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| Ires Fallon; The skeletal stoner wonder! | |
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| Topic Started: Jul 17 2008, 12:17 AM (113 Views) | |
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Jul 17 2008, 12:17 AM Post #1 |
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Weedle
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Cold, harsh light nearly blinded the man as he wokje; and though the word "man" might seem a bit odd in describing the kid, he was a man nonetheless. Stretching out on his mattress was always a noisy affair, and this morning proved no different; the same ear-wrenching sound still issued as he rolled out of bed. Padding the few steps to his desk, he sat down, still naked, into his favorite leather chair. And though the leather was spider webbing from over-use and itched his skin, he still sat here, every morning, wasting away while trying to figure out how the hell he was going to survive this months' ordeals... A sharp shake of his head brought him out of that train of thought, precariously jumbling the fragile mass of tangible thoughts in his mind. The too-familiar tinge of unrighteous anger tore through him at his seeming inability to rectify the issues in his own life, and, as it had been on and off for the last three weeks, his eyes began to burn. This did nothing to cool the anger flooding through his veins, but he had such a hard time dealing with the facts that were setting clear as day upon the desk in front of him. This shithole apartment he'd had for less than four months would be reclaimed by it's owner as of a week, and there was a handwritten note attached, discouraging attempts to change it otherwise. Looking around at the yellowed walls, ripped-up aluminum flooring, and the small blackish shadows scurrying about the darkened corners of his kitchen, he felt disgusted. Here he was, in the prime of his life, quintessentially, and yet there was not a single achievement he could accredit to himself. Ires Fallon was for all basic purposes a quarter of the way through his life expectancy and was soon to be in the worst living situation he'd ever thought of: NONE. Shaking his head softly, he pulled the second drawer out in the desk and retrieved the small wooden "treasure box" he'd bought a couple weeks ago with the meager amount of money he'd had left from his paycheck, courtesy of the local PokeMart. Flipping up the cheap metal clasp, he retrieved the plastic storage bag and one of his cigars from the box still on the desk from last night. In the few practiced moves it took him to open and empty the cigar, fill it with the center of his choice, and roll it into a smokable object, Ires thought some more on the subject. If he could make money....but that was the thing. With the economy of this small town, you almost had to have come in with money to be able to survive on what the jobs paid. And, although the television was filled with stories of Contest winners and extravagant prizes won, even that was out of his reach. Pokemon trainers had it best, but somehow the thought of him traveling about gallivanting with all manner of beasts did not really appeal to him. But, he thought as he pulled his lighter out of his pocket and proceeded to light up, it would be a life unlacking in excitement. He probably wouldn't have to do it for too long, and because it was legal to keep any Pokemon you caught as a trainer until you died, he would always have them. There was money to be made in breeding them correctly, and battling was not the only reason. For some reason, as he felt that oh-so-familiar haze settle in over his perception, he theorized about actually doing it. If nothing else, he got a free Pokemon out of the deal, and they were some of the most amazing creatures on the planet. They were the only type of being on the planet that showed the ability to evolve mid-life, completely re-altering its' DNA, and many of them had the ability to do jobs far beyond his capabilities. Even one or two properly trained Pokemon could give him a way to make a living...and, if he actually turned out to be successful at training them, then money would be of little consequence. Working in Hillmoss town all of this time had given him plenty of time to get used to traveling around within the woods, and he'd spent a long, long time training himself to move quietly when he was a child. Whether he was sneaking towards a Pokemon in the park with his father, or sneaking away from a confrontation with his mother, walking quietly always helped. Looking down at his stash, Ires thought about his options otherwise: lose his place to stay, be out on the streets for at least a month while he tried to scrounge up enough money to pay for the down payments needed for a new place, starve for a while....yeah, really unappealing. He had no parents, and his relatives were scattered across the land; as it was, he would show up on their doorsteps almost a stranger. His mother had not been exceptionally social with her family, and his father didn't have a family, as far as he was concerned. Both were dead to him, one literally, the other as much as possible whilst she was still breathing. Another pull off of the handrolled and he was effectively ready for his day to start. As the cherry at its' tip was smashed into the ceramic bottom of his ashtray, Ires pulled his six foot two inch frame out of the chair, the lean, almost gaunt looking muscles pulling tight as he did so. Even he cringed when he saw himself without a shirt on; it looked like he hadn't had a rib-clinging meal since the day he left his mothers' breast. Combine that with the shoulder-length black hair, intense blue eyes, and he didn't really look too bad, not that he'd had time to worry about such simple things in a long time. He ran a brush through his hair after wetting it with his hands, slicking it back so that it no longer fell into his eyes. and walked over to the corner of the room, selecting yesterdays' black jeans and the last new plain white T-shirt out of the package he'd purchased two weeks ago. Both of these things smelled of his activities, the sweetly spicy smell of the smoke clinging to his clothing; even the new shirt.The rest of his belongings would fit into a single decent-sized backpack, which is why he had purchased the one sitting next to the desk. Packing would be simple, as it always had been. Blearily rubbing his eyes, he decided to spend the next couple hours making a few phone calls. A couple productive hours later and he was about as well-off as could be imagined. He had a fresh bag, some nonperishable foods, a few boxes of cigars, a can of lighter fluid, a canteen, and good intentions. Black athletic gloves now adorned his hands, and the white shirt he had been wearing earlier had been replaced with a plain long-sleeved black sweater, warm but with sleeves slack enough he could roll them up comfortably. He had a bit of money left in his pocket, but he wasn't quite sure how much; stoner memory. Though he was leaving all of his furniture, Ires wasn't really worried about it. The roaches had gotten more use out of it than he had in the last month or so. Slinging the strap of his backpack onto his shoulder, he didn't even waste a breath to look back...nothing new. |
| Disregard that; I suck cocks. | |
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| Suna | Jul 17 2008, 12:59 AM Post #2 |
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Tyranitar
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.3 genexp He only had 2,473 zenni in his pocket, and quite a way to go. Bummer. Then something cold slop onto his hair. Caws of a bird overhead get louder for a moment before fading away. As the trainer slowly reaches his hand up towards whatever just fell on his hair, it starts to slip forward. It flops into the hand. It was quite hard, and..round. A few of whatever it was slips through his fingers and clunk to the ground. The familiar chime stuns Ires for a moment. Money? Yes. Money. Some birds are, after all, attracted to shiny objects. The bird must have looted it from some trainer, but lost it's grip with so much in it's claws. Luckily, that was a quick 2,527 zenni. Likely the easiest that he'll ever make in his life. |
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► ► ► We're all alone in this war. ◄ ◄ ◄ APL: 21 The character's name is Iuetaj. Yes she's female. And she is mute. GENEXP: 2.5 Mod Genexp: 5.5 PARTY - Unown H, Aron | |
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Jul 17 2008, 02:43 AM Post #3 |
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Weedle
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(.1 GenExp.) |
| Disregard that; I suck cocks. | |
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