell anyone so. All of his friends were so hyped up about finally being able to leave home, most were on the structurally unsound precipice of sanity. But Jean? He dealt a bit more in reality; the fact that he'd be leaving a place where had a constant supply of all life's necessities (familiar love being the overruling factor) for the Great Wide World, where the only things of which one could be assured were hardships and trials... well... that fact just didn't leave him with quite the same warm, fuzzy feeling as his mother's hugs and his father's claps on the shoulder. He'd been given the Pokétch the day before, right after he'd finished packing what few things he had to take with him - namely a few changes of clothes, a miniature generic gas stove, instant dried food (the worst thing ever invented by the human race, in his humblest of opinions), and an Escape Rope launcher. The last of these things, he'd yet to fully figure out. He knew that it held three uses off the bat, and that he'd certainly have to be careful in utilizing it... if only because he had no clue where in Opaddeka he'd be able to find another one. Poké Marts were the obvious first idea, but still... money was yet another problem. As he laid out the three final chords of the sonata - a powerful, affirmative cadence which belied his true feelings at the moment - a heavy sigh worked itself from his form. He slouched forward, his forearms coming to rest upon several octaves of ivory keys at once, drawing from the piano an annoyingly aggravated cry of discordant disdain. "So many problems..." he moaned, his head coming to rest upon his crossed forearms. As the clashing echoes of the slovenly addendum to such a light and care free sonata blasted around the foyer, they were punctured by the crisp, staccato steps of approaching stilettos. As soon as he realized his mother was coming, Jean sat bolt upright, pasting a falsely gleeful smile across his face. "Jean Paolo Bruno-Cartier!" She snapped in mock anger, hands perched akimbo. He certainly got his looks from his mother; she had an athletic form, with naturally wild brown hair that she somehow managed to tame into a massive bun or two every day. The endless depths of her irises nearly rivaled his own in their resolute strength, and she had a certain air of officialness about her with everything she did. "What have I told you about slaughtering the piano? "Sorry, mother..." He pouted, standing in a flourish and heading across the foyer, towards the stairwell to his own room. "I suppose I'll stick to early Baroque-ish works then, eh?" He flashed a brilliant, toothy grin, even though the warmth of the spring breeze and the fervor of the music had left him entirely. As his inner worries built themselves back up, a look of pure horror was etched across his visage, knotting his brow and casting his radiant eyes into shadow. Nevertheless, in his blood flowed the determination of generations of Pokémon breeders and trainers, and their diatribes certainly weren't filled with logs of lily-livered indetermination. He set himself with resolution and, upon arriving in his room, threw his back over his shoulder. As he made his way back through his home, his mother and father eventually appearing to nod him out proudly, he was finally able to set himself right with what he was doing. As the winds invited him longingly out of the front door, a fresh smile broke his clouded features. 'I'm stepping from one stage of my life to another... It's just... my time to go,' he thought to himself, eyes hooded in the bright noontide light. His next destination, without a doubt, was the Laboratory... Edited by The Fritalian Fruit, Mar 23 2009, 04:39 PM.
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Dresseur Montant: Jean Bruno-Cartier Average Party Level: 5 | |
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| Shiney | Jun 3 2008, 08:13 PM Post #2 |
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what am i doing here
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[size=1]Wonderful job you did here; I simply adore your writing style. Too lazy to roleplay. Somehow, you magically find/have a Poketech, 5000 Zenni, and an Escape Rope with three charges. You know the drill. Good job![/size] |
PHYSICAL CHALLENGE.![]() ( APL: 7.5 | GENEXP: 0.0 ) | |
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| The Fritalian Fruit | Jun 3 2008, 08:16 PM Post #3 |
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Weedle
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[OOC] Really? H'awesomesauce and win! *does a happy dance* I was afraid I was getting too verbose, but hey, whatevah. :D Thanks for the quick response, Shiney!!! *trots off to... well, do stuff, lulz* |
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Dresseur Montant: Jean Bruno-Cartier Average Party Level: 5 | |
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