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Written Story Screenshot [MW2] The Cockroach- Has Isekai gone too far?

Thread Description
Filler Time! Art and Meme Edition

Tookie

The Immoral Bard
Writer
Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
80
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
426
Location
Southern England
Nature
Lax
Pronouns
He/Him
Pokémon Type
Poison, Psychic
Pokédex Entry
This user does not exist. All impressions to the contrary are propaganda pieces and not to be trusted.
Hello, and welcome to... yeah. Veteran Isekai protagonist in a world where everything he knows is a lie. Gonna be fun! Heads up; this one may end up alluding to The Violences down the road, though if anything particularly Heads Up-worthy crops up in specific posts CWs will be applied.​

Fingers crossed the little-and-often approach to writing I have will translate to keeping up with checkpoints and delivering something resembling quality.​

Mirror World 2- The Cockroach




Morton breathed a sigh of relief. He'd finally caught up on all of the blasted paperwork that Mr Second Life had caused for him! The Ts were crossed, the Is were dotted, and everything was once again in order! Alvagarde was dead once more, the course that fate had ordained for that world had been corrected and the lovely Moira was smiling again! Perhaps now he could get up, stretch his legs and make small talk at the water cooler for a few minutes- maybe see if Moira was up for coffee or dinner some time soon, he knew a lovely little tapas place and she just hadn't seemed herself recently... hmm, no, best not go with that. Wouldn't do to sound obsessed! Just stay cool, enjoy a nice chilled glass of water, maybe play some solitaire for a bit when he got back to the desk, it was a slow week and lunch was still a couple of hours off. Life- or, afterlife- was good once again.​

He enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the office, nodding politely and exchanging quick greetings with his co-workers as he went. It seemed that all was in order all around once more, and postmortem affairs were sailing smoothly. “Lovely morning, yeah.” “All good here, you?” “Yeah, not bad.” “Holiday next week, then?” “Yeah, gonna be great!”

But all things must come to an end, and when he returned to his desk- after a very refreshing beverage- something was amiss once more.​

The file. The bastard file he'd been working for three months on- Michael Alvagarde. It was gone- vanished into thin air! Three months of pencil pushing and form signing- duplicate, triplicate, quadruplicate! Gone! Nothing to show for it! Nobody stole in the office, nothing just went missing, never! Except... no. No, no, Gods be fucking damned, no! The last time something had gone missing was... Alvagarde, the first time. Quick vehicle crash at high speed, completely unremarkable for that world, a five minute jobby- and then the file had vanished, he'd had another shot at life and caused absolute pandemonium! It was a disaster- it had Morton frantically tearing through his office grasping at any hope whatsoever that he'd just misplaced it. That he'd been the victim of a small jokelet, a prank, a jape, anything but the worst case! ​

About... fifteen? Twenty? Twenty minutes later, he sunk to his knees and sighed deeply. Sweat dripped from his forehead- he hadn't known he could move that fast! Or make that much mess! But now he had to clean all of that up- get all of those files back in order- and then... work out where Problem Child had ended up this time, and find a way of stopping him from making more work for good, decent administrators everywhere!​

… That dinner date would have to wait again, wouldn't it?​




Michael woke with a start, springing out of bed with eyes wide. Only one question was on his mind; Where am I this time? He knew immediately, of course, that whatever bullshit stroke of fate had kept him ticking after the truck had struck true again- somehow, for a second time, he'd cheated death its due. It was almost disappointing, really; at least, if he'd stayed dead this time he could say he'd died for a good cause- and died well. If in pain. Lots of it, actually; as it turned out, yes, swords are very painful, and ideally something to be avoided. Fire is also less than ideal, though whatever magic had brought him back for a third lease on life had mercifully undone the burns and the crippling aspects of his war wounds. He just had to... well, not do that again. There would be no more feats of daring do and blind stupidity based largely on abusing his good fortunes for Michael Alvagarde, that was for sure!

But... where was he?


He took stock of the room- very spartan, he concluded. Bed, worn. Little bit on the small side for him, probably designed for someone who hadn't had their growth spurts just yet. Old manual radio and... a big chunky TV? Was he in the nineties? How did that work? "Okay, no," he muttered to himself. "Wrong question there." After all, he'd died twice, and the second time he'd done it in some godforsaken medieval hellscape with magic, monsters and enough political dickfuckery to make Brexit look streamlined and professional. Running back to the nineties was pedestrian after all that. Big fat computer monitor- oddly nostalgic. Then there was a bookcase- books were good, books would tell him more than trying to faff about with somebody's Windows 95 or tune a radio in a foreign environment.

TV was out of the question- going back to the olden days before online streaming just wasn't going to happen, unless he was feeling lucky and wanted to take his chances on World Number Four. With that thought passing through, Michael slowly made his way across the room towards the bookcase- very relieved that everything appeared to be working once more.


"Hang about..." Well, these weren't book titles Michael recognised. "The Birds and the Beedrills? Pokemon training for dummies? The Combee Movie Script, in Calligraphy?" Flicking through some of the more informative-looking ones, he was forced to conclude that someone, somewhere, had one hell of a sense of humour. On the bright side, if the Pokemon he had recollections of from his first life were any basis... he was beginning to feel more confident. A stray breath escaped- one he hadn't realised he'd been holding in. There was a distinct relaxation in his posture as he put the educational ones away- and, figuring that he could use the giggle, decided to have a closer look at that Combee Movie script.

After all, he knew his luck. He knew, deep down, that- however he wished otherwise- there was going to be some hilariously outlandish way that everything was about to go horribly wrong.
 

Trollkitten

Kitten of Lore
Artist
Writer
Team Delta
Pokédex No.
208
Caught
Jun 30, 2019
Messages
993
Location
Gatto Region
Nature
Quirky
Pronouns
She/her, Aetherai Lorekeeper
Pokémon Type
Fairy, Clever
Pokédex Entry
Autistic writer who starts more things than she finishes. Hyper asexual Twitch Plays Pokemon lorewriter. Rather be a happy shill than an angry critic.
After all, he knew his luck. He knew, deep down, that- however he wished otherwise- there was going to be some hilariously outlandish way that everything was about to go horribly wrong.
And THAT, my friends, is how you end an introduction!
 

Second

A Yu-Gi-Oh! Protagonist but in Real Life
Writer
Screenshotter
Team Delta
Pokédex No.
206
Caught
Jun 30, 2019
Messages
543
Nature
Quirky
Pronouns
They / Them
Pokémon Type
Fairy, Ice
Pokédex Entry
This Pokemon has a tendency to start many projects as they come to mind, but they tend to only finish projects other people have made deadlines for.
And I, personally, cannot wait for the hilariously outlandish way everything goes wrong! (I also cannot wait until we find out more about Michael's past life. I mean. Both of them. Both of his past past lives.
 

Heather

blep
Team Omega
Pokédex No.
265
Caught
Jul 1, 2019
Messages
135
Location
Fódlan
Nature
Sassy
Pronouns
she/her, they/them works too
Pokémon Type
Water, Cute
Pokédex Entry
This Pokémon is a flaming lesbian under a mountain of gender dysphoria. Wheeeee!
Third time around? Better call him Michael Thrice-Radiant-decapitated

Keychain of creation references aside, on a scale of 1-10 how much is Michael going to wish Golgoth was the worst of his problems in a hot 20 minutes? Vote now on your phones!
 

Jimcloud

Administrator
Administrator
Moderator
🌱Featurer
🎇Contributor
Writer
Screenshotter
Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
3
Caught
May 13, 2019
Messages
848
Pronouns
they/he/she
Michael, internally: well I see my Extradimensional wine tasting party continues unabated

Morton you poor bastard you're really goin thru it this time buddy I have nothing but sympathy even if you're a persistent nice guy

Have fun with the other shoe dropping, Alvagarde.
 

Sheepscope

Conqueror of the Azalea Gym
Hacker
Team Delta
Pokédex No.
71
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
203
Location
A bed, with wall-to-wall books and a papery carpet
Nature
Adamant
Pronouns
She and they in no particular order, he very rarely; I'm beginning to think that I'm gender-fluid or flux. I have no clue, and I'm probably overthinking this.
Pokémon Type
Fairy, Poison
Pokédex Entry
Constantly in search of the highest challenge, this person takes up the most impractical rulesets.
*buckles seatbelt*





I feel you, Morton. You sound like you need someone to talk to, someone you care about. Like Moira. You could ask her what's going on, too. She'll appreciate that.
 

k80

h
Screenshotter
Team Delta
Pokédex No.
92
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
88
Location
h
Nature
Rash
Pronouns
she/her
Pokémon Type
Electric, Bug
Pokédex Entry
h
work out where Problem Child had ended up this time, and find a way of stopping him from making more work for good, decent administrators everywhere!
does.... does this mean old mikey is gonna go on a murder spree
 

Tookie

The Immoral Bard
Writer
Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
80
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
426
Location
Southern England
Nature
Lax
Pronouns
He/Him
Pokémon Type
Poison, Psychic
Pokédex Entry
This user does not exist. All impressions to the contrary are propaganda pieces and not to be trusted.
  • Thread Starter Thread Starter
  • #8
And THAT, my friends, is how you end an introduction!
"Hey, thanks! I don't know what I'm introducing, but I appreciate the thought!"

And I, personally, cannot wait for the hilariously outlandish way everything goes wrong! (I also cannot wait until we find out more about Michael's past life. I mean. Both of them. Both of his past past lives.
"Everyone died and everything caught fire. I can only hope this world is better."

Keychain of creation references aside, on a scale of 1-10 how much is Michael going to wish Golgoth was the worst of his problems in a hot 20 minutes? Vote now on your phones!
"Wait... What's a Golgoth? I don't know anything about that- was it something to do with those cultists? I don't know, I died."

Michael, internally: well I see my Extradimensional wine tasting party continues unabated
"... Hoo, boy, wine sounds good right now."

Morton you poor bastard you're really goin thru it this time buddy I have nothing but sympathy even if you're a persistent nice guy
"Wait... Morton? That's... that's not my name. That's only got like one letter of my name in it, are we all sure I'm getting the right mail here?"

I feel you, Morton. You sound like you need someone to talk to, someone you care about. Like Moira. You could ask her what's going on, too. She'll appreciate that.
"I don't think this is my mail, who's this Morton guy? He sounds like he has some issues going on here- not that I'm one to judge anyone for having issues, but then I don't normally get other people's sympathy notes."

does.... does this mean old mikey is gonna go on a murder spree
"I... that was one time! And they were all right bastards, I tell you- being dead improved them massively!"



Well, the house seemed empty enough. Nobody in sight, no real homey touches- if it wasn't for the clear absence of tech... and the fact he'd never had a whole house to himself, he could almost swear he was back in his old world. The one where he'd kept his nose down and shuffled along through life. Times were underrated back there- at least, from his position of relative privilege. He'd had less to worry about- though, knowing what he knew about himself now... probably best not to go yearning for that particular home. A whole batch of new memories and traumas that he couldn't exactly share without a one way trip to a straightjacket and padded walls, and a newly-discovered inability to ignore the injustices of the world around him... hoo, boy. That sounded like a recipe for some really ugly outcomes to Michael.​

What did catch his eye of the house, though- very suspiciously- was a phone left on the table. A smartphone that frankly had no right being in this relic of a house. He poked and prodded it a few times, then noticed a small tag next to it. “For the... Cockroach?” Michael frowned- while that might be an accurate way to describe him... it definitely wasn't flattering. “... I guess it must be mine?” He shrugged and pocketed the thing; if nothing else, having a phone to hand didn't seem like the worst idea... even if he did have nobody to call.​

A low gurgle came from his stomach- oh, right, of course he still needed to eat. How long had it been? Questions for later. Check the cupboards, check the fridge... and, yeah, why would he expect an abandoned house to still actually have food? Nonsense.​

“Well, then,” he muttered to himself. “Best get myself out and about- for food, if nothing else.”​


The outside was... quaint. Rustic. A small, peaceful, sleepy little village with not much in the way of note to anyone of any era, really. After about a quarter of an hour of idle trudging, he did find a small market where he could at least snaffle a couple of bread rolls and some bits of fruit. Job one, successful. Job two... getting his bearings and hopefully finding a bigger bastion of civilisation that he could work on figuring out job three; his finances. They were painfully limited- what felt like about £20 to his name before food shopping, and he was fairly sure that no matter how you sliced that, he was poor.

Best move on to somewhere a bit more materially inclined. Just get out of the village, onto the open road, keep one foot in front of the other, act natural and-- still attract attention, with one of the locals hollering in his direction.

“... Yeah? Can I help you?” Basic politeness never hurt anyone, after all.

“You can't just go out in the wild, lad!” The woman looked... exasperated, slightly out of breath- had she been chasing him? “Where's your Pokemon?”

“I don't have one.” Michael shrugged; was it really a big deal? He was hardly some defenceless child, after all... even if he'd ended up bereft of weaponry when he arrived here- still, he could run, and run well. That was enough for him to get by if anything did go-- alright, when it went wrong.

“Well, then you can't leave!” The woman had one hand firmly on her hip, the other wagging a pointed finger at Michael. “We'll not send another lad out there without a Pokemon- it's for your own good!” There was a note of... despair? Despair. Clearly, this meant something to the woman, and Michael exhaled slightly.

“... Okay,” Michael nodded slowly. “But I do need to leave- where would I get one, then?”

The woman relaxed, a smile threatening to crack slightly. “You want Elm's lab, dear- just up the hill there, he'll sort you out one.”


Thanking the lady, Michael turned back into the village and up towards the rather larger building he’d been pointed to. He paused momentarily as he felt a strange chill run down his back- then, not seeing any sign of immediate danger, made his way into the laboratory regardless. Wouldn’t do to start jumping at any old shadow just yet, he reasoned. Feebly. Damn paranoia, and damn medieval hellscapes for instilling it in him to such a fine degree.




There he was- so close, Morton could smell the cheap Lynx body spray on Alvagarde! He was there, he was vulnerable, and oh how Morton wished he wasn't bound by rules! He could snuff the impertinent rascal out now if he hadn't signed another contract!

"Mustn't spoil the game," Morton muttered to himself. "Got to be sporting about it- but why!?" He'd never admit to rolling his eyes- that was beneath his image- but his patience was being tried, and this stupid wig wasn't helping either. Yes, okay, he was getting on in years and he was rather follically challenged, but that wasn't something to be ashamed of! Why did he have to wear the wig and the hideous teenage getup? He hadn’t worn a hoodie since… well, ever, because when he was young enough for it to not look stupid, they hadn’t been invented yet! He had a perfectly good three-piece suit that wouldn’t look out of place here- nobody ever thought twice about accountants!

And yet, here he was, in a stupid outfit waiting to be told that, yes, he could go after the bloody aberration and have done with this before he made more of a mess. Games were one thing, but Morton had seen the Tree of Souls- Alvagarde was a true menace and needed to be destroyed, not given chances to grow! He’d have Fate’s glorious tapestry torn asunder in no time at all, and he didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it! It was unacceptable! How was Moira to smile again with her unlife’s work in tatters!?



The menace in question strode into the Pokemon Laboratory, bold as brass. He received polite smiles from the assistants, who pointed him straight to the back of the building- where a stick insect of a man was feverishly hammering away at his keyboard. If Michael was honest with himself- and he tried for that, at least- the sound was incredibly nostalgic. Nostalgic enough, even, that he missed the obvious warning signs that something was wrong; he was expected.


That snapped him to attention, and quickly. “That’s a statement, alright,” he said. “I was expecting more ‘who are you and what are you doing here’, but… I guess? Technically correct on both counts?”

“Yes, yes, good, good,” Elm muttered, turning his focus back to his computer. “Could you be a gent and help yourself to one of those three Pokemon on the table there? I’m rather busy.”

… Okay, that settled it- something was fishy here. He could buy that, yes, being here meant he’d like to talk about a Pokemon, but these chaps seemed to be a touch too accommodating for Michael’s liking. He’d had enough experience with being led by the nose already- but, if there was a trap in the making… burn that bridge when I come to it, he thought. From orbit, preferably.



There they sat; three hopefully proud and noble creatures, that might be the things that got him on his way to... well, somewhere. Literally anywhere other than ye olden sleepy village at the arse-end of the country. One, a badger of some sort that happened to be on fire; one, a small bat-like thing... and one, a small little ball of puff. He'd like to say that he hadn't immediately jumped at his first impression- that he had actually taken more than a whopping two seconds to make the decision as to which of these small beasts would be his boon companion in the wilderness. But... no, it was immediate, and it was the burning badger. "That one," he'd said with barely a thought, "I think I'll call him Iggy."

"Interesting," Elm muttered from his desk. "Very interesting..." This prompted a frown from Michael; was it really? But Elm either hadn't noticed- likely- or just didn't care. "Ah! Yes! You," he said, leaping from his chair and whirling on Michael in an instant. "As payment for that Cyndaquil of yours, I have an errand that I need someone to run!"

There's the bitch, Michael silently mused to himself. "I... am a someone, this is true- what am I being volunteered for?"

"Oh, nothing much," Elm waved a hand airily. "I just need someone to take a waddle over to an old friend's house- lives not far from Cherrygrove, you see... he says he's found something he wants me to examine. I just need someone... capable... to go and fetch it for me."

Hm. Well... there was only his rapidly fading conscience stopping him from just... not doing that. "Sounds fair," Michael nodded something resembling an agreement. "I can do that." Don't push, don't push... Elm quickly dashed across the room to Michael and grabbed at the newly-obtained phone- fuck, so much for that. How good was he at lying, again?

Not two seconds later, he was being gently pushed back through the length of the lab- "off you go, lad, there's a good sport- call me when you're coming back!"- and out the door once more. Not the politest way of going about things, but such was life- Elm seemed to be a busy man, after all, and... well, there was that sense he was being shepherded gently along once more.


... And there was that bloody chill again- what was that?


It was out of his mind, was what. He was on the open road with Iggy in tow, and the little badger was... suspiciously not doing fire things to the more aggressive of the local wildlife. There was a lot of glowing and ramming, and the occasional sharp gust of wind... was Iggy faulty? Had he been fobbed off with a broken badger? Well, there was only one way to find out- did he or did he not possess a phone with an Internet?

"He called you a Cyndaquil," Michael mused, typing something on the phone as Iggy headbutted another of the stranger creatures trying to get some crispy fried human. "Now, you are... eh?" A double-take. "Steel... and Flying!? And... no sign of anything to do with fire or burning or... actually, that might be something of a blessing..." He shuddered; being set on fire really hadn't been his idea of a good time- probably not something to be repeated anytime soon. Or ever. Really didn't need the sensation of smoke filling his lungs again, definitely a zero out of five. But that was irrelevant to his circumstances.


The next town- Cherrygrove, he assumed, or hoped- was... not overly large, either. A little moreso than previous, with more actually visible amenities- hell, there was even a small hospital on the outskirts! And, yet, irrelevant to the greater decision; actually return to Elm with the Thing... or not do that? Yet, his curiosity was piqued, and he had to know what the Thing actually was. Instead of his usual aimless wandering through streets after street to see all that could be seen, it was straight through the main road and back into the wilderness!


That didn't last long, though, as he quickly stumbled on the locals having a few practise bouts- and completely ignoring his attempts to ask for directions. Not wanting to walk straight through the middle of some pitched creature fighting, he shrugged lightly before looking for another route... into the forest! Long grass, thickly wooded... exactly where a chap might, say, consider alternative plans of action with his little burning badger with no sign of actually burning. Or... he stopped short.

"So, I've been sent to a cabin in the woods..." Michael chuckled to himself. "Alright, Iggy- lets get killed!" He didn't know if that thing about dogs responding to tone more than actual words would carry over to Cyndaquils or whatever, but it couldn't hurt? Right?

... Right?

He knocked on the door, and was immediately ushered into the small house- "Ah! Welcome, welcome! You must be Michael, yes? Elm's assistant?" Michael just about managed to stifle a sigh, but at least with this chap he could reason that Elm had done a decent thing and sent word ahead of the dogsbody. Instead, he looked around the cosy little setup that the stranger had for himself here. Little cabin in the woods... it was nice, actually. Isolated, peaceful... and that was the exact moment it clicked in Michael's head that, yes, he had grown accustomed to not having all the amenities of the twenty-first century in his life. That time, the sigh wasn't stifled, and he stared past the older gentleman with his mind far, far away from his current circumstances.

"Here, here," the gentleman said eventually, dragging Michael from introspective reverie, proudly hefting something into the air. "I've found it!" 'It'... well, it looked like an egg. A big egg, but an egg nonetheless.

"... Wow," Michael said, completely sincerely. "That's... well, you'd make one hell of an omelette out of that!" Or... hmm. No, he told himself, best not think about all of the ways that one could cook the Professor's prized... egg.

"Oh no, no, no!" Mr Pokemon laughed. "There shall be no eating the prized discovery! Not until Elm has had a look at it as well!"

"... Yeah, you're right," Michael said, chuckling to himself, "Elm looks like he could use a good feeding, actually. Think he'd let me have some?" He sighed; his jokes were falling a bit on the flat side. "Fine, no eating the scientific research project." Yet. Really should've eaten more than that.

Thanking the man for his time, Michael stepped back out into the woods and, cursing his general not-actually-being-an-arse, picked up the phone. A quick flick through the menus... a whopping one contact... aaaaand... the tone.

A lot of tone.

"Ah." Not even voicemail? That was... unfortunate. What could it mean?
 

Jimcloud

Administrator
Administrator
Moderator
🌱Featurer
🎇Contributor
Writer
Screenshotter
Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
3
Caught
May 13, 2019
Messages
848
Pronouns
they/he/she
Oh, this was really good, Tookie. I completely don't blame Michael for not going full ham on the first thing anyone asks him to do here; he is a stranger to them, after all, and I can see how dying for a cause might make you a touch sour grapes.

Cranky cuz you haven't met Morton yet aren't you Michael
 

Sheepscope

Conqueror of the Azalea Gym
Hacker
Team Delta
Pokédex No.
71
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
203
Location
A bed, with wall-to-wall books and a papery carpet
Nature
Adamant
Pronouns
She and they in no particular order, he very rarely; I'm beginning to think that I'm gender-fluid or flux. I have no clue, and I'm probably overthinking this.
Pokémon Type
Fairy, Poison
Pokédex Entry
Constantly in search of the highest challenge, this person takes up the most impractical rulesets.
Let me get you up to speed on how Morton feels about you dying multiple times.



Also, please send my previous message to him, or I'm going to call the being that sent you here, and make my own contract with him for the love of author-verse mail delivery services.
 

k80

h
Screenshotter
Team Delta
Pokédex No.
92
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
88
Location
h
Nature
Rash
Pronouns
she/her
Pokémon Type
Electric, Bug
Pokédex Entry
h
poor morton. guy didn't meet the edginess quota and had to dress to meet it. happens to the best of us, unfortunately
 

SilverDoe

Conqueror of the Cinnabar Gym
Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
37
Caught
Jun 10, 2019
Messages
96
Location
Verdanturf Town
Nature
Timid
Pronouns
She/Her
Pokémon Type
Water, Ghost
I'm loving Michael's story so far. It's great how sort of nonchalant-ly he takes everything, which I guess if you've already died twice, it takes a lot to throw you off.

I just hope he doesn't eat the egg before getting to hatch it.
 

Tookie

The Immoral Bard
Writer
Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
80
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
426
Location
Southern England
Nature
Lax
Pronouns
He/Him
Pokémon Type
Poison, Psychic
Pokédex Entry
This user does not exist. All impressions to the contrary are propaganda pieces and not to be trusted.
  • Thread Starter Thread Starter
  • #13
I feel you, Morton. You sound like you need someone to talk to, someone you care about. Like Moira. You could ask her what's going on, too. She'll appreciate that.
"Oh, no, I couldn't- not right now, anyway. She's got enough to worry about with that reprobate interfering with her work!"

I completely don't blame Michael for not going full ham on the first thing anyone asks him to do here; he is a stranger to them, after all, and I can see how dying for a cause might make you a touch sour grapes.
"He's a fraud and a menace, he doesn't know how not to go ham!" I need pictures! Pictures of Alvagarde!

poor morton. guy didn't meet the edginess quota and had to dress to meet it. happens to the best of us, unfortunately
"Why is this a quota?! If we needed clowns for our amusement, we could just ask Facebook!"

I'm loving Michael's story so far. It's great how sort of nonchalant-ly he takes everything, which I guess if you've already died twice, it takes a lot to throw you off.
"Don't applaud him- his nonchalance ruins lives!"

Cranky cuz you haven't met Morton yet aren't you Michael
"who the fuck is a morton and why do people want me to meet him"

Let me get you up to speed on how Morton feels about you dying multiple times.
"schmoes mad schmoes mad, i'm sure he'll get over it eventually- i know i did!"



“... Oh dear,” Michael said- unsure why he was actually talking to himself, and just how well Iggy understood spoken English. “I seem to be getting some interference- I can't seem to reach Elm to tell him I have the package. Whatever shall I do?” He gave it a moment, scratching at his unfortunate bit of stubbly beard, before sighing and fiddling with his phone some more. “Alright- one more crack, it can't just be dodgy signal, can it? There's a whole thing right behind me...”

But it was no use- the delightfully smart phone didn't seem to be reaching Elm at all, and that godforsaken chill was back.

“You won't have much luck there, I'm afraid.” Michael perked up at the sound of a voice coming from the trees- a bit nasally, not someone he recognised, and would definitely have been cause for concern even without the rather ominous wording. “They're a little... occupied.” The source of said voice emerged into plain view, and Michael was struck with the sudden urge to laugh.

He didn't bother hiding it; the man looked ridiculous. Easily into his 40s with bright red hair- if it was hair, and not a wig- and a very poorly-fitting hoodie, pot-belly hanging out for all to see. He hadn't bothered taking off a battered old pair of glasses either; it was a bizarre meeting between embittered middle-manager and teenaged rebel, and the sight of the older man was enough to break Michael's aloof composure. Rich peals of laughter rang through the forest, punctuated by harsh clapping- before the older man loudly cleared his throat.

“... Are you done yet?” The nasally voice just completed the ridiculous image, and set Michael off once again. “Very well then- laugh while you can!” He puffed out his chest. “Your amusement shan't last long, I assure you!”

“I-I dunno,” Michael wheezed out through unabated laughter. “You look like the kind of joke that keeps on giving!” He received only a flat glare in response- dead scarlet eyes peering over thick-rimmed glasses. “Oh, god, please stop; you're killing me!”

The older man's blank expression gave way, his pursed lips slipping into a sly grin. “Funny you should say that.”

He might have been laughing at the unfortunate soul's aesthetic, but Michael certainly hadn't missed the underlying edge in that last statement. “So, are you the world's dorkiest serial killer or what? Because, look, I know you think you're trying to threaten me, but it just... isn't.

“Yes, you are a bold one, aren't you?” The older man's eyes narrowed further- a move that, while probably meant to be intimidating, still fell flat with that mismatched getup. "I suppose I can't hold that against you; few can claim to have returned from beyond the veil of Death.”

The clench in Michael's jaw was slight- most people would have missed it. Most. “You really aren't all here, are you, mate?” The tone was light and conversational, at least; politicians and conniving kitsune had, if nothing else, helped him learn to maintain his poker face. Now, how the hell would this loon know about that?

“I... suppose not. But it doesn't really matter, does it?” The stranger takes a red sphere from his belt- a Pokeball. “I know what I must do, Alvagarde!” Throwing the ball high, a creature emerges from a bright light within; it's... the little pink ball of puff that was in Elm's lab! “Come, Kali!”

… Really. “Alright, Iggy! Get out there!” If nothing else, he'd privately been looking forward to getting into one of these Pokemon fights with something else. Just... maybe not someone so clearly unhinged. “Do the thing!”

“F-Fire Punch!” fire what now … So the little pink puffball that didn't look like it could hurt a fly was actually packing literal heat- and Iggy squealed in pain as the punch landed a direct hit. Right. Clearly, while Michael might have known a thing or two about fighting his own battles... his backseat tactics and risk assessment could use some work.

Shit what does this thing actually do? “Iggy, do the ram thing!” … True tactical Pokemon master in the making, he was not. Yet. In theory. Hopefully. … Maybe. Michael tended to consider anything that didn't kill him or any of the people around him to be a roaring success, and Iggy was still swinging like a trooper! He did the ram thing and even a thing where he blew high-speed winds in the direction of anything that looked at him funny! This might have included Mr Nutjob. Hypothetically. Perhaps. Entirely unintentionally.

Watching two small and cuddly little monsters trade blows until one- Kali- collapsed under the blunt-force trauma- wasn't quite how Michael had anticipated meeting a murderer-type-bloke in the woods would go, but as long as he was winning... a win was a win. It wasn't elegant, dignified or any of those other words that people had tried to educate Michael on for so long, but it would do as the older man sighed and recalled his defeated Pokemon. Iggy stepped forward, chirping aggressively in his direction.

“I see,” the man said, finally noticing the cuts that Iggy's winds had 'unintentionally' caused. “You really do trust in your luck, don't you?”

Michael scoffed. “You're just noticing that now? I thought you knew my name.” He might be a lunatic, and I'm not sure how competent he actually is, but... he definitely knows more than he should. … I'll have to keep an eye or three on him. And there, Michael was hoping that maybe he'd managed to catch a break in a new world- why he'd let himself hope for the easy life, he wasn't sure, but the thought had been there.

“I do.” The older man shrugged. “I suppose it's only polite to tell you mine, then- you may call me Morton.”

“Hm. Politeness.” Michael sucked in a breath. “Odd concept for a man dealing in threats and murder.” There was that famed luck-pushing again.

"Perhaps it is more than you deserve,” Morton conceded, nodding the barest fraction. “But, just remember- I'm not the murderer here.”

With that, Morton simply vanished into the ether, leaving Michael to scratch his head and debate the merits of phoning Elm again versus... just walking off with the egg. Going his own way, reneging on a promise. … Hrn. Damning his giving nature- especially after it had proven fatal- he picked up the phone once more and was met yet again with the dull tone of 'give up'. … Nah, he'd tried, and with Morton's ominous claims in mind, he thought it best to write that off as a loss. With egg in tow, he set off through the forest again.

Should maybe think about getting ahold of more of these Pokemon... wonder if that market I saw has more of these balls?



Damn, damn damnation! He had to preen and posture in sight of Alvagarde, and he'd blown a chance to kill the man before he grew too strong! He'd sounded foolish! He looked ridiculous, he'd said the stupidest things... it was a mess! Gods above, if Moira had seen that sorry display... no! Best not think about that! Don't dwell on it! Just move on! Forget it happened, plan and prepare better for the next round, and maybe lose the provided costumes... and hope that Alvagarde would forget to take him seriously until it was too late for him. Maybe- maybe there was an upside to that rash action; he'd just have to learn from the mistake, move past the embarrassment and capitalise on any possible advantages.


Yes, that was it- positive thinking! This was a minor setback, a single battle lost when the war was still there for the waging! There was absolutely nothing for Morton to worry about! He'd just have to keep shadowing the rat bastard, through crowded cities- and what was he buying? Supplies? The tools of the trade on this silly plane- and the open roads. Follow his progress, observe him and the additions to his menagerie- the larvae, the bird... the fossil...


And... oh, that was an ominous looking cave- nope! Morton had seen just enough of that one from a safe distance; if Alvagarde wanted to explore that and get himself killed... well, it'd save Morton a job, then, wouldn't it?




Spelunking had been a mistake, if the shaking of the ground around him was any indication. Something was moving around in these caves, and the floor didn't like it- which boded poorly for Michael. Either that or he'd just walked into a death-trap, and he couldn't decide which of those options was a) more likely, or b) preferable. But that was what smartphones were for- being a convenient sort of torch to brighten ones path through the world. In this case, a literal one!


Bad call bad call bad call! The gleam of his torch had agitated some of the local wildlife, and evidently one bird in particular had had some sort of deep-set vendetta against sources of light or being ambushed- the tremoring and shaking grew more violent as the bird squawked its fury for all to hear. Iggy quickly charged forward, sending the birdly creature reeling with a powerful full-bodied tackle, and Michael followed it up with a thrown ball to capture the thing before it could cause a cave-in. … More of a cave-in. … Okay, that was a lot of shaking something is going wrong fuck fuck abandon the treasure hunt grab that ball pick iggy up and run. Run, run, don't look back at the horrible sounds coming from deeper in the cave, don't think about how close those falling stalactites were- definitely don't stop to see if you actually did tie your shoelaces properly today just fucking move and let God sort the rest out. Left, right, left, right, one foot in front of the other, inhale, exhale inhale exhale left right left right-- that's it! That's the exit! With one more desperate burst of energy, Michael powered onwards, not thinking about anything but that gleaming little door of hope...


Well. Breathing heavily, Michael sunk to his knees and let Iggy plop gracefully onto the grass. His heart was thudding rapidly, his lungs felt like they were on fire and he was fairly sure his legs were going to declare a mutiny in the morning- not for the first time- but he was, in fact, alive! Alive, intact, and in possession of a new friend! Hopefully. If it could be trusted to not doom them all.

“Well, well,” he eventually said, looking at the ball containing the offending creature. “You're quite the little hazard, aren't you?”



… On second thought, maybe he should have followed the idiot in- he could have made the split second difference between life and death. Another mistake already... Hmm. At least he could say he'd protected himself- he was fairly sure that what he was thinking of would have violated the Rules.

There would be other chances soon. He hoped.
 

Sheepscope

Conqueror of the Azalea Gym
Hacker
Team Delta
Pokédex No.
71
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
203
Location
A bed, with wall-to-wall books and a papery carpet
Nature
Adamant
Pronouns
She and they in no particular order, he very rarely; I'm beginning to think that I'm gender-fluid or flux. I have no clue, and I'm probably overthinking this.
Pokémon Type
Fairy, Poison
Pokédex Entry
Constantly in search of the highest challenge, this person takes up the most impractical rulesets.
Well, I tried. *throws Percy and Pierre Morton and Moire shipping notes into the air*

>>Pot belly
Hot image of Morton: ruined

>>Delibird
>>Not causing doom
 

Jimcloud

Administrator
Administrator
Moderator
🌱Featurer
🎇Contributor
Writer
Screenshotter
Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
3
Caught
May 13, 2019
Messages
848
Pronouns
they/he/she
Hey Morton, look on the bright side, here. At least the wig didn't come off.

Good job Michael on getting some resources and some catches all quicklike, and in managing to deal with what was frankly a terrifying little ground typed murder beast.

(Also, Tookie, I'm a real fan of the action scenes in this, you do real good work with them. Big seller for me.)
 
Last edited:

Heather

blep
Team Omega
Pokédex No.
265
Caught
Jul 1, 2019
Messages
135
Location
Fódlan
Nature
Sassy
Pronouns
she/her, they/them works too
Pokémon Type
Water, Cute
Pokédex Entry
This Pokémon is a flaming lesbian under a mountain of gender dysphoria. Wheeeee!
delibird got ya quaking in your boots, huh? *shot*

RIP Morton the clowniest reaper this side of the multiverse. What next, failing to reap Michael due to band affiliation?
 

Tookie

The Immoral Bard
Writer
Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
80
Caught
Jun 16, 2019
Messages
426
Location
Southern England
Nature
Lax
Pronouns
He/Him
Pokémon Type
Poison, Psychic
Pokédex Entry
This user does not exist. All impressions to the contrary are propaganda pieces and not to be trusted.
  • Thread Starter Thread Starter
  • #18
>>Pot belly​
Hot image of Morton: ruined​


Yeah unfortunately Morton was always planned to be a bumbling pencil-pusher, going bald and sporting a potbelly with his badly fitting suits. Really, Enigma making him look like a teenaged edgelord was an upgrade.​

Hey Morton, look on the bright side, here. At least the wig didn't come off.​


Wig Status: Not snatched!?​

Reading this in your voice just makes everything that much better, and it's already really good​


oh god if i didn't have neighbours to worry about i absolutely would be doing the audiobook already​

RIP Morton the clowniest reaper this side of the multiverse. What next, failing to reap Michael due to band affiliation?​


yes​

you must be this goth to reap souls, country and western won't cut it​

(Also, Tookie, I'm a real fan of the action scenes in this, you do real good work with them. Big seller for me.)​



aaaaaaaaaa thank you ;-;​




All in, thus far, life had been smooth sailing in this new world as far as Michael was concerned. He'd managed to snaffle a couple of new duders for his assortment of murderbeasts- and not died in the process, despite the newly-christened Hazzard's best attempts- and he was beginning to get a feel for what exactly it was that each of his conscripts could do. It was time, therefore, in his paranoid mind, to await the dropping of the other shoe.​

… He didn't have long to wait.​



In a move that he hadn't expected, one of his newer catches- Helio, some sort of fossilised thing the phone called an Omanyte- had been cruelly snuffed out in a single raging torrent of water. There was a high-pitched squeal, the sickening sound of shell cracking under pressure and then... nothing. Another of his new allies- Brandy, a Pupitar- was out in a flash and punishing the offending slug with lightning-fast whips of vine as Michael collected... what was left of Helio.​

Very small. Very cold.​

… Very familiar.​



Oh god no. No, no, no...” Michael tore himself away from the fight- unwisely, perhaps- and bolted in the direction of the scream, fear welling up inside him. Slashing wildly at those who'd attempted to capitalise on his shifted priorities, he quickly skidded to a halt at the feet of the dying man. “Shit- I'm sorry--”

Shh.” The big man put one bloodied hand up to Michael's mouth, silencing him. “Not... not your fault... My... my act...” The hand fell limply to the ground, and Michael's eyes widened.

The battlefield had never felt so silent.



Well, at least nobody could lie to him and tell him that this wasn't his fault for not keeping his guard up and not taking this whole Pokemon Trainer thing seriously- it was, on both accounts. There was just him here... well, of the ones that could speak English. He wasn't The Pokemon Whisperer, so he couldn't be sure whether Brandy was looking up at him out of concern or judging.​

Nothing to be done for it, then... it was time to find somewhere on the beaten forest path that he could dig a small grave by hand, do the decent-ish thing (the decent thing, of course, not letting the poor thing get killed in the first place) and provide last rites. It didn’t take long; Helio was rather small, and the ground was soft under his worn and calloused hands. A quick prayer to… well, whichever gods were paying attention and/or cared, about guiding the wayward soul to rest, and then he placed Helio’s Pokeball at the head of the grave to cap the ritual off, and it was time to move on.​

Is that how you do a funeral for a Pokemon? Michael sighed; odd that after all the death and destruction he’d seen, and not a small amount that he’d caused himself, the little fellow he’d known for all of a few hours would be one to play on his mind. Was it the burden of command? Of knowing that, unlike the friends and allies he’d had to bury before, he could only blame himself? Or was it the lack of people to talk it through with? Or, perhaps, it was the sense of relative innocence; a small creature like Helio obeying only the whims of nature was, after all, a far cry from the sort of people he was used to crossing swords with.​

Well, whatever it was… it was there. A learning experience, a moment for reflection, a prime opportunity for gratuitous self-flagellation, call it what you like- it certainly put a damper on the mood for Michael as he trudged his way into the next resting spot on the journey.​


His first impression of Violet was positive; having the doctor's office right on the outskirts was incredibly helpful for the sort of traveler whose team had suffered some near-death experiences.​


Once the nice staff members had shown him how to operate their handy electronic services, though, certain aspects of the system's sense of humour definitely began to niggle at him. … And how did it know already that he'd lost a lad; how was Skynet the literal first point of call after personal computers!? At least back on Earth they'd gradually worked towards the erosion of privacy!​

So, there were four; Iggy, Brandy, Hazzard and Aevyn. That… hm. Well, from what he'd seen, most of the locals only had two or three Pokemon; not so many that keeping track of them all would prove difficult. But he was a little better than that, surely? … Now he'd had that untidy little wake-up call, anyway. Stay focused, actually remember to take battling seriously- it was still a matter of life and death.​

Now, what to do… wandering aimlessly through the streets turned up three possible options; shoot for a Pokemon Gym and test his mettle against Violet's top dog, go to the local Stadium and risk his Pokemon's lives for fun and profit…​


Or visit the spiritual centre of Violet City; Sprout Tower, a monstrosity of a building that was impossible to miss?​

… That one. Easily.​

Gently easing the thick double doors open, he lightly stepped into the tower and was immediately drawn to the vast pillar that lurched to and fro at its own pace.​

To and fro… forwards, backwards… forwards again. Never stopping, never buckling. It was, frankly, hypnotic.​

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Michael glanced to his side, as the voice of a little old lady brought him back to reality.​

"Hm?"​

"The oak bends and buckles under the wind, but the willow… the willow knows when to bend." The lady chuckled softly, before looking upwards. "Yours is a new face, child."​

Michael nodded, smiling lightly. "I've never been here before, no." This seemed to set the little lady off on the chuckles again.​

"So many children like you try to be the oak," she continued, as if he hadn't said anything. "Strong. Calm. Reliable. But what happens to those who accept the burdens of the world?"​

"We break." Michael's response was as solemn as it was immediate. "Eventually, we hit a point where we can't handle it anymore- and who do we turn to for help, if everyone comes to us?"​

"So you understand," the lady nodded. "That is more than most your age- yet still you try to be the oak!"​

"... I've failed too many times," Michael said softly- and if anyone milling around heard the crack and waver in his voice, they refrained from mentioning it. "I… I can't keep doing that."​

"Then let go," the little lady said. "You try to be strong, yes?" A slow nod was his only response. "Why?​

That pulled him up short. … Why, indeed? Answers came to mind immediately, but did he like them? Would this little fountain of wisdom accept his answers, or would she just give him more questions? Because I want to feel needed. Because I don't want to be weak. Because I don't want people to worry. Because everywhere I go, the world's a fucking nightmare and somebody has to rein that shit in? … "A good question."​

"And one you know your answer to," the lady nodded. "There is no shame in that- save that which you assign to it." She chuckled at the stunned expression Michael gave her. "Don't sound surprised, dear boy; you're hardly the first troubled soul to find your way to my Tower, and I daresay you won't be the last."​

"'Your' Tower…?"​

"My name is Pi," she said. "I am the Matron of Sprout Tower. Stay with us and reflect on your answers for as long as you feel you need, young man. When you feel you are ready… ascend the Tower; I will be waiting for you." With those parting words, she walked off towards a flight of stairs- leaving Michael to ponder on her troubling questions.​

He shuffled over to an unobtrusive part of the main floor- tucked at the rear of the ever swaying pillar- and sat cross-legged. If he was going to think, and actually look at himself long enough to come up with answers that appeased him, he wanted to be off his feet. The lurching groans of the pillar at his back was all he heard, then, for some time.​

Why did he want to be strong? Why was it so important that he appeared impassive, unaffected by the world around him? Did it matter what people thought of him? He'd been raised in a world that put stoicism on a pedestal, deeming it the masculine ideal- men didn't cry, men just Got On With It. Men provided, men stood up and fought. To be a Man, you had to be like the oak. Rigid, firm. But… was that what he wanted?​

And then there was Rhianne. The first person he'd met in a strange new land, the flighty kitsune who'd taken him under wing when so many others saw her as a whimsical, capricious creature that discarded and disregarded people as she saw fit. So, he'd done his damnedest to be strong. Reliable. The sort of person she wouldn't just leave- and yet, whatever the reason, she'd done exactly that. And that had hurt. But… the oldest lesson had stuck; Men Don't Cry. There were other people to be strong in front of- people who'd put their faith in him over literally anyone else.

So he'd kept going. He'd ignored the cracks growing in the facade. Even as people began to see through him and reached out, he'd lied through gritted teeth and insisted that he was fine. He was coping. He was strong. And where did it get him- where did it get them?​

Dead.​

It got them dead. That might not have been the end of it for him, but… he couldn't say the same of anyone else. And, as he reflected, he realised that after all was said and done, his worst fear had come to pass- he was alone, despite his best efforts. And that was the rub. He'd clawed and clung to whoever he could to guide him through strange and unfamiliar lands, and done the things he thought he'd had to do to keep them around, but… what if he'd handled it better? What if he'd been more open- the willow that swayed in the wind, and not the unflinching oak?​

He sighed- a long, drawn out sound. Dwelling on the mistakes of the past wasn't going to undo them; there was no power that could bring the dead back to life. All he could do, past mourning- finally- was learn the lessons they had to teach… and not let them be for nothing.​

And perhaps, now he reflected on it, that was why Helio's death had affected him as it did- he'd not allowed himself to feel the sense of loss before. With nobody else to put the brave face on for, perhaps the sense of grief he felt was less for Helio and more a general moment to mourn the accumulated losses in his lives. Tears didn't come; too many years of suppressing at every turn had seen to that, but he definitely took a long while, sat out of sight, to let his grief and remorse wash over him. His breathing rhythmically lined up with the swaying of the tower, he periodically shifted his legs to keep the blood flowing, and for hours there was nothing but him and his memories.​

But the moment couldn't last forever. Eventually, Michael had to rise once more, to continue moving onwards- or what would have been the point of his ordeals? One foot in front of the other; just as it had always been. He couldn't deny, though, that a weight had lifted from his shoulders- so when he did move on, it was with a straighter back, a wider smile and somewhat more confident steps.​

Of course, he wasn't naive enough to believe the road ahead would be easy, because when had it ever been? He’d just have to do what he always did; keep on keeping on, if perhaps in higher spirits than he had before.​

Onwards, upwards, and… good heavens, what was that tugging at his leg? It was small and fluffy, looking up at him with wide, round eyes- eyes full of hope. It was… ridiculously cute, actually, particularly the way it pitter-pattered along behind him as he climbed the first flight of stairs.​


“Well, if you insist,” Michael said, chuckling as the little rodent accepted the Pokeball. “Welcome aboard.”​

Together, the team made their way from floor to floor of the tower, fending off overly curious Pokemon and swiftly winning bouts with Pi’s disciples. The monks accepted defeat with grace, and each urged him on further. Iggy was the star of Michael’s little show, as expected, but a Spearow he’d christened Aevyn was also putting in a solid effort with ferocious dive bombs and waves of energy that confused Michael just trying to make sense of them. But, hey, as a man who once used a stick of dynamite as a martial art once said, ‘as long as it works’.​

In the middle of one of the duels, though- an otherwise unremarkable affair- something strange happened to Iggy. He was enveloped in a brilliant white light all of a sudden, and had what Michael could only describe as the mother of all growth spurts.​


For the first time, Iggy opened his eyes.​


The uppermost floor of the tower greeted Michael with an unfortunately familiar face.​

“Mortimer!” Michael called, full of cheer, “you keeping well?”​

“Yes, yes, perfectly well, thank you,” Morton blurted out. “Everything’s going absolutely wonderfully for me!” In a rush, the poor man dashed past Michael down the stairs- only pausing when the wig he’d been wearing decided that it was fed up with being a wig and fell off.​

This was a perfectly natural occurrence and definitely didn’t set Michael off on the giggles. There was absolutely nothing funny about a man going through a midlife crisis storming off in what looked like a huff. He would have to be completely ashamed of himself for suggesting otherwise, most assuredly.​

Snrk.​

And then there two; Michael, and Pi. The kindly little old lady had clearly done something to send Morton off in a hurry, so either he’d badly underestimated her or he’d overestimated Morton. Both were worrying.​

“Ah, child,” Pi said as he stepped forward. “You look less troubled already. Have you found your answers?”​

“I’ve found some, yes- not the question you asked me,” Michael said. “But… enough for me to go on with.”

“Then the day was not wasted,” Pi nodded sagely. “The journey of a thousand miles does, after all, begin with but a single step. Let us now take another, child.”​


“Three Pokemon we shall each use- are you ready?”​

“Go, Rocky!” “Myoko!”​

The battle was off to a promising start- Rocky immediately took the upper hand, landing a vicious punch that left the poor radish-looking Myoko completely immobile.​


With no way of defending itself or fighting back, Pi recalled the Oddish immediately, selecting a second Pokemon. “Come, Shakujo!”​

Shaku-what now? It was a Bellsprout- the namesake of Sprout Tower, and likely a fearsome foe beneath the spindly limbs and vacant looking expression. Time for a mix-up. “Come back, Rocky- Brandy, you’re up!”​

What followed was a furious flurry of blows, Brandy’s conjured whips lashing out and amongst the Bellsprout’s rapidly moving arms and legs. As expected, Shakujo was deceptively durable- enough to give the very thick and heavy Brandy a run for her money. It was agile, too, ducking and weaving between enough of the vines to be much more of a nuisance than Mokyo. Brandy soon landed a decisive hit to the leg, however, and from there it was smooth sailing for Team Michael. Pi was forced once more to recall her Pokemon as the loser- but her final Pokemon was one to give him pause.​

“Toro!”​

It was the slug. The same sort of slug that had killed Helio. Visions of water filled his mind, and he couldn’t stop himself breathing in sharply. Not the same one, he told himself. Stay calm, Brandy’s got this.


And Brandy did indeed, debilitating the Slugma with astonishing ease, draining it of the energy and will to fight before serving up one final, furious crack of the whip. With the Slugma clearly defeated, Brandy wound up another whip- but Michael wasn’t having it. “That’s enough!” The ball was brought out, and Brandy was swiftly recalled.​


“You fight well,” Pi said, smiling. “Courage and skill will serve you well, young one, but never forget your compassion- that is what will serve you most of all on your journey. Force alone can only take you so far.”​

Michael nodded his understanding.​

“Now go,” she continued. “The Gym awaits you, child. I shall eagerly await your challenge.”​

“Thank you.” On that note, Michael gave a small bow and turned to begin the return journey, when he felt a small rumble from his rucksack?​


It was the egg! It shook, rumbled and even burbled until the shell cracked away, and the miracle of life had been observed from the highest point in Violet City. There was something profound in there, perhaps. If one was of a mind to veer towards the profound, and not the more basic.​


Michael smiled- a full, warm smile- as the new Pokemon looked up at him from where it was floating. “You’re a funky little nougat, aren’t you?”​
 

Capybara

Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris
Pokédex No.
1484
Caught
Feb 10, 2020
Messages
17
Pronouns
she/her
Pokémon Type
Normal
F in the chat for Helio. A lava slug that shoots water at you... devastating.
 

Jimcloud

Administrator
Administrator
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Team Alpha
Pokédex No.
3
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May 13, 2019
Messages
848
Pronouns
they/he/she
God this was a... really just an overall super stellar part. There's so much good kush in here.

I'm really a big fan of the way you draw out Michael's introspection about his situation, his past and his present, the subtle sense of melancholy that hides underneath the joking surface, it's very much 👌 imo.

Really overall a fan of the way he works through the death he has here, the tower was implemented masterfully.

Also: morton losing his wig is the best thing that could have possibly happened to me thank you
 

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