#indomiinus

"Eugh... huh...?"

Though Safine could take a ludicrous amount of damage before being knocked unconscious, it did not mean she was invincible. Far from it, seeing how the force of being rammed into by a speeding car was enough to at the very least stun her. She struggled to sit upright, perhaps to look at the person hovering over her on a more even eye-level, though in the end her body independently decided that it was best to lie on the ground like a loose sack of sand.

No use spending energy at the moment, even if the worst injuries Safine had sustained were nothing more than a few bruises.

The driver who ran her over, seeing the consequences of their carelessness (and the person who came to Safine's aid), could do nothing but panic. Tires screeched against asphalt as they drove off, now somehow going even faster than before, kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. Other pedestrians were left coughing and wheezing as the cloud washed over the surrounding pavements.

Fortunately, however, one of the pedestrians present visibly succeeded in taking a photo of the car's number plate before it sped off.

Poor Safine, meanwhile, began to slowly regain her senses. Emphasis on 'slowly'. With stars in her eyes and imaginary Torchic circling her head, she barely managed to giggle, "Am I... in Hell...? Because... I'm pretty sure I'm being... hee hee... talked to... by a really handsome devil...~"

While Scarlet, or Rouge rather at the moment, was almost positive that the grumbled complaint was not actually directed at her, it certainly caught her attention enough to draw her large brown eyes to him. She finds herself quite sympathetic towards him in the moment. One can never anticipate how an interview will go, especially not when the reporter goes off script with, what can only be described as a personal attack on the man.

The poor thing, she just hopes her interview isn't in the same sort of tone as his went.

"No, it wasn't so bad." She says sweetly, accent curling around her words, an attempt to soothe some of the worry lines on his face as well as the tenseness of his muscles. It tastes a lie, they both are aware that his PR team is going to have a field day with it. She imagines he would have to attend a handful of meetings over that blunder, but there's always a silver lining...

"Don't worry, lapin. It is the media, they will lose interest within a week and forget all about this interview. I imagine when your rival goes on screen, he tends to cause quite the ruckus with the interviews, non?"

Her gaze is kind, her smile soft and sweet as she directs them at the champion. The line of questioning should never have been had to begin with, and if not for it being live, she was sure his company would have pulled the footage. Alas, it could never be so easy. They were smart to plan their ambush for a live event. It was out there now, and there was little anyone could do to stop that train wreck. All one could do now was to salvage what they could.

It wasn't every day she ran into Leon! But seems like he hadn't seen her yet. Marnie waves, trying to get the other's attention. "Hey! Over here!" She eventually calls out, umbrella in one hand to shield her from the sun.

     It is a nice change of pace, for both herself and the rest of her pokemon to not be solitary travellers setting up camp for the night in some remote part of Kalos. Even more so, when whoever they meet with just so happens to both have under their belt years of experience and not fuss over titles or recognition of a figure in the public's eye. For this reason, she has no qualms in joining him by the fire— in leaving preparation of food up to him when the offer was made, in lieu of gentle insistence that she should, just to be safe.

     Shoulders lowered, arms loosely embracing a certain Vivillon who had been quick to demand as much the moment she settled on the ground, the light teasing brings forth a short laugh. Oh, Serena has seen that look before. On her own Delphox, when the heroine has had to explain to the fire-type when indoors that keeping that stick alight would set off every alarm in the vicinity.

          "Oh dear... But either stew or curry would be lovely, thank you. Whichever you have the ingredients for. All I can really contribute are berries,"

     She says, and in the back of her mind, Serena wishes that she had taken the time to stock up on more food than what was needed. Yet they should have been back home tonight, and plans clearly have changed.

          "My pokemon are not really picky eaters when away from home... But Oleander, my Dragalge, needs to liquify food before he can eat it. So, either of those I think is a happy middle ground."

     In truth, it is quite an easy undertaking. A ghost-type who does not need to eat. Two pokemon who could, if they turned up their noses to whatever is on offer, absorb energy from the sun. The rest, picky in their own rights, spoiled by homemade meals and ones specific to their needs, but willing to set it all aside when away from such luxuries. But that does not need to be said, and so it stays in the back of the champion's mind. Instead, she offers a shrug of her shoulders, amicable smile brightening just a tad.

"Really Lee? We were headin' towards a diner for lunch. Unless ya wanted to go somewhere else?"

Piers wasn't sure if the other wanted to go somewhere else instead of the diner. He wasn't really tied to the diner idea but he did want to go somewhere for lunch. He was nervous too because it wasn't that often he got to hang out with Leon. Hopefully he didn't muck it all up.

a positive memory—

Living past a hundred. For many, this would be considered a blessing, something to celebrate with confetti balls and streamers and cake.

For him, it was more like a curse. This malediction entrenched youth into his face and body, stretched his temperament ‘til thin and flimsy, and—for what? To know that this so-called immortality was plucked by the strings of conditions, by a creature he yearned to forget?

A sigh deflated him.

He’d hope that sitting in this modest park, being amongst nature, would help alleviate him of some stress. Alas, he waded through the thickness swamp of his own thoughts; a spiral threatened.

He spied, in the corner of his eyes, a young girl. Her teeth were gapped and crooked, and braces had been fixed atop. By virtue of how her stubby fingers poked and pressed against the metallic bulges, Myers could only presume that these braces were new. Probably uncomfortable to boot. As she sat on the park bench, swinging her feet, sparkly shoes catching the warm afternoon sun and flashing in tiny hexagonal rainbows …

Her parents returned, one behind the other, overtly concealing something betwixt their bodies. The girl, alert, turned and excitement bloomed in her. Swift they were to grin, the apples of their cheeks curved and plump, and present her with a swirlix. The swirlix donned a cute, pink bow around its soft, cottony forehead.

Myers smiled, her cacophonous happiness watering in favour of his own memories swimming to the forefront. He remembered his first pokémon, back over a century ago.

for every “⏳” i receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

The train ride was hardly quiet. The rattling, the chugging and churning, all became naught but white noise to its inhabitants. Octavius’ face was directed at the train window, the frame bleeding inwards with gnawing frost, though his gaze was sidelong. He stared at Leon; at the man that’d opted to accompany him northward, towards Hammerlocke, where they’d peel away towards Glimwood Tangle.

Leon himself looked like the epitome of exhaustion. Red clawed at the corners of his eyes, his lids heavy and deepening, darkening lines beneath them, with not even a lick of a smile in sight.

It was rare for Octavius to feel anything for his clients. Probably because they wanted to keep him at arm’s length, more often than not, rather than delving into the nitty gritty of it all; it made it easier to keep himself emotionally separated, logic yanking the reins and keeping him steady. The fire that Leon used to drive himself, however—that elicited something within. What that something was, he wasn’t quite certain, but he knew it along the lines of …

Inspiration.

“You know the Kings of Galar?”  he asked, the question completely out of the blue. They’d been sitting in relative silence for the past dozen or so minutes.  “The—Ancient Kings of Galar, I mean. Those ones from a couple thousand years back.”  It pained him to phrase it like that. “My family has—supposedly—connections to them. We used to travel to their catacombs on the anniversary of their deaths. Nowadays, their tombs are locked away by historians, but I … snuck in, recently. Fuck them historians.”

Octavius smirked loosely.

“Anyways, when I looked at them, all those years ago, as a kid … they had the most stupid fuckin’ amount of jewellery and gold on them. Like, their, uh, bones used to have gems and gold and silver embedded into them. It was insane. I remember thinking, wow, these bitch ass kings were loaded and now they’re hogging all this shit to themselves? Greedy bastards. But,”  he sighed, smirk diluting,  “now, graverobbers got ‘em. They’ve been mostly stripped clean. Even their sarcophagus jewels have been pried off.”

He didn’t know why he was saying this. It just came to mind.

Questions for the mun || Accepting

//Hmm... If we're talking about rp here on tum.blr, I'd say about 2014-15 is when I first started. My very first muse was a fandomless oc, which I've long since retired.

In general, however, I think I really got into writing when I was in high school. Used to love writing poetry (which I have at least one poem randomly published somewhere) and fanfiction. I almost pursued it as a career, but then I discovered that I more than likely have had attention and learning issues all my life and it was never really addressed (mainly because I had parents who were just like, "you'll grow out of it", which I never did). Let alone that college got too expensive and I have a job that I'm doing well at now. So I decided to stay put.

My writing skills aren't perfect by any means, but I still do my best to proofread as much as I can. Even then I tend to miss stuff. And I also have a bad habit of like, hearing the words that I'm going to write down in my head, but missing a word entirely as I'm writing a sentence. (Does that make sense?? It's kind of hard to explain how my head comprehends things sometimes).