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- Marvelous Intro! Shield Yourself From the Blinding Light of This Spunky Girl's Passion for Victory!
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| Marvelous Intro! Shield Yourself From the Blinding Light of This Spunky Girl's Passion for Victory! | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 19 2010, 06:29 AM (1,701 Views) | |
| The Master Plan | Dec 19 2010, 06:29 AM Post #1 |
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"Go Cyndaquil!" The Pokéball in Paris's hands burst open, and in a brilliant flash of white light, the fire mouse Pokémon appeared at her feet to face the new opponent. "Cynn!" it squeaked. Although they had started their Pokémon adventure just recently, Cyndaquil had won enough battles that he was starting to get over its timidity. Instead of instinctively curling up into a protective ball, as it had done for the first few battles, Cyndaquil held his ground confidently to size up his opponent. "Nuzz!" came the Nuzleaf's call from across the garden plaza. Above him was the sloppy-looking skater dude that owned him, holding his board in one hand and scratching his matted blonde hair under his black beanie cap with the other. "All right Nuzleaf, let's show her what we've got!" He exclaimed, gesturing with his skateboard not at the Cyndaquil but at Paris herself, indicating that his determination was enough to drive an offense on the personal level. Paris's mischievous facial expression conveyed a similar air of confidence. With a defiant wide-leg posture and a dramatic pointed finger, she directed Cyndaquil forward. Cyndaquil and Nuzleaf rushed at each other across the pavement. But just as Cyndaquil was about to strike with a powerful tackle, the wily Grass-type sidestepped around the fire mouse and thrust the side of its hard, trunk-like body into Cyndaquil before the fire Pokémon could react. "DOUCHEBAG!" Paris yelled at the skater dude, who simply shrugged and continued to systematically dish out commands to his disciplined Nuzleaf. Paris couldn't believe it. "Opening with a Fake Out!" she hissed angrily. "What a coward. DON'T WORRY CYNDAQUIL, HIT 'EM BACK WITH ANOTHER TACKLE!" She yelled, jumping up and down with continually ridiculous hand gestures. The Cyndaquil picked itself up and wheeled around to face his opponent; the mouse's fire-quills were bristling with hot energy. As Paris laid eyes on the smug-faced skater dude, she could feel the hot anger rising in her chest and throat. His ass was going down. |
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| Dogma | Dec 19 2010, 03:06 PM Post #2 |
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Just great. Just fucking great. Things never seemed to go the way he intended them to go. Tristan was going to head south from Lavender Town, but there was a huge fishing tournament being held on the Silence Bridge, and apparently, silence was of the utmost importance.....even if it already was. Frustrated, he turned to go left out of town, but nothing in Saffron City interested him for the time being, so he passed through the Underground Tunnel and ended up in Celadon City. Celadon City, the biggest shopping district in all of Kanto. With its giant shopping district, anything could be found there. Tristan was about to walk inside when he saw something going on nearby. At the plaza, two Trainers were fighting with a Cyndaquil and a Nuzleaf. This may be interesting, learning new tactics from watching the battles of others. He let his Turtwig, Adamantium, and his Dusclops, Faustian, come out of their Pokéballs so that they could watch as well, and they sure as hell were intrigued by the action. When the Nuzleaf had used Fake Out on the Cyndaquil, causing it to cower in fear, Faustian broke out into a fit of laughter. Maybe because it knew an attack like that would never work on it. "Faustian, be quiet." Faustian let his laughter subside and went back to watching the battle. Meanwhile, Tristan let his thoughts race. This girl's determination to win is impressive. As well as her vocabulary. He smiled at that second part, as he has been known to use far worse vocabulary. But something is puzzling me. Why isn't she commanding her Cyndaquil to use Flame Wheel? Or Ember? Something's not right here..... Perhaps something would come later. For now, he just went back to watching the battle. |
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| The Master Plan | Dec 19 2010, 05:21 PM Post #3 |
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(OOC: Cut me some slack; I can use tackle if I want, it was only my first post.) "Okay!" Paris shouted, her tennis shoes skidding across the pavement as she struck another dramatic pose. This time, she flashed an open palm in the Nuzleaf's direction. "Cyndaquil, use a Smokescreen!" Cyndaquil squeaked in affirmation. Just after dodging another swinging blow from the Nuzleaf, Cyndaquil jumped back and turned so that the quils on his back were facing Nuzleaf. The crafty grass-type started aim a Razor Leaf attack, seeing the Cyndaquil's momentary pause as an opportunity to take the advantage, but the skateboarder called out to him. "Watch out, little dude!" Suddenly, warm black smoke started to rush out from the base of the quills jutting out of the fire mouse's heat resistant fur. It started to form a dark cloud around the Nuzleaf; it gradually got denser and denser. The many passerby who had stopped to observe the battle were suddenly coughing and sputtering and fleeing the scene in disgust. Paris, however, was smiling from behind the sleeve she held over her mouth. Eventually, the smoke was so dense that both Cyndaquil and Nuzleaf were obscured from their sight. There were a few uncomfortable moments of tense silence. Only the most curious passerby remained in a loose circle around the battle, waiting out of suspense to see what would happen. Paris scoffed audibly. A second later, a stream of green leaves, spinning like deadly razors, hurtled out of the smoke, narrowly missing a Dusclops and his trainer nearby. Obviously the Nuzleaf's accuracy was dramatically reduced in the cloud, and it was starting to get frustrated. "Shit..." the skater dude grumbled. Paris merely threw her hair back and started to laugh loudly, with her hands on her hips and her chest puffed out. (OOC: There's no post order. Dogma can post again if he wants, or someone else can join, or I'll just post again. Whichever comes first.) |
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| Dogma | Dec 19 2010, 09:33 PM Post #4 |
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(I wasn't giving you crap about not using a Fire Attack in the first place. Tristan was just making an observation. lol) The battle was starting to become intense. The girl's Cyndaquil put up an incredibly thick Smokescreen, and now nothing could be seen inside there. Tristan was fortunately standing outside it, but he could not see anything. Plus, the smoke was starting to get to his lungs, and he was coughing rather violently. His father had a smoking problem back when he was a little kid, and one time when he accidentally breathed the secondhand smoke into his body, he developed a rather mild case of asthma. Tristan had since gotten over it, but his reaction to breathing in the smoke still remains, even if he is immune from ever developing asthma ever again. A flurry of razor leaves suddenly emerged from the smokescreen headed right toward Tristan's direction. He was still coughing really badly, and couldn't move. "*cough* Ada..mantium....use....*cough* *cough* *cough*" It was no use. He couldn't issue the command for Adamantium to put up a Reflect so that the razor leaves would bounce off and leave them unharmed. Faustian and Adamantium took relatively minor damage, but the majority of the leaves slashed Tristan up. Six of the leaves were stuck in six different spots on his body: His right shoulder, his left forearm, the right side of his stomach, his left thigh, his right leg, and his left foot. The stomach injury really did it for him, and he collapsed onto his right knee, trying hard to pull out the razor leaves. Although he was able to, his body was left in somewhat of a bloody mess, and his injuries were beginning to trickle blood. Adamantium and Faustian saw the state that Tristan was in, and were automatically overcome with rage. Faustian told Adamantium to stay and defend Tristan just in case there were going to be more attacks headed toward them. Faustian started to charge up a highly-powered Shadow Ball and fired it at the skateboard trainer. He was going to pay for what he had done. (TMP, whether the Shadow Ball actually hurts the skateboard punk is up to you) |
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| The Master Plan | Dec 20 2010, 12:43 AM Post #5 |
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Meanwhile, Cyndaquil crept along the ground, staying close to the pavement underneath the veil of smoke. He was shorter than Nuzleaf and able to see better close to the pavement. He crawled around a little, scouting out the scene, when he finally spotted some stumpy wooden legs nearby. "Cynn!" it squeaked to Paris to let her know he had found the target. "Good job, Cyndaquil!" Paris shouted encouragingly. "Now, give him some embers!" The Nuzleaf heard the black girl's clear command ring out, but he was still too helplessly caught in the cloud of smoke to see Cyndaquil. "Nuzzle! Nuzleaf!" it cried, spinning around in circles, trying to find the fire mouse. By the time he spotted him, it was too late. Cyndaquil was already next to him. The fire mouse leaped onto its forefeet and aimed his fire-quills at Nuzleaf, launching a burst of small flames at the shocked Grass-type. Finally, the smokescreen started to dissipate, revealing a triumphant-looking Cyndaquil and the fainted Nuzleaf. "YES! CYNDAQUIL, YOU DID IT!" Paris exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air. She ran forward to kneel down in front of Cyndaquil with her arms outstretched. Her Pokémon promptly turned down the heat of his quills and jumped into her arms for a hug. "That's our eighth win!" It had only been a few days since they had left Cerulean City, and Paris and Cyndaquil already had a short winning streak. Paris was so proud-- she just HAD to rub it in the loser's face! "Hey, skater boy!" Paris put Cyndaquil down and jumped to her feet to scope out the opponent. "That's what happens when you mess with FRANCESCA PA--" Suddenly, she stopped short when she realized that the skateboarder was lying on the ground in pain, clutching his abdomen. His stomach area was covered in some weird purplish substance. "Wh-- what the hell?!" Paris exclaimed, her jet-black pigtails whipping about as she looked around for the attacker. |
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| Finisterre | Dec 20 2010, 05:52 PM Post #6 |
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Something about Celadon City had left Sibylla incredibly impressed. The buildings shadowed all things below them, and where there were no buildings, the sun brightly bloomed and gave a glow to those under its rays. This, the great commerce, and the vast places to shop....It all reminded her of Goldenrod City. Perhaps not as grand, but reminiscent all the same. Once she needed supplies to build her circus, she would know where to look. Though she knew of the Celadon Gym in which one could compete to obtain the Rainbow Badge, this was not something Sibylla was concerned with now, for her purpose in this visit was firstly to enjoy herself, and also because she lacked a suitable party to combat the Gym and its Leader. Charmaine, perhaps, had some advantage over any Grass-type Pokémon which would be there, and were also Poison-types – of which the chances were quite likely – but Sibylla could not force her to fight every one of them, for such was cruel. So, again, she was planning only to stay here to relax from her long trip across the sea from Johto, after which she would begin to build her crew. Of course, she needed to find a hotel to stay in, first, as was evidenced by her toting one pack on her back, and another on the back of her bike, which she was riding....But, oh how the shops tempted her, especially being along the way to the hotels! How could she not at least get a small taste of what was to come? She was about to visit the enormous department store to gather ideas on how she could design her circus tents – she had already placed her bike on one of the racks and secured it, hauling the next bag in her free arm – until the sound of a nearby fracas caught her ear. There was a pause in her steps, and she remained silent to listen to the echoes of shouting youths and animalistic cries. She shook her head and sighed; it was a Pokémon battle within the city, outside the gym. She turned her head toward the direction of the noise, and through the streets, she saw people were beginning to congregate. She frowned; if people were gathering, the chance for collateral damage to take place would rise. While she loved Pokémon more than she did most people, the thought of this place her at unease, and so she thought it better to postpone her window shopping to see what, exactly, was transpiring. When she arrived, weaving through the agglomeration of people, she saw the black ball of smoke, which was wisping close to the ground. So dense a fog was it that she saw nothing else, not yet even signs of trainers, though she knew this to be the work of a Pokémon; the squeaks and grunts gave that away. Keeping her distance, she waited silently for the haze to thin out... But before that could happen, there were a group of people yelping with some surprise to her left. Eyes widening with worry, she turned her head to see a smaller circle was forming around a large man in urban style clothing, and guarded by a Dusclops and a Turtwig, with leaves around him, colored partly with a curious crimson hue which was also upon him, and slightly on the pavement. She knew what had happened immediately: an injury from the fight. Thankfully, there was nothing fatal, but it his wounds were not treated soon, they could become worse. “Just what are they thinking, battling in the middle of a busy city like this?” Now she was a bit upset, for what she had feared had come true. Weren’t the Gyms and wilderness enough for their horseplay? Suppressing her rage, Sibylla moved quickly through the thin wall of other people and toward the man, sometimes unintentionally shoving people aside with little more than an ‘excuse me,’ ignoring their following rancor. She did not know the full extent of the man’s injuries, but she had first aid, and so she could at least tend to smaller wounds, if he let her. For all Sibylla knew, the man could have been upset enough to place receiving his revenge on whichever trainer owned the Pokémon which had hurt him over improving his condition. It took no more than five seconds for her to finally reach him, a couple of yards’ distance separating herself from the man and the Pokémon which watched over him, and it was at this distance that she could see a good portion of what happened, which only fed her anger further. She glared back at the center of the “ring”, seeing the smokescreen lifted, a fainted Nuzleaf (and trainer, curiously), and an African girl in pigtails with a Cyndaquil, searching frantically for something—most likely, whatever had made the other trainer fall. She shook her again, deciding it was more important to focus on the man before her. As she had confirmed, his wounds were bloody, but not terrible; however, the foot concerned her, for the wound upon it could impair his walking depending on the depth of the cut. Nevertheless, she knew she had the means to help him, and it was what she planned to do. Without giving away her irritation at the situation, she spoke, her tone firm but sympathetic: “Those look a bit bad. Luckily enough, I have some first aid that should help until you’re seen by a real physician. Do you mind if I treat them?” (OOC: Feel free to accept or reject her offer, it's up to you.) Edited by Finisterre, Dec 20 2010, 06:02 PM.
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| Dogma | Dec 20 2010, 09:33 PM Post #7 |
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Adamantium and Faustian noticed the girl walking over to Tristan and got into a low stance, preparing to attack her, when Tristan stopped them. The smoke had cleared, and he could talk and breathe once again, but his wounds wouldn't allow him to move. He figured he was still alive if he was in this much pain. He spoke to his Pokémon and commanded them to stop. "Adamantium....Faustian....let her pass." If she could help, then it was worth getting her help. "You know first aid? Then if you can treat them, go right ahead. Thank you." He tried hard to move so he could get from a forward-leaning position to a sitting position, but his left foot just started screaming pain as soon as he tried to apply pressure to it. "ARGH, SHIT!!!" Tristan immediately fell backwards onto his ass and started clutching his foot. He was in too much pain to even move. "Well, no use trying to do that. Damn Razor Leaves.....sharper than I thought they would be." The worst part about this was that he was losing blood by the second, due to his wounds in his stomach, shoulder, arm, and legs. The fear of death slowly began to grip him like an Steelix using Wrap to squeeze the life out of someone. He wasn't going to go out like this, not here, not now. "Damn Nuzleaf....when I find its trainer, he's dead." The pain was making him so delirious he was starting to smile and snicker to himself a little bit. It's always when those symptoms show up that someone really needs help badly. He only hoped that it could come quickly...... |
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| The Master Plan | Dec 21 2010, 07:04 AM Post #8 |
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"Tyler!!" came a girl's cry from within the crowd. The voice was pretty and melodic, yet still had a desperate sense of sympathy and worry in the air. The men standing around in the circle parted much more gracefully than they had for Sibylla, awed by the heavenly, gentle voice that stood in stark contrast to Paris's loud, abrasive battle commands. The soft clopping of wooden geta across the ground made it immediately clear to the Celadon locals exactly who it was before spotting her emerge from the group, and they all started to back away out of reverence. However, Paris had no idea who this girl was and simply just looked her up and down with a raised eyebrow. Cyndaquil simply hid behind Paris's leg, watching as well. The girl wasn't very tall, but the geta helped. She had black, shoulder length hair framing her pale innocent face. She was dressed in an elegant traditional kimono that was yellow with orange patterns, and a red obi and headband. All in all, she looked almost like a perfect porcelain doll. For a moment, she just stood there, motionless, with nothing but hushed whispers all around her to fill in the silence. "Tyler!" She yelled again, going past Paris to the skater punk lying on the ground. She lifted the hem of her kimono and knelt down beside him, gently nudging him with her sleeve. "Tyler, are you okay?" She pushed him over and he rolled onto his back to flash a sheepish smile at the girl. "Erika..." He slowly put a hand on her shoulder, then hoisted himself up into a seated position. His clothes were covered in purple plasma, and he winced briefly from the pain, but otherwise he looked okay. Erika smiled with relief. As she hovered there next to the skateboarder, exchanging a few whispered words with him, the voices in the crowd started to pick up a little. It was obvious to Paris that this girl was some kind of celebrity around here. The lovestruck men were fidgeting restlessly, trying to get a peek at her, wondering anxiously if the skater punk was Erika's boyfriend. Other simply groaned and walked off in disappoint. Even the women were consulting each other in hushed tones, trying to decide if it was even conceivable for such a pairing between an average street punk and the refined angel. In the middle of it all stood Paris, and she was starting to get frustrated now that the attention was off of her. In a desperate attempt to reclaim it-- "Hey! Who are you?!" she yelled, startling Cyndaquil a little. The girl in the kimono looked over her shoulder at Paris. Then she stood up and faced her in a defiant stance, now with slightly wrinkled brow and her fingers curled into little fists. She still just looked kind of cute, though. "My name is Erika. The boy you just beat is Tyler. He trains at my gym." Paris suddenly felt hot. No... no way! This is the Celadon City Gym Leader? "...I am the Celadon City Gym Leader," Erika continued. "As such, it is my duty to say this: I'd advise you not to get cocky. I've heard that you've beaten several of my friends since you got here. However, they all are specialized in Grass-type Pokémon, like me. All it means is that you know how to exploit one type advantage, nothing more. Your Cyndaquil will not have such as easy time at the other gyms," she stated simply, gesturing with a kimono sleeve at the timid fire mouse at Paris's side. "Now, you need to apologize for hurting... my sister's boyfriend." There was a collective sigh of relief amongst the men in the crowd. The circle suddenly tightened around Paris. Paris clenched her fists. "Look, I'm sorry, but that obviously wasn't me or my Cyndaquil!" she explained, pointing at the stain on Tyler's clothes. "Now, I could have sworn I saw a Dusclops around here somewhere! Where was it? Damn Ghost-types!" "Don't try to blame someone else, little missy," said one of the guys from the crowd as he stepped in Paris's way to block her. "You're not going to weasel your way out of this one!" "Yeah, we need to protect Miss Erika's honor!" Said another guy as he stepped out of the circle. "Whuh-- but-- I--" Paris stammered as a group of Celadon City citizens started to gather around her. Cyndaquil started to get defensive, so he flared up his quills. Paris quickly shot a glance at Erika to see if the gentle beauty would approve of such mob intimidation, but the Gym Leader had abandoned her spot! Paris caught a glimpse of Erika hurrying over to help another trainer that appeared to be more seriously injured. "Uhh..." Paris chuckled awkwardly, her hands in a defensive gesture. (OOC: Dogma and Finisterre have my permission to give Erika a little bit of dialogue. Nothing major or plot-changing.) |
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| Finisterre | Dec 23 2010, 03:04 AM Post #9 |
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Sibylla smiled and giggled to herself when she watched the Pokémon defend their trainer so readily. To her, it signified that the bond between them was strong. Such was not an easy thing to obtain—even if they obeyed, not many went out of their way to defend their trainers until they were clearly under attack. Luckily, she would stay unharmed for the moment, as she was given permission by the man to treat his wounds. He attempted to make this easier by trying to stand up, but it did him no good; his foot was too injured to allow him to stand on his own. After approaching him, Sibylla set her bags down, kneeled, opened one; she reached inside and brought out her first aid kit, a smaller bag slightly redder than her hair. She opened that also, and reached for the cotton pads, gauze, bandages, and antiseptic. She opened the antiseptic bottle and covered the opening with the cotton pad, flipped the bottle upside-down briefly, and once that was done, closed the bottle and set it down. “You’ll be fine in a minute. Just hold still,” she said, reaching for his bleeding arm with the cotton pad while holding his wrist, cleaning of the blood first, then carefully working her way to the wound. Once the area around it was clean, she re-doused the pad’s opposite side and applied it to the scar. The man flinched, but did not pull away, as the stinging sensation was nothing to what it felt like when the Razor Leaves had cut him, and the woman made sure to handle the wound with care. Once cleaned, she placed the sterile gauze pad over it, and secured it firmly with the bandage tape. She would do the same for the other wounds that dotted the man’s body. When the man made the comment of having revenge on the Nuzleaf’s trainer, she frowned, letting a tinge of her anger toward the situation seep through for just a moment; however, her medical handiwork did not change in the slightest, for helping the man recover was still her greatest immediate priority. Sibylla could not blame the man for being upset, but if everyone continually decided to be set on paying others back for these things, the troubles would never end. Nevertheless, she remained quiet – for now – and continued to work at the wounds. Her eyes glanced over to a wound she had not yet seen, because of the angle at which she first viewed him: on his stomach. She did not show any greater worry than she had, but instead she confirmed something she was already considering: the man needed help to a hospital; his clothes made it difficult to see the full extent of the damage, but the amount of bleeding on his side made it obvious that they needed to be looked at professionally. The same also applied to his foot – if it prevented him from walking, it may have been deeper than she had thought. She did not wish to remove the man’s shoe, for it would be a long and painful process of doing so, and it would expose the foot further to dirt and infection. However, the stomach was another story. “I’ll leave your foot alone; it would be better it a doctor saw that. That and the stomach are the worst of your injuries, but unlike your foot, I can clean up your stomach and shoulder—assuming you don’t mind going shirtless in public for a few moments.” As soon as she received his permission, he removed his shirt, and as quick as she had the others, she cleaned and bandaged his stomach and shoulder. He placed his shirt back on and Sibylla, having done what she could, took a plastic bag for trash from the kit and placed what she had used within it, and put the first aid kit back in her bag. “All done!” she stated, smiling brightly and putting her hands together, interweaving the fingers slightly. “Sorry I can’t tend to your foot. It just wouldn’t be a good idea for you to move on the streets with your shoe off. Better we leave it as it is for now, I think.” Then she remembered what he had said earlier: “when I find its trainer, he’s dead.” While Sibylla doubted he really meant for the trainer’s demise, the notion of continuing the violence from this battle did not sit well with her. Her face had lost that moment of cheer, and was replaced quickly by a contortion very similar to her face, but possessed an irascible quality to it; her frown from before had returned, and her eyes, while not furrowed, did look at the man with unusual directness, and her voice was similar in tone: “Oh, and about paying that Nuzleaf’s owner back? I didn’t get cut up, but I wouldn’t advise it. I’m sure he only focused on his only opponent too, and yet he still managed to get an innocent bystander hurt. Besides, I’m guessing that was your Dusclops that sent him doubling over on the ground? Consider that your payback.” But as quickly as her choleric expression had come, it passed on, and she was smiling warmly again. She rose herself up casually, and extended a hand to him. “Here—put the weight on your better leg, and we’ll get you up and headed to the hospital. Or at least, I hope they have one—” She stopped, hearing a girl’s cry close to where they were, and caused many of the people surrounding them to shift around. Her head bolted upward toward where she had heard it, and she saw a dark haired woman in oriental clothing, which oddly befitted her. There were quiet words spoken between her and the skater, and firmer ones with the other trainer. She revealed herself to be Erika, the city’s Gym Leader, before finally she moved to see Sibylla and the man. “How bad is it?” she asked. “Not terrible,” Sibylla stated, “but his foot and stomach are bad enough that they’ll need better medical attention.” “You treated his wounds?” “Yes, most of them. As I said, though, he will need to see a doctor for those two.” “I see....” Erika muttered, her head and eyes dropping. After a couple moments of silence, she bowed deeply, a perfectly straight ninety-degree angle. “I want to apologize on Tyler’s behalf for all this trouble caused.” Sibylla shifted uneasily. “That is kind of you, Miss Erika, but I think an apology from both trainers themselves would serve better.” “You would reject an apology from Lady Erika!” cried a fat man close behind Erika, arms raised in outrage. “How ungrateful can you outsiders get?!” Erika raised a hand for the man to see, and immediately he was quiet, yet still clearly disgusted. “I have spoken to Tyler about this, and he does indeed regret being a participant in this fight, and for the trouble it brought with it. Is that not enough?” “I don’t know. You know your friend better than I do.” “Then what would you suggest would be the best way for Tyler to apologize to your friend?” “Carrying him for me would be a good start,” Sibylla laughed weakly. “I say he needs to go to a hospital, yet I doubt I could get him there myself. There’s a bit of a size difference between us, as you can see.” “Fair enough,” said Erika, letting out a light giggle of her own. “Yes, it’s difficult to have someone much bigger than you relying on you for support. I will tell Tyler what he must do. And what about the girl Tyler was battling?” Sibylla peeked past Erika’s shoulder, into the gathering mass of people that was surrounding the trainer. “If you got that mob off of her, I think she’d at least be obligated to see my friend off, and maybe get an idea why having battles outside the Gyms and the wilderness are not a good idea.” Edited by Finisterre, Dec 23 2010, 03:05 AM.
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| Dogma | Dec 23 2010, 03:43 AM Post #10 |
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The cleaning pads stung like hell as she was treating his wounds, but they were effective enough. Still, she was right about his foot and stomach, they did need medical attention, badly. Tristan's hysteria had stopped as the other four wounds were treated, but it probably wouldn't last long. He looked at his arm and legs with a disgruntled look. It looked like he was going to be alright. He smiled at the girl and decided to thank her for the help. "Hey, that worked out good. Thank you. My name is Tristan, by the way." His expression turned from gratefulness to disbelief as the girl explained that his Dusclops had attacked the guy, who's name was Tyler, out of retaliation. "Wait, Faustian did what?" He looked at Faustian with anger and began to yell at him. "Faustian!! What the hell were you thinking?! You don't go and do that to people, even if they hurt someone close to you! Understand me!?" He was clearly furious at Faustian, who in turn let his eyeball on his forehead hang low. He pulled out his two Pokéballs, one for Faustian, and one for Adamantium. "Adamantium, I can tell you thought about doing the same thing, so both of you, return." He was incredibly furious at his Pokémon. Why would they think about doing something like that to someone? As soon as Erika came up to speak to them, he grew dead silent. He was in the presence of greatness, and saying something stupid would probably cost him. When the girl who helped him would have rather gotten an apology from Paris and Tyler, Tristan had to speak up. "No, it's alright. Now that I realize it, that Nuzleaf couldn't see. And upon that realization, if that damn Smokescreen attack hadn't been thrown up during the battle, collateral damage would have been avoided!!" Before he could trash Paris some more, his stomach wound was starting to get worse, and his face contorted into a wince that showed that he was in immense pain. "Damn, I should have paid attention more in school. Whoever said that Razor Leaves cut deep wasn't kidding." He tried hard to sit up further, but he couldn't stand up due to his stomach wound and his shanked foot. Tyler rushed over to help him up and get him to the hospital. "Here we go. Careful now.....ok, here, we're good." "Thanks Tyler. By the way, I want to apologize to you." "For what?" "The purple plasma on your clothes was from Faustian, my Dusclops, firing a Shadow Ball at you out of retaliation from your Nuzleaf's attack. It was still wrong for him to do, so I apologize on his behalf." "It's fine. What's done is done." Tristan said nothing more as they hobbled off toward the nearby hospital. Hopefully they would get there before he lost too much blood. |
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| The Master Plan | Dec 27 2010, 05:19 AM Post #11 |
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"Don't worry, the hospital is nearby. Man, you got it way worse than I did. I'm really sorry, dude," Tyler groaned regretfully. "Hey, Erika, can you take my skateboard back to the Gym? I can't exactly lug it around if I'm carrying this guy." Erika nodded. "Listen man--" Tyler continued, "--I gotta redeem myself for what happened just now. Tell you what. After your wounds are healed, come by the Celadon City Gym. You and I will have a real Pokémon battle. And there won't be a bunch of people in our way to mess with our vibes and get hurt or whatevs," he smiled. "All right, that's enough, you thugs! Back off already!" Paris commanded strongly, though anyone observant enough could see the slight tremble in her hands. She was a little shaken now that her successful Pokémon journey had been interrupted by this inconvenient situation. But, if she maintained her unwavering spirit, she could keep her momentum going. With a deep breath, she shoved her way past one of the larger men and out of the group; Cyndaquil hopped along in her wake. There was a small outcry and some of the Celadonians started to move forward to demand that Paris apologize to Erika, but it was already too late: as soon as she heard Tristan and Tyler exchange apologies, she was firing a new retort in Erika's direction. "See! I told you it wasn't me!" Paris exclaimed, her hands curled into fists in front of her breast. But Paris wasn't off the hook yet. "Their mistakes do not justify your undue audacity," Erika replied calmly. "Come now, we need not stand around and remain a spectacle here, arguing in the streets like barbarians. If you wish to learn some manners, come challenge me at the Celadon City Gym. I will give you a real Pokémon battle," she promised. "Now, go accompany that boy to the hospital." "I'll take you up on your offer!" Paris said with an enthusiastic smile and a thumbs up. Finally, now she was getting somewhere with this crazy girl in the kimono. Paris waved Cyndaquil on, and together they left the crowd of people, leaving Erika to deal with them. "No, please. I couldn't do autographs right now..." Erika sighed. Paris and Cyndaquil caught up to Sibylla, who was walking behind Tyler and Tristan. Paris sided up next to her. "Hey, what does 'audacity' mean?" She asked with a grin. |
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| Finisterre | Jan 3 2011, 10:54 PM Post #12 |
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Sibylla’s shoulders sagged, relieved. The conflict had seemingly transpired peacefully, and all that was left to do was to see Tristan off to the hospital, which, thankfully, was not far off according to Tyler. She felt some pity for Erika as her fan base flocked to her now, but assuming this to be a common part of her life, Sibylla had, decidedly enough, paid little other mind to it. Besides, she had left a bitter taste in at least one of their mouths, and was not eager to have the karma of that come to her. She picked up her bags and followed behind Tristan and Tyler, thinking about what she would do after Tristan was given treatment, or at the very least, admitted to the hospital. She did, after all, leave her bike beside the mall, and she had hoped no one had taken it despite it being secured. There were rumors that Team Rocket once held one of their hideouts in this very city, and though they were long gone, the same could not be said of their influence. Well, her basic plan seemed simple enough: see Tristan off, check on her bike, visit the mall for a bit, and then come back to check on her new friend. Perhaps more things would come up that called to her attention, but for the moment, it sufficed. Ah, yes—she needed a hotel room too, non-smoking, and spacious enough for her to let Charmaine out to stretch herself, and still allow them both to have quality sleeping. Her day— “Hey, what does ‘audacity’ mean?” —Her day would be a busy one, indeed. Sibylla turned to look at the other trainer, the African girl, who had managed to walk up beside Sibylla without her noticing. For a moment, it took Sibylla by surprise, and she nearly jumped from it, had she not been able to restrain herself. Audacity...she did not know enough of this girl to know how well the word fit her, although loud and expressive seemed to match. Sibylla kept this to herself however, and answered with only a smile and response: “Hm? Oh, it just means you’re exceptionally bold, is all. Sometimes, it helps someone get motivated for anything, other times people will hate your guts—just how any other person’s boldness is, just to a greater extent. You can decide if it’s good or bad.” While she didn’t feel comfortable leaving these sorts of vague answers, she was even less comfortable talking about others. Besides, she had indeed summarized audacity in a nutshell – exceptional boldness, which could be for the better or worse. Sibylla just hoped the answer would suffice for the girl long enough to let her look it up in a dictionary on her own time, if the answer wasn’t completely satisfying. But in case it wasn’t, Sibylla decided to quickly change the subject: “By the way, I’m Sibylla, a circus trainer and ringmaster-in-training. You are…?” |
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| Dogma | Jan 4 2011, 02:03 AM Post #13 |
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Tristan was struggling as hard as he could to get his leg to move. That razor leaf was really creating a major hassle for his movement. And plus, it was the only leaf that couldn't be removed initially, so if they had to cut open his foot, there would be some huge problems, mainly the newly-awoken fear within him that he may never be able to walk again. He had heard Tyler's proposition for a real Pokémon Battle and was intrigued by this offer. Was there more that his Nuzleaf could do? Maybe it had achieved its full potential? Or maybe that wasn't it, because if it had, then Tyler would have used a Leaf Stone to evolve his Nuzleaf into a Shiftry by now. Perhaps this fight could help to realize Nuzleaf's true potential. "Sounds like fun. I'll take you up on that offer. But for all fairness, I'm not going to use Faustian. He had learned how to control his Will O Wisp abilities to a much different extent, so I want to make it difficult for me. Things will be more fun that way, yeah?" Tristan stopped talking as he heard Sibylla and Paris talking behind him. Getting acquainted with one another would surely help in the long run. He wondered if because of what had happened between the four of them and Erika, this whole incident would have been forgotten. Would that really have made things right? Tristan had come to the realization that Tyler's Nuzleaf had its vision obscured, so that was forgiven. But otherwise, Paris still needed to be dealt with. She could not be let off that easily, not when she was the instigator of this whole entire mess in the first place. Tristan would have a hard time coming to forgive her, especially with the entirely flippant attitude she gave off earlier. Tch....not something I'm going to be doing anytime soon. His thoughts kept racing like that until they got to the hospital. The moment Tyler helped Tristan inside, the people in the lobby were shocked. How could someone in Tristan's state be left conscious!? He had lost a lot of blood, and could barely walk, more or less stay awake. They were right, as Tristan's mind suddenly started to waver. Now that they had finally arrived, he could be treated for his hardships. One nurse grabbed a wheelchair for him as the other staff members tried to determine what had happened. The moment Tristan sat down, they saw the razor leaf stuck in his foot and discerned the problem right away. But they were wondering how he could have been hurt that badly from a small Razor Leaf attack. Tristan, still struggling to try and keep his consciousness alive, gave Tyler a worried look that stated, "Please don't tell them anything. I don't want anything to happen to you on my behalf." No sooner had he given them the look than he was wheeled over to an operating room. They had to close up his wounds, and fast! This was scary for Tristan; He had never been to a hospital before, having lived a mostly sheltered life where he could never get hurt by anything. This was the most nightmarishly horrifying experience of his life. He had lost so much blood that they needed to operate as soon as possible to be able to save him. Once inside the OR, they had told him to shut his eyes to they could put him to sleep. He struggled initially with the fact that there was no way that they could possibly make it out of this, but they were able to calm him down by "telling him to breathe some fresh air from a tube." He passed out after that. (Hey, go ahead and skip forward to after they operate on him.) Edited by Dogma, Jan 4 2011, 06:21 PM.
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| The Master Plan | Jan 7 2011, 02:48 AM Post #14 |
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"Well, the way that Erika girl put it, 'audacity' sounds like it was meant to be a bad thing," Paris reflected with a sigh, leaning back in her chair in the hopsital waiting room and resting her hands behind her head. It had now been several hours that she had been waiting there with Sibylla (Tyler had left to return to the Celadon Gym shortly after depositing Tristan in the emergency ward) and Paris was visibly a little stir crazy. The whole time that she spent talking to Sibylla about Pokémon training and the circus, she was tapping her foot impatiently. This was ridiculous! How did she get shanghaied into babysitting this guy? It was taking precious time away from her early career as a Pokémon trainer. Time that she needed to be using to prepare for her battle against Erika. What's more, if she got stuck helping people like this all the time then she'd never make it to the Indigo League. Geez! On the bright side, at least she had made an unexpected friend out of Sibylla. Even though the two girls didn't exactly have compatible personalities, there was something about being roped into this emergency situation that had somehow broken the ice. Sibylla's stories about the circus were genuinely interesting. But Paris still wanted to get out of the hospital already. After a few more moments, a nurse came out into the waiting area and called for Paris and Sibylla. Paris gingerly got to her feet (her leg had fallen asleep) and went over to the nurse. "Your friend is absolutely fine," the smiling nurse explained. "The surgery went well and the doctors patched him all up. He should be waking up from the anesthesia now. Come with me, I'll lead you to his room so you can check on him." Paris looked over her shoulder and flashed a smile at Sibylla. Although she barely knew this punk, she was relieved that Tristan was okay. "Hey, let's get this over with so I can go catch some Pokémon." Edited by The Master Plan, Jan 8 2011, 07:46 AM.
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| Finisterre | Jan 16 2011, 02:30 AM Post #15 |
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Much like the quasi-metropolis which it was found in, the Celadon hospital was both capacious and elaborate in its layout and its presence outside its borders, despite it not being the biggest of the buildings within the city. Upon the surface, it was a pearly white building with windows only slightly darker than the leaves of mints, a theme that, Sibylla noted, well-fitted the city it was built in. Further consistency could be noted inside, also—white halls, with large snaking ochre brick patterns on the entrance and lobby walls, where in some places, the bricks would jut out from the walls to provide a platform for where shrubs and flowers grew, emanating a relaxing scent inside. Worrisome, when one considered pollen allergies some people could have; but then, no sensible people with pollen allergies made regular or extended visits to Celadon for that very reason. Sibylla continued to travel behind Tristan and Tyler until he was finally taken away by the doctors, assured by them he would be fine. She had been tempted them to leave the hospital and return to the mall for (mostly window) shopping, but before she could, she had her attention hauled over to the girl she now knew as Paris, who desired to learn more of Sibylla and her profession. Reluctantly, Sibylla humored her. It was not completely undesirable, though. She rather enjoyed educating someone on what she did, and why. It made her motivations and intentions clearer that way; and, after all, helping others understand these things was why she had entered this tournament at all. This was not a bad start. And in turn, she learned about Paris and her background – her successful, if varied and even sporadic childhood, and her own motivations for the tournament. Some small few hours had passed and a nurse entered the lobby, calling to Paris and Sibylla to approach. Sibylla rose up and stretched for a long moment, reassured them both their friend would be fine, and needed only further rest. Sibylla nodded, and smiled. “That’s good to hear.” Paris seemed equally pleased, and she turned back to Sibylla and showed one of her bright smiles, though she was apparently eager to go on and continue her Pokémon journey. Though Sibylla hadn’t thought of any Pokémon she could want from here, she had to agree, and so she smiled back as they started to follow the nurse down the halls. “Yeah, I really want to see what the stores here have as well. It can’t hurt to start building my circus tents early, right?” The girls chattered for a bit, and sometimes the nurse would throw in quips as well. The tension from a few hours ago had gone away, and somehow, Sibylla couldn’t stay irked at Paris and Tyler any longer. But still, in some ways, she did worry about the aftermath, so she eventually made a comment about Tristan: “His condition seemed pretty bad.” “We expected it to be worse, to be honest,” said the nurse, who looked back and smiled to the girls as usual, “being razor leaves, after all, and the blood making a good mess of his clothes. But somehow, underneath, he was bandaged pretty well. It was still bloody after we got them off, but no infections. It made stitching him up easy.” “Oh, good, I wasn’t sure how well they’d do. What I used wasn’t really meant for those deep cuts.” “Trust me; it was better than just leaving them be.” The nurse shook her head and frowned in mock sadness. “Or for that matter, it was better than amputating the cut places. I know some people who do that and think it’s a good way of solving the problem....” “Isn’t it, though?” Sibylla asked, almost giggling at the thought. “It certainly gets rid of the problem.” “And it takes much more with it,” replied the nurse, letting her lower lip jut out just a little. “That it does. Still, I should consider it for if my circus actors get injured.” “If your actors can do one-armed and one-legged trapeze acts just as good as any of the other experts, then they are truly amazing,” the nurse said, contemplating just how serious Sibylla was being. “And here we are! This is his room. He should be awake now.” “Thanks.” The nurse bade Sibylla and Paris goodbye, and left, leaving the girls to check on Tristan quickly. Sibylla opened the door carefully, allowed Paris in, and closed it behind them. She turned, and walked from the little hallway of the room to the main part of it, darkened from slightly closed curtains to allow its occupant to rest easy, and little of her body, be it her porcelain skin to her vermillion hair, lost any of its brightness in comparison to outside despite it. She merely looked down at Tristan’s bed with the same warm smile, and asked, “How are you feeling?” Edited by Finisterre, Jan 16 2011, 03:13 AM.
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