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There is always icecream in the freezer!
Topic Started: Oct 24 2010, 05:28 AM (502 Views)
KJ Edge
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Donatello
things


Minto groaned. Then he just sat for a while. He needed that, needed to let that ... experience just sink in. He wasnt sure if he shouldve tried to move, but figuring he needed to at least attempt to get cleaned up sooner rather than later he stood. Clutching to the rock that had decelerated him for support, he was able to confirm that the soreness on his back was a bleeding gash. The rough surface of the boulder was sticky with his blood and he grimaced at the stuff on his fingers. It wasnt too bad, judging by his admittedly limited medical expertise, but it stung like a beedrill sting and stopped him from straightening up completely. He shouldered some grass out of the way to get his bearings, decided arbitrarily to keep going forward, and lurched on.

He was going to need a new shirt.

Currently: 6 foot tall grass
Next Landmark: Gulley
Edited by KJ Edge, Oct 24 2010, 05:35 AM.

How are you doing that with your mouth?


Minto's APL: 25.5
Minto's MPL: 1
~

Minto's Proffle!
:lp : 10

Herman's APL: 5
Herman's MPL: 1
Hidden Bounty:7000z


Herman's Proffle!
:lp : 47

Posted Image|Posted Image
L|E|N|B|T


40 :lp frm mods
19.7 :gexp frm mods ~ 44 MP --- 11.9 :gexp from Little Cup
~ Forte ~ Taji
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Nobody
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~ * ~ * ~
.2 :gexp2

The gash on Minto's back was, at the very least, distracting; between that and the tall grass, it was rather hard to see just exactly the level of the land that was lied out before him. The shrubs occasionally whacked him in the face and arms, and it certainly seemed like he was getting beaten on more than usual, but whether it was true or just perception really could not be known.

Just a few meters from the gulley, where the grass diminished in height considerably, Minto's foot hit something unanticipated, sending him toppling forward face first into a rather thorny shrub. Nothing to break skin, but it certainly wasn't pleasant... but perhaps to make up for it, the item that his foot hit was none other than a four-pack of Quick Balls, shiny and brand new encased in plastic. Horrifyingly, it was way too much plastic, the type of case that would likely take hours to discard, but... hey, it's something!

(Landmark completed.)
Sydney Snow - APL: 00 - LP: 04
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KJ Edge
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Donatello
0.2 :gexp ~ Freeform follows, and it's a rival introduction!

Ifths thomfing, he repeated out loud, picking a thistle from his teeth.
Weepy weeping willows confronted him now, standing guard over a deliciously cool pond at the bottom of the gully. The Quick Balls were shoved into the front of his pants for safekeeping and he made his way down the oh so gentle slope towards it. Still slightly dazed but with the prospect of a cool dip occupying much of his head, he took his shirt off as he ambled his way down to save time. A struggle to get it over his bulbous wig blinded a few of his step steps, but nature and gravity let him be for this one. Finally the clown let exhaustion drop him to his knees by the edge of the pool, bloodied shirt tossed behind him.

Water hit his face in an attempt to sharpen his senses. There was blinking, the clown wondering if it had worked as he wiped his hands dry in the lap of his pants. The bones still ached dully in response. The refreshment of the pond didnt seem to be getting through. He certainly felt wetter, though. Its something.

Minto wasnt into the habit of talking to himself, that usually being a sure sign of The Crazies. Domain of the shambling hobos that shambled about homelessly. He reflected in the pool, quivering image of a streak-faced, shirtless clown staring back at him accusingly. It wasnt what he wanted after being thrown through maybe a mile of angry shrubbery which ended with him smacking into a big rock. There was a long branch stuck in his hair. He watched himself remove it, as if it were someone else, ridiculous wig wobbling uneasily. Oh no, he wasnt some crazy homeless hobo... He dug a leaf out of his ear thoughtfully. While he didnt have a home per se, he was a travelling trainer. That was a different kind of homelessness. A kind generally not frowned upon and stepped around gingerly with breath firmly held hoping that it wouldnt wake up and pee on you. This was just the state of being a trainer. An accepted form of dispossessed lifestyle.

What a scam this whole thing was, inventive parents around the region rejoicing to it. Send your children off from around age ten to journey with their pokemon in far away lands. Far away from the house. Now the place was quiet again. Finally they could have that posh home office, or extra bathroom with the spa in it. Post the kids a berry every now and then and that was parenting of a pokemon trainer done.. He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge those cynical thoughts. The sting from his back sought his attention. A precarious position to get cut... or scraped... or a bruise? He couldnt tell what had happened when his back met the unfriendly rock, and he could manage hardly a glimpse over his shoulder. Stitches were probably not required, he figured, but he had to clean it up or patch it up or something. Feeling around for his balls, not a single really helpful hand came to mind. He considered Zeal, the gloved feraligatr, and Atlas the fighter. They had hands... perhaps they could heal. But they didnt exactly have that kind of experience...

He found a roll of bandages and a wash cloth in one of the many pockets of his pants and wet it in the pond. It was a few socket threatening moments of trying to dab the blood from his back until he paused mid-dab. There are a few options available after the moment you realise somebody is watching you. Theres the acting like you havent noticed at all and continuing what you are doing option, but it was a prospect probably favoured by the peeper. You could have an immediate reaction, a range of emotions available for that choice from mild surprise, flushing embarrassment to outrageous outrage. Numerous things couldve happened. Minto sneezed.

His back reminded him not to do that again and he groped blindly for his shirt. Have a good look? he said, coolly. Or at least he tried to sound cool. Everybody strives for coolness. The watcher didnt speak, instead stepped forward towards the pond as if Minto hadnt been heard. It was pretty cool. But after that Minto thought What the Fuck?

The man that had now joined him at the pond was, in a word, lean. He embodied leanness, not a trace of fat anywhere on that frame, which was frame-like in every sense. He had corners instead of elbows. But he seemed athletic, if knobbly, and Minto could tell because the chose to wear a very tight, sleeveless shirt. It was banded with thin black and white stripes that stretched around his chest, well travelled muscles under there, not that Minto was into that kind of thing. But most striking of all was the mans baldness... no second most striking... the most striking thing was the white face paint, just like Mintos, but covering his entire head, his entire baldness, artificial pallor going down to the mans neck, stopping just before the collar bone. Maybe all of that combined to be just one big striking feature of a head.

Minto wasnt sure what to do next. Another human clown was in his presence... was there some kind of clownish protocol to follow? Hello, he tried lamely. Luckily the bald clown turned, not exactly smiling, but giving him the slightest nod, before returning attentions to a water bottle he was unscrewing. He had big eyebrows. Not thick eyebrows, but very long stripes of fine hair almost curling around to his ears. The paint bleached out most of his features, detail in his makeup minimal; a straight black line under each eye ended just before his cheek, his lips also white save for a small black triangle of paint in the middle of his lower lip. Stark was another word that popped into the other clowns head, and he noticed that the other guy hadnt said a word. Suddenly Minto realised he was dealing with a mime.

The Mime finished filling his water bottle and straightened up smoothly, began to saunter off. He stopped when Minto called out Hey wait! in an uncool squeak of a voice. Were you supposed to talk to mimes? The Mime turned, a surprisingly expressive eyebrow raised at The Clown.
Uh hey dude, The Clown said, gingerly getting to his feet also. Could you help me out for a bit? Performer to performer? I seem to have hurt myself on a rock. He tried his best to not make the whole thing more awkward but it was hard to do when you were showing your bare, bruised back to a suspicious mime. The Mime, for whatever reason, didnt seemed all that put off, and stepped around a shrub to inspect the Clowns wound. Over his shoulder Minto saw the Mime click his tongue, but he didnt make an actual clicking sound. Then he put out a hand. His eyes shot at the wash cloth and bandage in Mintos hand, those sharp eyebrows almost pointing at them like fingers.

Oh right. The Clown handed it over.

It was a very uneasy couple of minutes for Minto, the Mime silently working on his back. The water was cool on his skin, a slight twinge when he swiped at some minor cuts. Minto really wished the Mime would just say something, his quiet diligence on the job was rather unnerving.

Finally the Mime straightened, his job done. Minto swivelled to face him with homophobic speed. He felt like a bit of a jerk for it but the Mime didnt appear to notice. Raising a hand up to his striped chest, palm down, he turned it in a eh not that bad kind of way, regarding the injury.

Well thank you, sir. Minto gave a mock salute to his clownish compatriot. An eyebrow arched at him. Still no words. You really take this miming thing seriously huh?

The Mime didnt dignify that with a response... or maybe that was his way of dignifying it. Obviously with something better to do, the Mime handed the firstaid stuff back and went to leave. But Minto couldnt leave it at that... he wasnt sure why. There was something about him. How often would a clown and a mime meet in the middle of of the wildlands? He checked under the bandaged, mostly a quickly scabbing gash surrounded with bruises, patted it back down and went after the Mime.

He didnt have to go far. The Mime noticed him giving chase and stopped. Shooting Minto a look, his crooked eyebrow expressed quite clearly that he wasnt sharing the same sense of kinship that the Clown had. It was more of a What do you want? kind of eyebrow. Uncertainty hit Minto like hed come up against an invisible wall. Uncertainty about why he went after the Mime. Why he had left Hillmoss and where he was actually going. Surely, him coming upon this clownish doppleganger was some kind of sign.

Where are you off to? he said, trying to sound conversational but struggling with it on account of his shirtlessness. The Mime didnt respond, instead crossing his arms to raise a left eyebrow with Seriously? curved into the arch. Thankful that his facepaint hid the pink embarrassment flushing his cheeks Minto plunged on. I was headed to Malral myself before getting a bit... sidetracked. You headed that way too?

The Mime shook his head. He was tapping his foot. Ah, well... wherever youre goin, do you mind if I tag along? Maybe we could share notes? I mean I didnt really have anything important to do in Malral. It was just a... destination. There was just a sigh from the Mime, but now Minto didnt seem to be paying full attention to him. Im a little directionless I guess. Just been wandering around... a clown without a cause. He caught himself, wondering where this monologue had come from and flicked his eyes back up to the Mime. He looked sufficiently confused and put his hands up defensively, flattered but no thank you.

Minto choked. What? No! I wasnt- thats not what I was doing! I mean Im not hitting on you, really Im not. Not that youre not... you know... but Im not like that! Absolutely nothing wrong with guys that are, mind you... uh... geez... He wrung as much desperation out of his voice as possible and stopped himself. That was pretty much enough for Minto to realize he should probably just stick to getting to Malral quietly. Sorry dude, he said, turning up his nonchalant macho-ness. Had a bit of a week, yknow? Didnt mean to get weird on ya. Good to meet a fellow buffoon. Thanks again for the bandage. Bye!

The Mime, having put up with quite a bit, went to wave his new strange acquaintance goodbye considerately. Then a big green lizard emerged from the tall grass behind him. Minto took a step back but the Mime was less jumpy about it. There was a familiarity between the two lanky figures. The tall lizard was a deep forest green, lush would be a good word for it too, and flanked the Mime protectively when it saw the Clown. Minto recognized it as a sceptile, and It only took the lizard a fraction of a second to deem the shirtless human a non-threat and it grunted to the Mime impatiently. If an eyebrow could growl the Mime managed to make his snarl.

Mintos lingering desperation for companionship flared at the sight of a fellow trainer and his pokemon and he spun a ball into his hand. The pointy, apparently bipedal lizard reminded him of Zeal, obviously he had to introduce them. And Zeal appeared in a flash of light, solidifying with a snap of his jaws. Feraligatr and sceptile regarded each other for a moment, but before Zeal could grumble a greeting a sound cut through the air like shattered glass.

What was that? Said the only one who could (or would) actually form words at the gathering in the gully. The Mime pretended that he hadnt heard anything, bottom lip extending to meet his furrowing brow which you do to imply the other guy is crossing the crazy line. His sceptile gave it away though with a hiss over his shoulder. The sound came again, resolving into words, touched with dire femininity.

Help!

She was close. The Mime and his sceptile rushed into the forest of grass. There are a few leaps of logic that couldve been made from the situation, but Minto was pretty sure the Mime wasnt running off to help the source of the scream after he was socked in the face with an un-mimed punch.

After em! he managed, scrambling to his feet, but Zeal had already launched himself into the the green with Mime filled thoughts. Stumbling in his wake Minto eventually broke into a run and caught up to a feraligatr shaped hole through the wild hedge. He dropped into a clearing where the height of the grass only went up to his knees, then dropped to his knees. Zeal roared as a tree of a tail (complete with foliage and branches) caught him in the chest and sent him flying through the air. The sceptile completed his turn and sighed irritably at the appearance of the Clown. Behind it was the Mime, struggling with a woman who was trying to fight him of as much as a person could with their arms and legs bound by thick rope. She yelled and screamed, the Mime trying to grab at the gag hanging loosely around her neck while trying to avoid her teeth.

Youre a kidnapper? said Minto in disbelief. The victim, a blonde girl about sixteen by the look of blue defiance in her eyes, saw him.

Help me! she shouted. This guys a creep! With one arm the Mime hauled the girl onto his back, giving up on trying to give her a sip from the freshly filled bottle of water. He glared at the clown, more annoyed than anything really, as if he was a considerable inconvenience rather than an actual threat. Zeal groaned a few feet away, eventually getting to his feet but still disoriented from the sceptiles blow. Speaking of which, the green lizard stamped towards Minto with claws extended, leaf blades on its forearm glinting. He reached into his pants for his balls but paused when the Mime grabbed onto the sceptiles tail and it stopped. Let me go! the girl yelled, squirming under the vice-like grip of the cool Mime. He seemed completely in control of the situation, the growling lizard stepping away from Minto obediently as the Mime calmly approached him.

He regarded the clown, pointed at the girl on his back, twiddled two fingers to simulate running legs, made an angle with his his hand like the top two sides of a triangle.

What? was all Minto, state that he was in, could manage. The pantomimer gave it a little more thought. He snapped his fingers, or at least he made the gesture with his hand but there was no sound, and produced what appeared to be a business card from a pocket. Minto eyed it suspiciously, not sure if he was imagining things:

Monti the Mime & Mercenary.
Specilizing in Kids Parties and Forceful or Secretive Reacquisitions!
(I wont say a word!)


The poketech contact number was in black and white striped font. How does a mime answer the phone? Tilting his head, the clown showed he was still a bit too slow on the uptake. Finally the girl on the Mimes back, realising her hopes of rescue were pretty slim, and having spent the better part of a week sleeping on a park bench, broke it down for him.

I. Ran away. From home, she said. The Mime repeated his hand signals to her words. Hes taking me back to my dad.

Oh, said Minto. How was he supposed to know that that last one was a house? You ran away for a reason right? The clown cracked his knuckles. Its not right for him to tie you up and force you to go back. The girl peered at the shirtless clown, not really sure on her prospects of freedom if it was procured from another man with garish white make-up.

Yeah but... I kind of miss my bed... said the girl wistfully. Since getting grabbed at Lorenzo she hadnt had the chance to talk to another person, or at least someone who would talk back. Now that she was talking to Minto she seemed to be getting a little homesick. Maybe I should just go-mmrf! the Mime muffled her again and she murmured disapprovingly. He didnt seem to be paying much mind to her self reflection, hed had enough of that for one day. This job paid well, her father was pretty rich, and Monti wasnt about to just let the girl go just because she had a sudden change of heart. He was familiar with changes of heart. They were very changeable organs indeed. With a raised palm and serious eyebrows the Mime showed the Clown his insistence that he should just leave them well enough alone. The sceptile sibilated between them with barely contained menace. His claws seemed to be itching.

Minto glanced at his bluer lizard, still getting his bearings. An uncharacteristic streak of righteousness and heroism caught the clown by surprise and he shook his head.

I cant let you get away with kidnapping the girl, Mr Mime. And Minto was halfway to a smirk with that clever little name calling but a few things happened before smugness could truly occupy any real estate on his big white face.

The Mimes eyes seemed to go red and he let go of the girl. Before she could hit the ground he had crossed the short distance to Mintos unprepared body. That first punch to the jaw had some weight in it, but this followup strike to the stomach had the thrust of rage behind it and almost lifted the clowns floppy shoes off the ground. He crumpled, bandage splitting, and was a curled figure on the grass. Monti the Mime loomed over him still simmering in silence. The sceptile snorted. There was just groaning for the next few moments, pain blooming in parts of Minto he didnt know were related to his abdomen. He craned his neck, saw the Mime still glowering over him, vision blurred with tears. Perhaps he really didnt like Mr Mimes. Perhaps the- Minto was kicked in the face before any complete theory could come together.



When the clown came to he was, firstly, very sore, and very cold. The chill was almost fortunate because it numbed some of the pain, which unfortunately only meant it would pay him a visit a little later. Night had fallen, he was back by the pond in the gully. He sat up, muscles in his lower back disagreeing with the endeavor, then saw Zeal sitting next to him. The feraligatr had purple welts over his scales, visible even under the slivers of moonlight dripping through the branches of the weeping willow. There was gentle snoring in the air. Zeal had tried to stay awake in his guard duty for as long as humanly possible... but then again he wasnt human was he?

Sure that it would be warmer inside a pokeball, Minto recalled the the feraligatr and gave silent thanks. I need a shirt, said Minto to world. He wasnt sure why he did, perhaps to convince his body to put up with the procedure of him fishing around his blooming pants for a spare shirt. He punctuated each movement involved in getting dressed with ow or ouch or a variation thereof then slumped back against the tree.

A small, slightly crumpled rectangle of cardboard dropped out from one of the many creases of his largely baggy pants. Minto groped for it, realised what it was then studied it in the moonlight. Monti the Mime, he said, reading the business card out loud. It all seemed oddly familiar to him... eerily similar but... not quite. Thats what he was. Monti was Minto but... not quite. He wasnt sure what it meant. But he was sure that it was something. Its something, he said. Eventually he fell asleep.
Edited by KJ Edge, Nov 13 2010, 07:21 PM.

How are you doing that with your mouth?


Minto's APL: 25.5
Minto's MPL: 1
~

Minto's Proffle!
:lp : 10

Herman's APL: 5
Herman's MPL: 1
Hidden Bounty:7000z


Herman's Proffle!
:lp : 47

Posted Image|Posted Image
L|E|N|B|T


40 :lp frm mods
19.7 :gexp frm mods ~ 44 MP --- 11.9 :gexp from Little Cup
~ Forte ~ Taji
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KJ Edge
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Donatello
??




How can you tell if a fish is upset with you? said the clown. It wasnt the start of a joke. His companion, a seven foot tall feraligatr, shrugged.

Well apparently, its just something you can feel. Minto the clown watched the fish in the pond watching him back. He wasnt sure why he knew, but he was sure that the remoraid, unblinking eyes boring into his very soul, wasnt very happy with him.

Hed bought the fish... from a man. A ninja, actually, but the whole process seemed very vague and illdefined now in his fuzzy memory. It was almost like it never really happened, like some outside force had enacted this whole transaction on his behalf. Thoughts so meta were shaken out of his mind. This was the first time hed purchased a pokemon. It was very unlike adoption, which hed done a few times with varying results. His acquisition of this fish had been very impersonal, and so this mustve been the tradeoff; An angry pokemon. Apparently you really couldnt buy friendship.

Zeal the feraligatr shifted uncomfortably on the bank, not sure what he was expected to do in this confrontation between man and fish. He pretended to adjust his bobbly red nose as the other two continued their staring contest. What do you think he wants? said the clown, not breaking his gaze. Zeal, who knew Minto couldnt understand any verbal response from him, shrugged again. Then he had an idea. He snapped his jaws and rubbed his bell. Nodding, Minto put a hand down his pants. The lining of his pants were filled with useful pockets, some of which were hygienically sealed and stored food for his travels. At least, usually they were.

All Minto could produce was a single cheese stick. He stared at it for a little while, then at the fish. Zeal licked his chops. Unwrapping the processed rod of moomoo milk he said so well try food then dropped a pinch of it into the pond. It bobbed along the surface of the water, drifted by the remoraids mouth. It was ignored. Without anything else to offer the fish (he was sure a cracker wouldve done the trick! Damn!) he sighed and leant back onto the slope.

What can I do to gain your trust, he wondered, thinking aloud. The rest of the cheese stick was tossed in Zeals general direction, where there was a snap of jaws followed by a contented growl. Why was he doing this? Thoughts were turned carefully in his mind.

Minto the clown had decided to turn pro after his battle with George at the Radloff Gym, but he hadnt done a whole lot towards that goal since then. If he couldnt even work out how to deal with a fish how was he going to achieve anything close to that lofty goal? Why did he even want to turn pro? He thought of his grandfather, a clown and apparently amazing trainer, the consummate showman... Bonza the Clown. He was a man that had run away from the circus to chase his dream, a dream of discovering the ultimate form of entertainment. And hed found it: the pokemon battle, but perfecting it was a tougher endeavour. A few years later he had started a family instead... Was Minto going to take this on now? He hadnt fully committed to the idea, but he had already adopted the clownish mantle...

He sat up suddenly, snapping Zeal from his cheesy reverie. The remoraid dropped the pebble it had been inspecting and spun back round to face the clown, catching his gaze to recommence that stare-off. Tell me what you want, he said, as if the pond were a magic mirror. This seemed to have a reaction. The surface rippled as the remoraids face rose from the water. Nothing happened for a while, just the remoraid slowly opening and closing its mouth. Minto wasnt sure if it was speaking to him, perhaps in a very low voice, like it was shy, so he craned down closer to the pond. Water hit his face in a jet, went up his nose and into his mouth. There was spluttering.

The clown got to his feet, wet with faint embarrassment. Right, he said, wiping his forehead. There was a vague viscosity to the liquid that made him pause to examine his fingers. The remoraid stared at him, as expressive as a fish. So youre not going to tell me what you want? he continued, ignoring the taste in his mouth and nose. In response the remoraid shot water at him again, but this time the clown dodged it (well, he dropped onto his ass which still counts) and watched the stream pass overhead, hit the branches of the weeping willow. This isnt going well is it? he said to Zeal. Zeal wasnt paying attention to him though, instead he was watching the willow being sprayed.

In fact the remoraid wasnt letting up, the torrent getting more powerful, shaking the boughs... Now the water was sparkling, glowing, humming, filling with light. The dripping leaves were weighing down the branches, frost blooming across the grey foliage. It was a beam of flickering colours, cold and beautiful and suddenly it stopped. That is, the beam stopped moving, frozen in the air, the captured aurora fading from the ice. Minto stood, walking around the cystaline shaft, glittering in the morning light. It was like a bridge from tree to pond, and some of the pools surface had been frozen over. The remoraid slid out of the water and onto the already melting patch of ice, staring past the trainer and up the beam of frost.

It was quite a sight, watching a fish out of water struggling up a frozen path that shimmered in the air. The remoraid got about halfway towards the tree before the bridge creaked, hissed, a sharp snap sounding as it shattered. Minto caught the fish in his arms, coldness hitting him in the chest. Neither clown or feraligatr really understood what had just occurred, until Minto noticed that the remoraid was still staring at the tree. Not the most rational person at the best of times, the clown lifted the fish up, stretching his arms towards branches. Its tail flickered, swimming towards that destination in Mintos hands...

You want... to be in the tree?

The fish squirmed excitedly.

I want to climb! said the remoraid. Minto didnt hear this, still trying to line up his thoughts and generally not open minded enough to understand this kind of communication anyway, but Zeal heard.

Why? grunted the feraligator, tilting his head at the tree curiously. Why would a fish crave an arboreal lifestyle? thought both clowns.

I want to climb! repeated the remoraid, flopping harder. Minto didnt quite get it, but put the fish in the tree anyway, sitting it on a branch just out of reach if he didnt stand on tiptoe. The fish seemed to calm down slightly, its scales shimmering. It gaped at the scenery, though it was only a few feet above where it had previously been. It didnt climb though, how could it, but for now it was content to to just be in the tree... taller than both man and gater.

How can you tell if a fish is happy? said Minto, considering the fish in the tree with his arms crossed. Zeal shrugged.
Edited by KJ Edge, Nov 17 2010, 03:11 AM.

How are you doing that with your mouth?


Minto's APL: 25.5
Minto's MPL: 1
~

Minto's Proffle!
:lp : 10

Herman's APL: 5
Herman's MPL: 1
Hidden Bounty:7000z


Herman's Proffle!
:lp : 47

Posted Image|Posted Image
L|E|N|B|T


40 :lp frm mods
19.7 :gexp frm mods ~ 44 MP --- 11.9 :gexp from Little Cup
~ Forte ~ Taji
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Kirin
Kirin the Bloodedge
0.3 :gexp2

One can tell when a fish is happy by the way it goes glub. If a fish is glubbing loudly and with a smiley face on, chances are it is happy. If it is glubbing with an angry face and doing it slowly, then chances are it's angry.

Your Remoraid was glubbing slowly and with an angry face. However, the angry face was considerably smaller than before, which meant that it was at least slightly more inclined towards liking you. This was a very good thing, because an angry Remoraid on the surface-- don't even ask how Water-types like that survive on land-- is not something to have. After all, humans drown in water. Fish drown in pure oxygen.

And it loves trees. So much love for trees. Even if, y'know, trees produce oxygen and make it worse. Why not, let's be more ridiculous.

Your Remoraid goes from 3 :anger to 1 :anger .
Edited by Kirin, Nov 17 2010, 03:30 AM.
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LP: 70 :lp | 0.5 :ffexp
Albion LP: 144
Modding LP: 12
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KJ Edge
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Donatello
0.2 :gexp

the point


In fact, the remoraid had gotten a lot happier than Minto mightve suspected. The trust, however, still hadn't been earned in full. He left it there in tree, content as it was, and prolonged their stay in the gully. It was quite a serene scene. Relaxing against the trunk, the clown sighed at the infant day. Wispy clouds dodged the sun overhead. Zeal dipped his snout in the shallow pond. Relaxing.

Lunch time rolled across the sky inevitably. A feraligatr makes a pretty good time keeper, the expectation of regular meals was more reliable than ticking gears and clockwork.

Minto recognized the rumble and blinked sleepily.
Alright, he began, wobbling to his feet, hitting feeling back to a leg that had fallen asleep. Lets get some lunch. The lizard nodded with the enthusiasm that only a hungry being who was mostly a mouth joined to a stomach could muster. One of the benefits of being with a trainer was the regular feeding times. You didnt need to hunt if you didnt want to, and Zeal was fine with that. There were enough ferocious feraligatrs in the world out there, ones hed met, all fangs and fierceness, but food was all Zeal needed to be happy. Routine was good. There was less uncertainty. Less surprises. Minto would tend to agree, the unexpected usually not a kind thing to happen to a clown.

All of that build up was of course to highlight what happened next: Minto turned to the weeping willow and reached for the fish. It wasnt there. The remoraid wasnt where hed left it. Panic rose to his throat for a moment, until he heard the rustling of leaves high up in the canopy. He saw a fin, a glint of scales, then a big round fishy mouth. How the hell did you get up there? said the clown, incredulous at a fish that had somehow managed to climb to the top of a tree. The remoraid, built as athletically as a sausage, had a hard enough time inching its way up a gentle slope just a few hours ago... now it had somehow navigated up through twisting branches and foliage, while remaining essentially limbless. Fins werent all that great for climbing as far as the clown was aware.

He couldnt quite tell if the remoraid was smiling down at him, its face mostly an O and wide, unblinking eyes. It glistened, as if it had been sweating. Zeal sidled up to the clown, stomach gurgling. That was a sign to hurry up, so Minto reached for the remoraids pokeball. On his way to lift it up and recall the fish a beam of light swirled onto his arm, the air snapping with cold, rainbow colours. And now Minto found his fist and pokeball snap frozen in an irregular block of ice. He glared at the trapped sphere and his seized knuckles. Zeal revealed that hed learned to whistle and did so, sounding impressed. He shied away at Mintos frown. The frozen hand was given a few experimental bangs against the trunk of the willow, and when freedom of fingers didnt seem immediately forthcoming he said How do you get a fish out of a tree?

Climbing up after it was unlikely to work out now, he thought, sure that his wrist was getting numb. He considered sending another pokemon up after it but that didnt seem like a good idea... his options in the field were limited... a weird, dark and muscly mutant, a towering metal snake prone to spine-threatening pranks, a cubone who greeted new acquaintances with her bone club, a dunsparce that he wasnt sure knew the rest of the world existed... he had almost no options. Zeal was the only one that mightve been able to help, but was starting to get restless... The feraligatr snapped his jaws irritably, which was rather uncharacteristic of the usually easy going reptile. Hunger rumbled from him deeply. Come on down, he cooed, waving at the remoraid to catch its attention. Its lunch time, fishy... He realized he hadnt given the thing a name yet. What could you name a fish that liked to be in trees?

The remoraid didnt budge. It watched the clown with quiet, intelligent eyes from its impossible perch. Then it taunted him, mouth sparking violet with energy like a childs firework. This seemed to annoy the feraligatr, clapping his jaws with impatience. Alright pal, said the clown, in the way you would say it to someone who you were pretty sure didnt consider you a pal. We gotta get going, so cmon down out of that tree.

The response to this was to open fire, and it was surprising how a remoraid could simulate the sound of gunshots with little more than its ability to blast seeds at you. Black pods the size of an octillerys eye slammed into the earth around Mintos feet, exploding with dirt and seed shell. Minto dove for cover, which was mostly directly under the tree where the remoraid couldnt work a good enough angle. Zeal on the other hand was less inclined to duck and cover... in fact he was... dancing.

This wasnt right, thought the remoraid, still firing its seeds. The expectation was that a moving target would be trying to avoid the shots but the feraligatr was... leaping into the line of fire. Confused and irked, the fish kept loosing bullets at the gatr. Jaws opened wide to receive them, snapping down with resounding cracks as each caught slug was busted apart then channeled down a waiting gullet. Youre eating the bullet seeds? shouted Minto over the gunshots, (expositionally). The remoraid stopped to take a breath, realisation dawning on its face. Eating its bullet seeds? How could something be that strong? With determination the fish reloaded itself (from whatever armory it kept that sort of thing in reserve) and took aim at the giant head of the feraligatr. Oh he would pay, that big stupid smile, lets see him swallow this!





Nothing happened. Zeal looked up at the fish expectantly. Minto uncowered, the sound of gunfire having stopped. Why is he shaking like that? said the clown, frowning at the sniper in the tree who was indeed trembling. The remoraid suddenly seemed to notice this too, and its eyes somehow widened ever more... a bullet had gotten stuck... the next one wanted out... it tried to change tact, maybe if it flushed the chamber with water... this only built up more pressure within the fish... Shit.

The weeping willow shook, leaves rained down on the feraligatr and clown. Fish dropped from the sky. Luckily still in one piece, and the clown caught it in his chest. Weezing, the remoraid squinted up at the trainer... everything was a bit hazy. That was a bit of a squib, said the clown, perhaps to the fish. He thought about that fireworks display, the misfire of the gunshaped fish... a slightly energy burned and damp seed rolled out for the gaping mouth and into his hand. The squib. Squib, he said, this time addressing the fish. If you like climbing trees, I think I can help you. He knelt beside the pool at the bottom of the gully and let the fish slide into the water.

It could breath easier there, he noticed, and it swirled around to face him no HE swirled around. The fish wasnt just a fish, he was a remoraid, he was Squib. You need arms if you want to hang onto branches like that, continued the clown, flexing his hands... one of his hands. Having been a trainer for a few years now, Minto was aware of a remoraids evolution. And you need to be pretty tough, like Zeal here. The aforementioned lizard peeked over the clown's shoulder, grinning, picking a seed from his teeth. I can help you there, if youll let me. He extended his frozen hand, pokeball still gripped within, to the fish in the pond. What do ya say?

Edited by KJ Edge, Nov 17 2010, 07:58 AM.

How are you doing that with your mouth?


Minto's APL: 25.5
Minto's MPL: 1
~

Minto's Proffle!
:lp : 10

Herman's APL: 5
Herman's MPL: 1
Hidden Bounty:7000z


Herman's Proffle!
:lp : 47

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L|E|N|B|T


40 :lp frm mods
19.7 :gexp frm mods ~ 44 MP --- 11.9 :gexp from Little Cup
~ Forte ~ Taji
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Maverick
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"How many assholes we got on this ship anyhow?"
.3

The tree loving fish was grateful for the quick save. It's eyes rolled, and breathlessly it was returned to the water. Climbing high was one thing but it had the sorry side effect of drying out ones squamate skin. Re-hydrated, the fish felt ten times better, and there was even an inkling of gratuity toward the clown. For this alone it wiggling in place in the water, giving Minto the chance to speak his peace.

The suggestion of evolving was an intriguing thought. Octillary had arms. Arms were much more useful for climbing than scales alone. AND with arms the grouchy fish might better slap that obnoxious gator about. And so, the fish nodded, a glimmer of wry pleasure twinkling behind its unblinking eyes.

2 :happiness earned
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Floyd's Profile
Level: 75
Notes: Questing for Rayquaza
Affiliation: None

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Manix's Profile
Level: 32
Notes: Nothing yet!
Affiliation: None
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Packerdan
Herp and also Derp
This is the smod for your freeform before you went all happiness crazy. It's also the first smod I've ever done, which is both exciting and terribly depressing that I've been an admin for the full, what? Five years that we've had the system? I was there when it was made. But I've never done it before. Always good to start with someone that I like.

Word Count was 3,426 according to word. It was a good read, and a pretty quick one. Then again, by the time I actually smodded it I had already read it twice before. So, your milage may vary. Let's get to the grading!

Quote:
 
Minto wasnt into the habit of talking to himself, that usually being a sure sign of The Crazies. Domain of the shambling hobos that shambled about homelessly. He reflected in the pool, quivering image of a streak-faced, shirtless clown staring back at him accusingly. It wasnt what he wanted after being thrown through maybe a mile of angry shrubbery which ended with him smacking into a big rock. There was a long branch stuck in his hair. He watched himself remove it, as if it were someone else, ridiculous wig wobbling uneasily. Oh no, he wasnt some crazy homeless hobo... He dug a leaf out of his ear thoughtfully. While he didnt have a home per se, he was a travelling trainer. That was a different kind of homelessness. A kind generally not frowned upon and stepped around gingerly with breath firmly held hoping that it wouldnt wake up and pee on you. This was just the state of being a trainer. An accepted form of dispossessed lifestyle.

What a scam this whole thing was, inventive parents around the region rejoicing to it. Send your children off from around age ten to journey with their pokemon in far away lands. Far away from the house. Now the place was quiet again. Finally they could have that posh home office, or extra bathroom with the spa in it. Post the kids a berry every now and then and that was parenting of a pokemon trainer done.


You and I have had conversations before about how morally unjustifiable I find sending a ten year old out into the wild. I loved every single bit of this little section, including Minto's viewpoint on the topic as well as what you described as 'the crazies'. I could clearly picture a hobo being all hobolike and for some reason that made me happy. Well done.

Quote:
 
There are a few leaps of logic that couldve been made from the situation, but Minto was pretty sure the Mime wasnt running off to help the source of the scream after he was socked in the face with an un-mimed punch.


I misread that the first time I read this, but both reads after I just really dug that punch. Or when Minto got his ass handed to him by Monti. Both were very well done. Then again I like violence.

I don't really have much to critique. It was a nice little story, Monti seems like a fun rival type character. There were no glaring grammatical or spelling errors, so well done on that. I enjoyed the story. That being said, I have to be honest with you. I don't feel like I know anything about Minto after reading this story that I didn't know beforehand, save for the fact that he's so deep in the closest that he's finding Giftmas presents, which I sort of suspected for a while. It wasn't a very reflective piece, at all. It further threw me off when it was stated that "Monti was Minto except...not quite". There doesn't seem to be any evidence suggesting that at all besides the fact that they both would creep me out if I met them in person and I hired them to perform at my kid's birthday party. I almost didn't give you the boost, but there was one line that made me not care about that at all.

Quote:
 
Im a little directionless I guess. Just been wandering around... a clown without a cause.


Good enough for me. I loved that line.

Okay, so. In summary, not exactly what I had in mind for the contest idea, but it was a fun read in its own right. I hereby award you 12.5 :ffexp . Anyone have a problem with the grading, well. Tough. Otherwise Nathan, feel free to chat me up with any questions or comments since this is my first time around the block.

.4 :gexp2 to meeeeeee.
Justice...Like Lightning!
APL 5
MPL 1
LP 30

I have often dreamed
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KJ Edge
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Donatello
I may edit this post later with actual RPing, but just for uh... posterity... I put forth for the record: use 0.1 of the :ffexp gained above on my Dunsparce Baff, raising him to level 13, causing him to learn GLARE.

So I have 12.4 :ffexp still left from that freeform, and lot still from others that is unspent. Okay!

I do not need a mod yet. In fact I'm in a new thread!
Edited by KJ Edge, Feb 8 2011, 12:29 AM.

How are you doing that with your mouth?


Minto's APL: 25.5
Minto's MPL: 1
~

Minto's Proffle!
:lp : 10

Herman's APL: 5
Herman's MPL: 1
Hidden Bounty:7000z


Herman's Proffle!
:lp : 47

Posted Image|Posted Image
L|E|N|B|T


40 :lp frm mods
19.7 :gexp frm mods ~ 44 MP --- 11.9 :gexp from Little Cup
~ Forte ~ Taji
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