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Post by Deleted on Sept 7, 2016 22:30:56 GMT
it's only a matter of time. route 202 is a route for new trainers - which they are, they suppose. their pokemons are new; they are new, in the sunlight and out of the city; their status as one of galactic's is new. they can feel the newness like crisp paper between their fingers, a static electricity underneath their skin. there's a nincada on their shoulder and a mawile tottering, laughing, behind in their footsteps. deimos breathes in. this is a step, they think, and move forth on the route. they are painfully, painfully new, but they have a good idea where the bug and the steel-type they currently have will go, will do. (but they need more - the insatiable want for something better, just out of their reach, as dominant here as in any other place of their lives.) perhaps they will strike gold here; perhaps not. regardless, they think, it's bound to be good practice. @ wild |
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Post by Deleted on Sept 10, 2016 20:27:35 GMT
there's a sharp scent of ozone in the air, a bzzzzt that's the unmistakable sound of electricity, and something flies into deimos' face. well, it tries to, anyway. it doesn't get much beyond that, and deimos swats it off their face. scowls. the emolga responds to the hit with a charge, its fur laced with static and glaring threateningly. it doesn't quite work, not on them. "nincada."the bug moves forward, even as an arc of electricity fires off from the emolga's paws in a shock wave. it hits the bug, visible lines of energy moving over its shell, before it dissipates. deimos sweeps the mawile by their feet into their arms, grunting at the heavy weight. "focus, and go. nincada, move back."the two swap without complaint; their earlier talk must've worked, deimos muses, even as the nincada scuttles back and the mawile lunges forward. sweet scent is in the air, an innocuous thing except for the way that the emolga stumbles in the air. feint attack allows mawile to hit the electric-type, even as it uses acrobatics in an attempt to dodge, and play rough wrestles it to the ground. the emolga tries to get up - the instinct of wild pokemons, deimos thinks, even as the mawile bares her teeth and her second, larger mouth snaps its own together. "finish it," they tell her. she does. iron head slams into the emolga's smaller, much weaker one, and it slumps to the ground. unconscious. deimos contemplates. then they call back their pokemon, pat the mawile on the head for a job well done, and moves forward, the nincada back on their shoulder. the emolga lies behind them, a victim of their progression. @ wild |
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