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Post by Dalton[ SMILE!] on Aug 4, 2009 15:12:14 GMT -5
The ranger found himself holding the bag--or at least the paralyzed Elekid. Marcus disappeared around a corner, trench coat flapping in the wind. For a few moments Dalton watched with a confused frown. The second the echoes of footsteps faded however, the ranger began to climb the stairs--leaving behind a slime trail of swamp plants, and debris as he walked. The man smelled more like a dying skunk, then a human-- people avoided him like a giant pothole, going around in circles some with their noses plugged against the smell. The ranger however, was used to the nauseating smell, and merely imitated those making disgusted faces, with a lopsided grin. The Elekid in his arms was as stiff as a board, but had now begun to speak intelligible words: "Fuck....mahdam lougjs .. gayman." The ranger quickly shushed the ELekid. "Don't strain yourself thanking us dear Church--we'll fix you up in a jiffy!" Reaching the revolving doors of the hospital, Dalton took a few steps inside, the door twirling with him. There was a loud "CLUNK" and the revolving door stopped.
Turning around, Dalton saw the issue. A large trailing yellow arm was now stuck between the door frame, and a glass panel--acting like a parking brake. With a silly grin, the ranger walked toward the jam, and shoved at the door--the Elekid's bruised arm flopped out. "Hurt ..jfksdsf.. damn .. fnfiare fuck off." The yellow was now a nasty shade of purple, blood beading from it in a dark crimson line. The ranger's teeth instantly went to his bottom lip. "Sorry about that--forgot you were here~ it doesn't look too bad..." Or at least it didn't seem broken.
With no further incidents, Dalton managed to control the wicked door, and enter the hospital's main lobby. The clean floors were instantly a mess, dirt covered pants legs drug across the floor, and white slowly turned into brown.
A large sign pointed toward an elevator, and Dalton knew that pokemon care was given upstairs. With a nod, he curled in his arms, being sure to keep the Elekid's limbs close. Whistling an old show tune, he jogged toward a closing elevator door. The second he stepped in, the other inhabitants stepped out. A sand colored hand, gently prodded the up button, and the elevator began to rise. A feeling of weightlessness erupted in Dalton's stomach, and he let out a chuckle. Much like a rabbit--he began to hop up in down, count the amount of time it took him to crash back down.
On the third jump the door opened.
--
Instantly composed he walked to the lady behind the counter. "Hello pretty lady--my Elekid here needs some assistance, and maybe a shower." Much like his trainer, the Elekid was covered in swamp debris, and smelt like a trash heap.
The lady merely blinked before holding out a hand to Dalton./ "Pokeball?" "Don't have one." The disgust on her face was obvious as she heaved the Elekid from the counter, and handed him to a passing nurse. "He'll be ship shape in about ten minutes." The second Dalton turned away--the nurse ran off to scrub her hands. "He's not the only one who needs a shower..." The lady murmured as the door slammed closed behind her.
From Dalton's chest a terrified mew emerged. With wide eyes the man slowly unbuttoned the top few buttons, before plucking out a terrified Oddish. "Hello there sweetie--judging by the fact that you can't talk..at all. Your just a little baby. That's okay. Daddy has you." Walking into a nearby room, Dalton opened a cupboard and pulled out a bright pink blanket. Wrapping it around the sweating, though rather clean Oddish, he began to look for a plastic chair to sit himself in.
" What to call you...Hrm. Lila ..or Lala.. .. maybe Lulu."
The Oddish merely peered up at the ranger, and blinked. being a bbaby it had absolutely no idea what was going on, just that this odd creature was staring at her, and his eyes were the same color as the creature that had attacked her momma.
Eyes tearing up, the little Oddish began to cry.
"OH NO! YOU SWEETHEART! I won't eat you! Promise! I am not a mean nasty thing who goes around and eats little sweeties like you..though you are cute enough to eat. Wait! No! That's not helping.."
The tears increased tenfold.
This was going to be a very long, very emotional day."
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Post by Marcus Brooklyn on Aug 4, 2009 18:17:19 GMT -5
[Relapse: A Few Minutes Earlier]
"Nada. Haven't been here in forever!" Marcus shouted exhuberantly, a hand simply hoisted high into the air, with a floating Elekid hanging straight above. The insults and his god-awful stench were starting to irritate the young male's nerves, more or less the gay-bashing. Questions, and counterinsults, would eventually rise; but first thing's first -- he had to get Wannabe to a Pokémon Center. Of course, no significant damage was done other than a "minor" Force Palm, but it was to be expected; Sasuke, his Riolu, was about a few years ahead in experience. Taking a gigantic whiff of "cleaner" air, considering it had smog issues, the young male sighed in relief. It sure beat toxic fumes, that's for sure.
His psychic powers of levitation were quickly fading, obviously, as he had had nearly his limit today. Slowly, the Elekid would eventually fall into Marcus's grasp, forcing the kid to faceplant straight to the cobblestone pavement below; a fat Wannabe sprawled on top of his back. Groaning, he nonchalantly threw the Pokémon off of his figure, dusted himself free of sludge, and strained to pick up the heavy Elekid before he was now being piggybacked by Marcus, whom had to give strained breathing. "Christ. You sure he ain't eating only potato chips?" Marcus questioned sarcastically, giving a sort of evil, unamused glare at the muttering Elekid, whom jumbled something along the lines of "fuck you" and "gay bitch." An anime-style vein bulged. <You're lucky I'm healing your ass, you motherfucker...> Marcus thought to himself, his eyes taking that "unenthused" expression. [halfcircles, rounded side down; pupils staring angrily outward]
It wasn't long until Marcus finally reached one of Nada's many street intersections, viewing such sites like the Poke-Mart, to the once proud Citadel Hall. Oh, Nada was a glorious place before this terrible war. Filled with color, it was. But these days it seemed like color was a foreign word to the citizens here... Shaking his head, Marcus continued to trod along until he had heard a slight groaning sound.
"...hhh..."
His ears seemed to wiggle as Marcus snapped his gaze behind his figure, then to Dalton. "You hear somethin'?" he asked. No response. Funny, he could have sworn it was loud enough for the both of them to hear. Another moan of an insult from Wannabe, and yet another anime-style vein. Trodding along, Marcus stopped dead in his tracks yet again. That same, ominous sigh. It could have been a Ghost Pokémon, trying to scare the psychic; as they usually had a tendency to just stalk him wherever he went. "...Heellp..." Marcus eventually turned around like a madman, flipping off whomever or whatever was following the boy with a rude finger gesture. "Fuck off, you creeper!" was the crude response, before Marcus turned around, victorious. A smug grin emerged on his face before sobbing now started to take the place of whatever was moaning for help. The boy keeled his neck over, looking apprehensively to the left. Did he make it cry? Shit, that was the worst case scenario!
At no hesitation, he practically threw Wannabe from his back into Dalton's arms, before giving off a wave. "Pokémon Center's a block away! I'll catch up with you in five!" Marcus yelled in a serious, loud tone before he had pushed himself forward with a mental burst of energy, his feet now leaving the ground as he effortlessly whooshed around the corner like Superman, his trenchcoat's tails flapping around before his psychic flight dissipated into footsteps once more. The boy, knowing Dalton would most likely forgive him for ditching him like that, but he felt something was wrong - especially if he was the only one who heard sobbing in an alleyway.
___
[Present Time]
Running, ninja-style, Marcus made his way into one of the dark, foreboding alleyways that line the streets of Nada; slowing down into a rather badass walking gait. His eyes shifted left, then right, trying to find the source of the unknown sobbing that resonated. He started to perspire slightly, in apprehension that he may have forever scarred whatever or whomever was crying's feelings. "Shit. Don't expect a happy rescue..." Marcus told himself, well aware of what may happen if he discovered something more than what he bargained for.
Somewhere down the line, he stumbled upon an empty alleyway, leading to a direct dead end. Squinting down the alley, he could tell the sobbing, now faint and growing hoarse and weak, was coming from there. Slowly, he strode down, his trenchcoat billowing out like a badass from the Matrix itself, before a shadow had emerged inside of his figure. As soon as the figure's shape came into being, Marcus's eyes widened completely - a Pokémon! And from the looks of it, it seemed lifeless. In one last, powerful bound of psychic pressure, Marcus pulsed a thought to his feet to "mindsprint" his way towards the injured Pokémon's location, baseball sliding down into a crouch and instantly placing his hand towards what he thought was its neck. Bony in texture. A Rock or Ground type, perhaps? Or maybe a well built Fighting type?
Whatever the case, Marcus placed his hand onto the Pokémon's torso, feeling for signs of a heartbeat. The lungs were still pumping air, though it was slow and labored. "Can you speak?" Marcus silently questioned the injured Pokémon, unaware of what it was, to be honest; due to the shadows. Slowly moving his hands downward, he felt a small bump, then a sudden indentation in its flesh. His eyes instantly opened, lips quivering. <FUCK! He got shot?!> he questioned, instantly confirming the copper scent in the air as blood. "How long have you been like this...? ...Who did this!?" he would question frantically, trying to at least get some information out of the unknown Pokémon so he may help him further. A small phrase, labored and weak, exited the little creature's mouth, in the human language:
"...Beh...ind you..."
The dreaded sound of a semi-automatic handgun cocking rung inside of the psychic's ears, as his eyes narrowed. No sooner than his suspicions were confirmed was the rough and cold, steel barrel of a Beretta placed at the back of his skull, the young man making no, sudden movements. A low growl. A chuckle, obviously older in sound; possibly late thirties, escaped the hostage-keeper's throat, as several other figures, shadowed by the dim light behind them approached. "...Take it you're the assholes that did this?" Marcus questioned bluntly, the pistol's barrel pushed deeper against his skull. Another growl.
"Heh. It's in our territory - we own this shit." a thug answered back in response, getting a devilish chuckle from Marcus. "What? Just 'cause you 'own this shit' means you can go shooting innocent Pokémon with your cheap toys?" Marcus insulted, getting a blunt pistol whip to the back of the skull. Keeling over, the boy instantly sprung back to his feet, sliding a foot or two away as he rose back up, feeling the back of his head nonchalantly. Drew blood, did he? A wicked grin emerged, his eyes gleaming a sort of cold, subzero gaze, as he licked his own blood from his fingers. The man with the pistol instantly pointed directly towards the face of Marcus, whom had done nothing to even show any slight hints of fear or apprehension.
"You'd best watch yer mouth, kid. I don't take kindly to punks like you." the gunwielder snickered, drawing up a ruckus from the back. Twitching his head to the left, a slight chuckle emerged from Marcus's own mouth. "Hello pot, meet kettle." was the response, obviously sarcastic. At once, a gunshot rang out from the alleyway, drawing a few yips and howls from a stray Houndour somewhere deep within. The man had fired a warning shot, inches away from Marcus's face. The young man only heard the crumbling of brick behind him, jarred, but unphased. Almost immediately, the gunwielder had lost his cool as he strode up in powerful bounds, instantly pressing the barrel of the warm gun towards Marcus's forehead, prepared to silence the ignorant intruder's mouth.
"Bad choice, fucker."
Almost in the blink of an eye, Marcus placed his left hand upon the man's forearm, before bringing his right hand upward as he pushed down with his left hand, palm exposed; to instantly crack the thug's forearm clean into a forty five degree angle - forcing a scream of agony from him as well as perfect disarming. The boy's quick, martial artist reflexes grabbed the Beretta he attempted to assassinate him with by the warm barrel, performing a stylish spin, followed by a swift crack to the skull - sending the thug stumbling backwards and crumpling to the ground, holding his broken wrist in pain.
Of course, the thugs opposite of Marcus drew their weapons, but not before the boy spun his finger into the trigger guard, spinning the handgun around like a specific, red trenchcoat-wearing video game character, and pointed it in a sideways position as the four street thugs pointed their own weapons directly at him - a standoff. The young man's bolstered appearance, possibly due to his own trenchcoat, seemed to further amplify his overall intimidating factor. That same, subzero stare pierced to the men before him, before Marcus licked his lips in an almost demonic fashion. "Next?" Even though four against one in the street thugs' favor, they almost lost the will to fight instantly, dropping their pistols and uzis like cowards as they fled the scene.
Sighing in complete lack of interest now, he took the liberty to dismantle the weapon he held earlier, he had never once worried about his fingerprints - he practically wore gloves twenty four seven. Instantly rushing towards the unknown Pokémon, he carefully scooped him up into his arms before he made his way back towards the criminal's spot, still writhing in agony. "You're lucky you're still alive, you scum." he hissed with venom, giving a swift kick to the once-attacking foe's groin. A well-deserved one, at best. At once, the male dashed off into the distance, hoping to save the injured Pokémon's life before it was too late.
A darker, more devilish, side of Marcus Brooklyn, unbeknownst to most others in this world. Fortunately, it was on the "good guy's side," if one had to give it allegiance.
[Blah. I'll post my entrance into the Pokémon Center after you post, Feather. It'll make for some good story, as far as I know. XD]
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Post by Dalton[ SMILE!] on Aug 5, 2009 18:01:03 GMT -5
"Me either Marcus~ I can see it from home though." Or at least, when he left his home, and climbed a nearby hill. The large brick walls of the city were just visible, the sun making the white exterior glow like bleached bones. Occasionally the glass roof was seen, as a brilliant glare in the distance. The tallest roof spires, and skyscrapers were just visible as well. So in a way, Dalton could see the city from home--even if home was about three stories underground, in a small little apartment. " It used to be much nicer then this~" The ranger murmured to himself, clearing his lungs with an exasperated sigh. The old flowerboxes lining the roads, looked like they had not seen water in months. The road was littered with garbage. But--that was probably due to the influx of population. The city was not meant to hold this many people, or at least was not used to it--so some things had to go undone.
Dalton tried his best to avoid looking at the levitating Elekid. Each time he did --he thought of a large , fat, yellow balloon, and could barely stop himself from bursting into laughter. Upon first entering the city Dalton quickly whispered to Marcus: "Maybe let me carry him...not only does it look weird--Pravus might want to ..ask you . . .about your unique ability. But I can tell you're getting tired." It seemed his powers made the decision for him.
Dalton grinned at the boy spread eagled on the pavement, and answered his question with a mocking smile: " Him? Well he drinks some pop, and occasionally nibbles on sweetcakes. So no , not just chips." The ranger peered at Marcus, as he yelled at something down the street, his expression, slightly bemused--but also worried. "Hear what? I just hear the wind. . . you sure you heard something?" The next instant, Marcus turned about, and proclaimed his hatred of this new "voice", and the ranger turned with him. Nothing but a few children, and a rolling piece of garbage. " ...Err Marcus --- be careful..there are childre--" In the next instant a heavy weight was thrown into his arms, and the ranger was sent stumbling backwards. Marcus' long coattails disappeared around the corner, the seven of them lunging about like angry cobras.
" .. I know where it is.. and it's a hospital.. not a pokemon center.." Maybe he should go help Marcus? A smile tugged at his lips, fellow probably just needed an excuse to chasing some hot gi--or in his case guy. Maybe he wanted to be rid of Dalton--who was old enough to be his uncle?
Besides, Wannabe needed help.
--
[ In the middle of the Kung-fu scene ~]
Dalton was not drop kicking people. The man was not instilling a fear of death in others. The ranger was certainly not fighting off men in hand guns. No. Instead he was making cooing noises, and combating something far worse. A crying baby---pokemon.
The ranger was currently holding the poor baby Oddish at an angle, and peering into its deep black eyes, which were streaming tears. The leaves atop its head were wilted, and it kept kicking at his arms. No doubt he would have little oval bruises when this was all over. Instead of becoming angry, he merely stood up--leaving the blanket on a nearby chair--and began to pace around the room. The other nurse behind the counter seemed toglare at him--or at least the streaks his muddy feet were leaving on her freshly mopped linoleum. The Oddish eventually stopped its shrieking, and with a grin , Dalton strolled toward then nearest open window, and sat her down on the sill--ignoring the angry mumbles from the Pokemon inside. "So... you're now Lila. I'll take care of you." The ranger smiled, The Oddish merely stared, not having any real idea what was going on. Leave it to shock. The ranger was smiling, but that smile quickly turned into a rumbling growl, his hands shifting into claws. "But don't let that Wannabe monster touch you--he loves to tear apart little Oddish' like you." “ I DUN WANNA BE..WAHHH!” Maybe it could talk …..
Another scream.
More tears.
--
Maybe it would be better if he was currently kung-fu fighting a bunch of thugs.
--
Another bit of walking around--followed by beloved silence.
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Post by Marcus Brooklyn on Aug 5, 2009 21:51:51 GMT -5
[Relapse: A Few Minutes Earlier]
Clackclackclackclackclack...
The rushing noise of boots against cobblestone pavement filled the streets as Marcus, carrying with him a wounded Pokémon recently identified as an Abra, rushed past civilians and confused Pokémon alike. The scent of copper filled the air as blood from a gunshot wound in the Abra's right side seeped reddened life liquid, staining the boy's clothing. However, this wasn't enough to allow him to stop and change wardrobes - a life was at stake. His eyes filled with a brimming force of determination to save this Abra's life, his mind suddenly whisking him back five years ago... Back to Sasuke.
He was injured much like the Abra was. However, unlike the gunshot wound, Sasuke had lash marks and bruises all over his body - suffering much, much worse punishment than this Pokémon. Luckily, he was able to speak the human language, or at least a phrase, for the boy to take wind of his existence and track him down. But now here he was, charging through the streets of Nada to a nearby hospital, trying his hardest to get there in time. Looking down in worry, a scowl of hardened spirit emerged, Marcus's gaze shifting back up. <I'm not letting you die like this! Nobody deserves to be left dead!> he thought, as he finally made his way towards the main plaza of Nada; looking around desperately for the entrance to the hospital. Bingo! The very large, red insignia of a red cross, with a tiny Poké Ball in the center, flashed before his eyes as he madly sprinted towards the stairs, rushing up as fast as he could - charging, charging, charging like a wild Tauros on the rampage, civilians doing their best to leap out of the way, until--
[Present Time]
*Ding-ding!*
WHOOOOOSH!
Marcus found enough energy within him for one, absolutely final burst of psychic energy to literally push himself into the sliding doors as they slid open, practically flying into the sterile white zone of the hospital with his black-dressed self, performing a kung fu-style frontal somersault into a tuck and roll, dashing forward to the counter. A tiny trail of noticeable Abra blood caked the floors now, as flabberghasted and downright shocked humans and Pokémon assistants watched on in bewilderment at such uncivilized behaviour. Uncaring of the gawkers all around, Marcus slid the wounded Abra, now breathing heavily, onto the table, getting a rather horrified and ghastly look from the receptionist.
"NURSE. NOW!" he demanded straight up as he slammed a bloody palm onto the table thanks to his application of pressure against Abra's wound, the receptionist meekly nodding as she pressed a button on the intercom, pulling up a microphone. "Injured Pokémon in the main lobby! Requesting a gurney, immediately!" the female practically shouted into the microphone. Almost instantly, a stretcher on wheels came crashing through doors as they slowly and carefully lifted the wounded Abra onto the white bed, blood already soaking the sheets. Marcus could only watch in angry worry as the doctors, nurses, and other various technical staff mutter stuff like "Get it on oxygen" or "is its pulse normal," or even a phrase like "what caused the wound?" The boy could only stare on, as they wheeled the poor, gunshot Abra out into whatever unknown depths the hospital had for him, a pitiful oxygen mask attached to his face as he labored in his struggle to survive.
It was like silence for Marcus; all he could hear. Probably like one of those hospital drama shows where the injured patient was hearing silence as he was wheeled into the E.R., but in the perspective of the witness instead. He stood there, his blackened, bloody form limp and useless. His gaze slightly wavered a bit, tears welling up in his eyes as he desperately hoped this innocent Pokémon he rescued would hopefully survive. Admirable, for an imitation of a dramatic rescue. Yet highly risque. He paced back and forth, knowing it was only just mere minutes since his dramatic leap of faith into the hospital's main lobby, arms crossed behind his trenchcoated back like a father awaiting a newborn child, hoping to hear the good news.
Speaking of children...
Marcus's worrisome thinking patterns were almost instantaneously interrupted by the rather obnoxious wailing of a Pokémon, most likely a baby. He shifted his head to the right, to a bench with three people - the baby holder and two rather pestered civilians. Watching the baby holder do his best to silence the little crying bastard of a Pokémon, despite how irresistably cute it was, he sighed in relief; an anime-style sweatdrop rolling down the back of his head. He eventually took wind of whom was carrying the Pokémon, revealed as an Oddish. A sort of confused yet amused grin, a brow raised as well, was now plastered on Marcus's face. Dalton Swift himself, holding a baby Oddish. How adorable~
"Since when do you babysit, Dalton?" he chuckled, pointing a finger as he snickered a bit further, his hair and his blackened form bobbing up and down like a peculiar jolly fat man whom visited Christmas Day, and in specific malls; obviously taken aback by such humorous conditions. However, he almost immediately stopped, realizing that babysitting was, indeed, serious business.
[[OMG, I heavily apologize for this godawful post. I lack inspiration. DX]]
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Post by Dalton[ SMILE!] on Aug 5, 2009 23:55:49 GMT -5
Dalton had currently shifted tactics, and was now gently juggling the baby Oddish on one knee. The little bundle atop the plant's heads seemed to jerk with the movement, quivering when the ranger spoke. " I was joking Lila~ the Wanna monster doesn't even exist. " The baby's tears slowed to a trickle, a hiccup, and the Oddish turned toward Dalton, and giggled. "Really?" The man had began to incline his head, when the elevator doors burst open, a dark shape flew through the air, before somersaulting across the floor. The ranger looked as the mysterious figure stood up, the seven coat tails flopping about his legs. "Mar..cus?" A limp tail was now hanging over the counter, bright as a lemon peel. A trail of red splattered the floor, crimson merged with the bark brown of Dalton's earlier mess.
Screams assaulted the ranger's ears, blood splattered across the bright counter-top, a single red handprint stood out in bright relief. Another scream--high-pitched and female. The creak of rushing wheels, rustle of freshly laundered sleep, and the thunk of a rapidly stilling body. Blood instantly blossomed from the Abra's wound, and Dalton found himself growling.
In a few heartbeats it was over. A few seconds. Dalton did not even have time to contemplate what exactly was going on before it was over. A raised lip dropped, facial muscles quickly turning away from the snarl they had locked in. The growl faded into silence, just in time for Dalton to hear the Oddish burst into racking sobs again. "Scary .. it was red! Mommas' was green!" The words faded, being overwhelmed by the raise in volumes. The ranger gently patted the little Oddish's quivering leaves, bringing his knees up, and leaving nasty streak of grime on the cast iron arm-rests in the process.
The baby was now resting between his bent-knees and chest, the ball shaped Pokemon was now glancing up into Dalton's face. Pale lips moved, words coming out -- the smile that went with the words was comforting. " Since I picked up this little darling out of a bush." Scooping the little plant type up, Dalton displayed him proudly to Marcus, Lila's feet kicked at the open air. It was obvious he was in no way embarrassed. In fact--he had no idea what that word meant. To him it did not even seem odd. "Lila say hello to Marcus~ isn't she cute Marcus? Yes. You're adorable--that's my girl, smile!" The Oddish was still crying, tears trailed down its face, but taking a deep breath it murmured: " Hello Marcuz." With a delighted chirp, Dalton curled the Oddish against his chest, hugging it.
Bringing the small Pokemon up to nuzzle his cheek, the Ranger quietly whispered to Marcus. "Since when do YOU randomly find pokemon with gunshot wounds.. it looks rather suspicious. Excuse me Marcus. But it does." The face had lost much of its childish charm, now turning jaded and stern. The boy was as blood-soaked as Dalton was swamp-stewed.
The Oddish was now standing on the clean arm-rest, uncertain on its feet, and wavering like a leaf in a heavy breeze. Taking a few steps forward, the Oddish tumbled over, landing in Dalton's lap. " Marcus ... ?" The man was quickly distracted when Lila thudded into his lap, and he nodded toward the chair-rail. "Try again sweetie--" A gentle smile, a much gentler nudge, and the Oddish attempted it again.
--
Metallic clatters echoed about the lobby, the Oddish instantly began to tear up again. The rather heavyset man next to him slammed down a ratty magazine, before storming off to a quieter part of the room.
The clamor from the backroom increased in volume. A single voice cut above the rest, that were now audible: ""WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING YOU DUMB BITCH?! WHERE IS THAT GAY ASS PUNK? NOT TO MENTION THAT RACCOON DOG!? " More obscenities, and the door to the hospital wing swung open, a little demon strolled out. Sparks streamed from his fur, a needle clattered against the floor. A spot of blood rapidly beaded down his arms.
Clenching his fists, Wannabe pointed a single finger at Dalton. "You. What the hell is that!?"
The Oddish was now bundled at Dalton's side, a striped blanket wrapped around its blue expanse.
"Oh hello Wannabe. Want to come sit down with us?" The Elekid's face contorted in rage, and he glared at Marcus. "Fuck off. Gay man. I don’t want what the fuck he has ... so no.."
A high-pitched feminine wail cut above all the other noise: "THE WANNNA MONSTERRRR! WAHHHHHHH!"
No more bedtime stories for Lila. It seemed that she took things much too literally--but then again, she was a baby.
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Post by Marcus Brooklyn on Aug 6, 2009 14:05:13 GMT -5
Marcus had listened in on Dalton's explanation of how he had come to find Lila - the baby Oddish he held - as he proudly displayed the little Pokémon for the black-dressed boy to see. Instinctively, he cooed at the utter adorable figure of the leafy Pokémon's head, tiny oval-shaped feet kicking at the air as Dalton had himself a stupid grin on his face. Then again, one couldn't blame him; he acted the same as Marcus did when he found Vee. Hearing her innocent speaking in human language forced an adorable squee from Marcus's mouth, uncaring of whom or what was looking at him.
--
It was then that Marcus's attention towards Lila was instantly snapped to Dalton, his face instantly turning from happy to dead-cold serious. A rather boldened glare emerged from deep within his eyes, as Marcus scoffed in complete offense. Standing erect, he threw his hand towards his chest, huffing loud and frustrated. "You think I shot that Abra!? Well excuse me for being such a criminal, trying to rescue an injured Pokémon!" Marcus hissed in a whisper, turning his angry face away from the Ranger as he folded his arms, obviously offended by the accusation. "I swear to God, I'm not crazy! I heard that Abra cry for help! Seriously, you have to believe me!" As desperate as Marcus's voice sounded, cracks included, he was honestly losing it. Why would anyone believe that this boy, of all the criminals in the world of Remoor, would shoot an innocent Pokémon?
Shaking his head frantically, he growled. "You probably don't believe me. Fine! I'll prove it!" he would snarl more, frustration obviously visible in his voice. At once, he had slipped his arms through his trenchcoat, chains and belts wildly clinging around as he threw it violently to the ground, the seven-tailed coat laying there after sliding a bit across the tiles below. The blood was already dried up, so no visible stains would be made on the sterile, linoleum floor. Ferverntly, Marcus flung his defined, slim arms out, exposed to show several, leather armbands as well as a fishnet undershirt underneath the black T-shirt he was wearing. The special beltstrap behind his pants, where his spinal column ended as it exited a little slot Marcus cut a hole in the back of his pants, hung there as he simply stared at Dalton and Lila; a bold and determined look on his face; one commonly seen in those stereotypical shounen anime where the main hero was protecting a damsel in distress from an incoming energy blast.
"Do you see one on me?" Marcus calmly asked, still hellbent on proving his innocence. Before he could continue, he lurched forward, reaching behind his head as he gasped aloud, clenching his teeth in pain and seething as his vision went temporarily foggy and glassy. Rubbing the back of his head, he had felt the sticky blood from the earlier pistolwhipping drip down, caking his hair with red lifeblood. Growling, he had removed the glove he was wearing and continuously slapped his hand against the back of his head, gasping with each press of the palm before flipping the blood-soaked palm toward's Dalton's location, away from Lila's vicinity as to not scare her. "This is what happens when someone smacks a Beretta over the back of your skull. I highly doubt anyone would have enough punching power to put a dent in the back of your skull without severe training." he would finish, before sighing in relief; wiping his bloody hand on his shirt. Looking back towards where Abra was taken away, he only sighed, a single thought arose. "Aside from me being the culprit, I agree; it's rather suspicious for someone to have shot an Abra. I read somewhere in an encyclopedia saying that Abras were supposed to have extremely heightened senses. So much, in fact, that they can teleport while sleeping." he sagely informed Dalton, as if he didn't know. Placing his glove back on his hand and pushing his thumb against his chin, he thought to himself.
"So just how on Earth can an Abra get shot without knowing of the danger at hand...?"
Before he could come up with a hypothesis, the distinct and familiar shouting of obscenities tore the room asunder as Marcus lurched forward again, only in surprise. "Jeez..." he muttered in unenthused despair as Wannabe, having finally been healed of his paralysis [and possibly placed on IV, with that tiny drop of blood on his arm] as he had given the liberty to yell at Dalton for simply holding the baby Oddish. As the Ranger offered him a seat, he instantly shot a glare at Marcus, whom did not move an inch. Another twitch of an eye from the human, the Elekid claiming "he doesn't want what he has." Sighing, he simply stood up from his location, and with a few powerful and short strides [thanks to his height], he was now standing directly in front of Wannabe, ignoring Lila's cries of distress as his sapphire blue eyes stared directly down at the Pokémon below, his face silhouetted by the lights above.
"Suggesting I have 'something', hmm? What, pray tell, is that?" Marcus sternly demanded, obviously a disturbed and angry tone radiating in his voice. The few gawkers that onlooked were either too nervous to continue watching the spectacle, or they were either too distracted to watch - but something could be seen from the way Marcus towered over the smaller Pokémon that he had finally had enough, and he would settle the argument one way or another. However, Marcus was one to take things the calm way out, and using a bit of verbal force would usually fix an argument. "If you have a problem with me, deal with it. I exist. There's not a single thing in this godforsaken world you can do about it. So cut the insults and the petty remarks, because no matter how hard you try; you won't get me to cry or break down like a little bitch. If there's anybody that has something wrong with them, it's you. Fix your act and be nice; because you're lucky I even helped you in the first place." he had emboldeningly spouted down, in a calm and stern voice, down towards Wannabe. Of course, it wouldn't work [or so Marcus thought, due to how stubborn this bastard was], but it was about time somebody stood up to a bully when it called for it.
Shaking his head, he had already had enough of everyone's presences. The hospital, Dalton, Lila, and especially Wannabe. He had had enough. At once, he kicked up his jacket as he simply flung it over his coat, exiting the hospital without a single word as he glared out into the dimly lit streets of the nightlit Nada. He found his way up towards a staircase that led to an observation balcony which overlooked the main plaza, flinging his coat down as he flung himself onto a metallic bench, slumping his back over and his head downward, his hair wildly swinging whichever way it wanted to. Looking more like that one evil chick from those cursed video tapes, his hair masked his face now, as he honestly didn't want to be bothered anymore after such accusations made against him. He really was trying to help. First Wannabe, after beating him in battle. Next the Abra, now undergoing extensive surgery to recover from its bullet wound. He would have helped Lila, but knowing Dalton's goofy ways of dealing with children, human and Pokémon alike, he probably had it taken care of.
But to be accused of so many things... Murder [in response to Dalton's suspicions of Marcus "conveniently" finding a gunshot Abra], disease [thanks to his homosexuality, despite Wannabe's refusal to even consider if Marcus was a virgin or not, in which he is], and all sorts of events and situations that caused bad karma. All Marcus did was rescue a few Pokémon. Hell, the Rangers themselves could consider that being a Good Samaritan, if not, consider it doing the world a favour. So why was he being mistreated like this? It perplexed him to no end. A sigh, followed by his shifting of his body into a horizontal position, laying down on the bench. A rather arrogant passerby gave the human a rude scoff, which was returned with a nonchalant, rude finger gesture. "Get a job, you hobo." he would return the favor as he offended Marcus by subliminally insulting his clothes. "Fuck off, conformist bitch." was the counter response, using "conformist" as a means of telling him that he acted like everyone else that treated him like this, before the man simply left, scoffing at Marcus.
<Damn it all... Why me?>
[[Blehh. It's a better post than last one. Hopefully it makes sense to you, Feather. >_<]]
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Post by Dalton[ SMILE!] on Aug 6, 2009 15:32:03 GMT -5
Dalton joined in with the crooning, gently tickling the Oddish, causing her to kick and giggle.
"Marcus ... Marcus.." Dalton began, instantly realizing what he had said had hurt the boy. The tone was gentle, and not the least bit accusatory. The ranger had both palms spread upward in his lap. The well scarred surfaces obvious under the bright light. It seemed either the boy hadn't heard, or simply didn't care to listen. Turning to the left and right, the ranger laid the bundled up Lila in the empty chair to his right. By that time, Marcus had already shrugged the coat from his shoulders, the black fabric landed on the floor with a sodden plop, rose colored water slowly expanded in a puddle around it. With its seven tails, it seemed like some kind of dying hydra. The former cop had a good look at Marcus --or at least his fashion. Black clothes, and fishnets--overlaid with a hint of more black.
Unlike the later rude occupant of the hospital, it did not bother Dalton in the least. The thing that bothered him was when Marcus began to slap a palm against the back of his head, which was slick--and dark with blood. The look on his face instantly changed to shock, and much like in the swamp, Dalton surged forward--hand clamping around the blood soaked wrist. "Stop. It. Marcus." The free hand instantly went to his forehead, cupping over his eye, and right side of his face like some kind of mask. The ranger then laughed, it seemed bitter--but then he grinned. " Marcus--I wasn't accusing you silly. You must have gotten hit in the head a little too hard. Don't forget I already felt you up earlier, that whole .. pokemon abuse incident?" Hopefully the boy had not forgotten that. Really? If Dalton had believed him a good person then why would that have changed. "Of course I believe you--so quit slapping yourself, and lets go get you looked at." A few tugs. "Maybe it didn't know how to teleport Marcus? If it is just a child ... it might not have the ability. or whatever bastard shot the thing ...........and clocked you over the head ........ hit it before it even had a chance to move." Just because something was aware of its surroundings didn't mean it always felt endangered by them.
--
The ranger's hand slipped from Marcus, bloodied wrist, the palm now coated with sticky red liquid. The boy was obviously on the verge of cracking, and it seemed Wannabe was the target. For just a moment, he found himself reaching forward to stop Marcus--long fingers slowly curled inward, and Dalton grinned.
It was time that the little pest fight his own battles. N matter how idiotic, biased or one sided they were. Walking back to his chair, he turned to watch the fireworks. Or what he expected would be fireworks. In his heart w\he was rooting for Marcus--just because the ignorant bully never deserves to win.
--
The Elekid glared up at the approaching human, both of his eyes narrowed to beady slits. Yellow fur stood on end, and it seemed he grew larger and more furry the closer Marcus got. " Gay. You have gay." The Elekid growled back, taking a few steps back so he was no longer underneath the much taller male. More words tumbled out, fast and furious. By the end of it Wannabe was merely staring up at Marcus, grasping for words---and finding nothing but empty air. "Whatever. Fucker." The electric type murmured strolling to the other side of the lobby--making a rude gesture at Dalton, and climbing into an empty chair. The Elekid's feet dangled over the dirty linoleum.
It seemed the electric type had a bath as well--if Marcus had taken a breath in between all of those words, the pokemon now smelled distinctly of Lavender soap. The fur now gleamed yellow, and his fur was slightly damp. It didn't seem to dampen his anger however, still at a loss for insults, the Elekid continued to glare at Marcus from across the room.
The rose smell was slowly being replaced with the sharp stench of copper and rot--courtesy of the not so clean floor. "Why the hell does Dalton have a ...WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU TWO HOLDING HANDS!? AND WHY DID YOU STEAL Someone’s BRAT RUMPELSTILSKIN?" The Elekid screamed across the room--finding himself ignored, as Dalton swooped down on Marcus like a hawk.
The elevator doors closed, and Dalton found him self staring at a rose-colored puddle, and empty space where Marcus had formally stood. Scooping up Lila, the ranger ignored Wannabe. "Let's go find Uncle Marcus~Lila" Ignoring the large green streaks left by his presence, Dalton pressed the lobby button, and aallowed the elevator to carry him downward.
Following the puddles of water, the ranger found Marcus--just as the rude man made his comment. "Have we met before--hobo?" A smile tugged at Dalton's lips, and with a few long strides he found himself bent over the bench, stairing at the put-out teen. "Now.. whether you come peacefully or not Marcie , we are getting that nasty head would looked at. We don't need you getting a concussion or anything." The Oddish paddled at the air inches from Marcus horizontal form.
--
Far above Wannabe had his face pressed to the window--and was glowering at the little bundle. " Greedy little bitch..."
Fucking Oddish. If that ugly thing was brought back here, he'd .. he'd...
drop kick it down the elevator shaft!
[EEEEWWWWWWWWWEEEWWWWW]
[EEEEWWWWWWWWWEEEWWWWW]
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Post by Marcus Brooklyn on Aug 6, 2009 20:15:49 GMT -5
[[I'm just gonna assume that Marcus went through it. I'm lazy as it is. XD]]
Marcus popped an eye open as soon as he heard a familiar voice, also calling him "hobo". Letting out an obviously irritated groan, he sat up as he allowed Dalton to seat himself wherever he liked. Of course, he couldn't help but scoff a playful snort as the Oddish paddled playfully at his figure. Now scoffing irritatedly, he only rubbed the back of his head. "It's fine, dammit. I'll heal." he grunted brutishly, uncaring of whether or not Dalton drug his sorry ass back into the hospital. He was already tired of the Elekid's constant usage of insults, and especially since he was told "he had gay", whatever the hell that meant. Only a slight quiver of his bottom lip could instantly set off the fact that this boy was already at a loss beyond words.
A single tear.
"I really try, you know?" he stated in a rather normal voice, uncracked and define, despite the fact more and more tears welled up, streaming down. Shaking his head a bit, he only wiped them away, his face as straight as they could get. He had a natural talent for keeping a poker face, especially when he cried, but the tears usually meant it was slowly failing. "I honestly try to be a good person, goin' around... 'Rescuin' Pokémon' and all that heroic stuff." A sigh through his teeth, his top row biting down on his lower lip slightly as he exhaled. "I try to be nice. I try to keep my cool. I try to, at least, be grateful for peoples' time..." The tears intensified, and he honestly had no care in the world who or what was watching. However, despite the waterworks, his face remained stone-stiff; even in the midst of a massive breakdown, his gaze unbreaking and still boldened as if he were looking Death straight in the face. Rubbing his temples, he went on.
"I get treated like shit. Every time. Is it the way I dress, or is it how I address thugs, or...what? Shit, is it because I'm gay?" Marcus questioned himself, never before having questioned his own homosexuality as the cause of anything before. Flinging his arms up in a dramatic shrug, he only slumped forward, his hands pressed against his cheeks as tears rolled down, his hair flung down all over the place. It was now clearly visible as Marcus's back seemed to bob up and down, actual sobs of despair escaping the teenager's lungs. "I help an Elekid out, and he treats me like I have some kind of disease; what have I ever done to the heartless bastard?!" he now yelled through his mouth those last two words with extra spite and venom, unable to contain his sorrow any longer.
His head no longer bled like it did prior to the painful pistolwhipping, but it still looked rather sickly, as it was caked with coagulated blood. However, that was the least of anyone's concerns, as the teenager lost himself within his own sorrow, unable to comprehend why, after five long years of trying to resist being thrown against the wall for being different, that it still remained the same way. "I'm not fit for this place! I wanna go home!!!" he finally shouted out loud, his fingers curled up as if they were going to dig straight into his skull and rip out his brains, before he slumped over, head buried deep into his arms as he gave into crying. "I wish... I just wish people would see things from my point of view, and stop being such selfish, god-damned bastards!"
[[Durr. Crappy excuse for an emotional post. Though I get into more of these than I do a lot of other things... Plus, some fitting music was playing, so nyeh. XD]]
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Post by Dalton[ SMILE!] on Aug 7, 2009 15:36:18 GMT -5
A single hand trailed around the top of the bench, following the smooth contours until it found itself in open air. With a little hop, and a unified leg-lift, the ranger plopped himself down on the empty bench. One leg instantly rose to drape over the other, and muscular arms spread on the back-rest like wings. Even though the seating style seemed insensitive, the man's face was nothing but sympathetic. Tilting his head, so both orange eyes were visible, Dalton frowned. The pout in the lower lip did not go unnoticed. " it will heal a lot better after I drag your ass in there, and they clean it up." The frown slowly turned upward--how cute Marcus was trying to be tough.
The first tear began to roll, and Dalton quickly changed positions. Sweeping his spidery legs beneath his frame, the ranger stood up, and loped until he was in front of Marcus. Kneeling in front of the youth, the ranger laid Lila against one knee. The smile was now stressed, and worried--but his eyes urged the boy to continue. Tears splashed against his face, and Dalton quickly wiped them away. It seemed that Marcus had a lot more issues then a single misinterpreted statement. In a soft voice--so as not to drown out the other words--Dalton stated: "Yeah. They thank you for that ..." No doubt the Abra would--if it wasn't in intensive care. The Elekid? Well, he was too much of a selfish jerk to say thank you. The smile was still there, poised and gentle--not at all forced.
Dalton was a bad person to come to with depression--his had turned him into a moping monster, more then likely to throw something at you then talk about it. It seemed young Marcus was the opposite. " No . . . I doubt that. Most people can be assholes .... big ones. You just happen to be a tad sensitive to it." Moving like liquid Dalton found himself back on the bench, the Oddish in his lap whimpering along with Marcus, who was now doubled over and sobbing. " ... Wannabe? hehehehe" The ranger began to chuckle, before realizing it was far from appropriate. "It's not just you--it's everyone. Wannabe's not heartless... just a little ... well extremely rude." The little sparkplug had hurt his feelings? So bad that he was crying about it? Occasionally Dalton's mouth jerked, laughter tugging on the edge of his smile. " Marcus.. you do realize that by crying cause he said something mean instead of "thank you so much~ you're my hero!" is giving the little Elekid what he wants? Ignore the bully and he'll stop--you almost had him with that last comment. Almost." It seemed that Wannabe needed to be taught to lid his words.
..Home. "If you want to go home so bad--then do it. I mean--sitting here crying about wanting to get there is going to get you nowhere but wet." Dalton had a feeling that this was going to hurt Marcus but at least it was hones. A hand snaked up, and attempted to remove the hand from Marcus still injured skull.
--
The dam then broke, and Marcus dissolved into sobbing, and Dalton merely stared. After a moment of silence, he clamped his hand down around the boy's wrist, before standing up, and walking toward the door. "We can cry about bad fortunes, and unfair life after we stop your brain from leaking out of your skull. Clenching Lila against his chest, the ranger stopped at the door.
No free hands?
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Post by Marcus Brooklyn on Aug 7, 2009 17:12:58 GMT -5
Even as the teenager sobbed his eyes out, Dalton's unfortunately honest statements stung him like Beedrill stingers, one right after another. He felt a violent urge to just lash out at the Ranger with Oddish in arms, but doing so wouldn't have solved anything. That is, until he actually said that Marcus was only giving Wannabe what he wants. His sobs suddenly stopped, the boy unhealthily bottling up every single depressing emotion he had leaking out like a jug pouring out water, a cork suddenly stopping the flow. Unhealthy as it was, Marcus's face - still hidden from view - had contorted into a grimace of rage and anger at the Elekid, the bully whos words hurt more than any stick or stone ever could. For once in his life, he had no choice but to just "suck it up" for now. He had then, slightly, forced his arm out of Dalton's grasp, in obvious agitation. "Don't do that - please." he requested, ushering "please" with added, gentle force. He could get up on his own, it was only a flesh wound.
Slowly standing up, he forcefully wiped away any remaining tears from his face, now straight and serene but still rather red around the cheeks, as he stared forward with a downright boldened glare. As if he were trying to force his psychic energies back to the surface once more. Swiftly turning his head around, he allowed his serious stare to meet Dalton's orange colored eyes, in attempt to match his "then go home" statement. "If only I could." he simply responded, turning around again and throwing his hair into a ponytail, his bangs out of his eyes now so that his hair would sweep low across his back. "It's not like I can just "take the next boat out of here," you know. I wound up here from Kanto, far away in Vermillion City's port. I had no idea I'd be taken here... But that was five years ago." Marcus ended the topic shortly, folding his arms. "The point is, I can't go back. For five, damned years I've tried and tried, and not once has a single boat or ship allowed passage to Kanto."
Sighing deeply, he gave up. What was there to argue about? Every time, he'd always lose a battle of words. Every time... God damned adults... But eventually, more unwanted images of Wannabe popped up in his head, and his god-damned insults, taunts, and unwanted flaming and bashing against him. Unnaturally strong fire burned within Marcus's soul this time upon being empowered to stand up for himself, and if one had imagination, they could probably see some invisible, flaming aura around the teenager's figure. Cracking his knuckles, he simply grinned a fanged smile, his left eye squinting upward a bit. "Almost, eh? he questioned, that still-burning desire to prove Wannabe for the sham he was still glowing. He turned around, chuckling at Dalton and Lila. "Before I get my head stapled or whatever, I wanna speak to Wannabe. I'm gonna make sure he sees for himself what a fraud that little bastard is..." he ominously stated, before heaving himself towards the sliding doors, his seven-tailed trenchcoat flapping about dramatically.
---
The human would eventually find himself in the main lobby once more, the floor having finally been cleaned and freshly mopped of all of the nasty fluids and whatever that caked the ground. Shifting his head left and right, he eagerly searched for the bastard Electric type, devilish thoughts in his mind. It would not go unrewarded, as he caught wind of the same Electric type that would forever taunt and verbally lash out at Marcus, just for being gay. A few onlookers, some groaning at his appearance again, eagerly watched as the boy thrust his finger out like an overtheatric lawyer ready to proclaim his objection to the court.
"HEY, ASSWIPE!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, hoping he'd catch the attention of the Pokémon at hand. At once, he simply got on his knees and thrust his arms to the side, flexed in L-shapes so that he looked as if he were going to power up to a fictitious level of phenomenal strength. "If you're so hellbent on proving me to be a weakass bitch, I challenge you - again!" he boldly shouted out in hot-blooded fury, his eyes glimmering with that mischievous intent to prove the Pokémon a sham, a fake, a complete loser in many ways. Pushing his fist against his own face, having finally cleared and dried of tears and sadness, he grinned wildly. "I challenge you to hit me. Go on - unleash the fury! See if you can knock me unconscious!" he would dramatically exclaim, playfully pounding his own face in with false punches, taunting the Electric type with all his hotheaded rage.
"I'll make it better! If you can land a good punch that gets me to say "Ow, that hurt" within a span of five minutes, I'll admit I was wrong and am, indeed, a total pussy. How's that sound? It's too good to be true, no?!" he would exclaim wildly, grasping a few astounded gasps from some elderly people, as well as a few others; even getting a slight whistle from another man, as if he were actually encouraging the boy to go on with this challenge. Truth be told, what he was doing was suicide - especially with a head injury that could have proven fatal. However, he was a fully trained martial artist; despite his head being soft and squishy on the back, thanks to the wound, his body was almost as hard as boulders and as tough as nails, thanks to his constant years upon years of extraordinarily difficult training regimens. Slim as he looked, if he tried, he could probably take down a fully grown adult in less than a few hits. If he tried.
And as stupid as Marcus was acting right now, in truth - he knew what he was doing. He gave an evil squint of devious confidence as well, knowing that the first place Wannabe would probably hit would be his groin area, with a well placed, fatty kick. Good thing he was wearing a crotch protector now - back about a few years ago, he had a nasty experience when Vee, his Charmander, accidentally roasted his chestnuts over the open fire on his tail as he was sent sliding backwards during a battle, passing through Marcus's legs in the process. Though it was only a minor burn, it hurt like a motherfucker, and encouraged the youth to wear protection these times around. Besides, it helped out usually. Not only that, he was also tempted to do a final punch to a tired Wannabe after he would tucker himself out, should he, but that'd be technically cheating - Marcus never really did like to knock out exhausted opponents in one hit. It wasn't really fun or challenging.
He had aces in the hole, but his confidence in his own skills and words would eventually help. And nobody - not even Dalton Swift - would deny him his chance to show his own Pokémon how wrong he was about him. He'd probably make sure of it.
First priority, though, was to get that wound defended, so Wannabe wouldn't expose this weakness and try to stab him or something. In a smart move, Marcus had unclipped one of the many, thick straps that encircled his waist as he tied it around his head, wound completely covered, so that he could apply pressure and stop any leftover bleeding from taking place. It would also, somewhat, amplify that whole martial artist moniker as the free-hanging bits of the straps hung down from the back like a true ninja's headband or something.
He would take his pose; arms flexed into L-shapes and to his sides, angled at forty five degrees; on his knees, empowered stare towards the Elekid.
He was ready.
[[Blah. Christmas song reference parody FTW. Plus, I felt like a "gogglehead" post, too, to counter the sheer emo that Marc poured out. >_>]]
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Post by Dalton[ SMILE!] on Aug 9, 2009 22:11:36 GMT -5
The ranger allowed Marcus to pull his hand away, his only resistance being to gesture upward with his open hands. "Just don’t run away--I trust you to behave. Or at least--not to cry when the doctors examine you...and I , like most dogs, have a thing for hunting down.... fast things" The smile plastered on Dalton's face told Marcus that he was only joking, not at all serious, and completely harmless. The thick muscles banding his legs, and his pose said otherwise. The last bit of the statement seemed rather off, but if one thought about his former career, it made sense. The ranger was relieved however, Marcus seemed to need a few more moments of conversation. Turning away from the door, the ranger took a few steps until he stood leaning on the balcony banister.
Dropping the hands down to his side--and being sure to stand in the middle of the balcony, Lila gentle cradled in his arms, he listened to Marcus. The ranger's lips pursed, and in a hiss he muttered: "What's up with Polly ... goddamned Polly." For a few moments he was silent, his eyes following the newly made ponytail wag back and forth in the wind. The man looked half tempted to play with it, but through sheer will he resisted that childish urge. " .. well ... I know somewhere you can get one… or maybe at least get a letter home, or some possessions sent over.” The place was completely illegal. Completely familiar to Dalton. Not to mention comp--very perilous. The boy could probably obtain a ticket there, for a price. " Five years? You mean you’ve found nothing good with this place? Besides the somewhat toxic scenery… and the war..I could not imagine it any better. Well--at least I couldn't imagine living anywhere else." Dalton was Remoorian born, and raised. The boy was a stranger thrust into an intricate world, only able to see the dark side; it took a bit of untangling to see the light now.
he ranger merely shrugged at Marcus next words, and allowed the boy to enter first, blood soaked coat flapping behind him, like a furious snake--or a brood of them. " .. .. .. I wonder if he realizes ….. .. that Wannabe knows he's a fraud? What do you think Lila?" The Oddish turned to look at her "daddy", who looked a bit too big to be her daddy--and he wasn't blue. But, the question, though confusing to the baby was met with a reply to the only part that she could make sense of: " THE WANNA MONSTER! BAD!" It appeared that even the Oddish knew that Wannabe was in the wrong, but still no more bedtime stories.
Strolling into the lobby, being sure to take a deep breath, the ranger plunged himself back into the busy lounge. Right off the bat he found himself sliding across the floor in a spider like manner, blood and water from earlier made it extremely slippery. The man began to tumble backward, but caught himself on the thick heels of his mud caked shoes. Bouncing back like a demonic punching bag, Dalton turned toward Wannabe and Marcus, resisting the urge to skate across the floor--it was kind of fun.
--
The Elekid watched as the trio entered inside, his ears could pick up small bits of the conversation. The words did not interest him until the end, at which point he stopped glaring at Lila, and scampered away from the chair. Quickly strolling into the center of the lobby the sparkplug tried his best to appear uninterested in the boy entering. The Pokemon whirled about -- staring fearfully at Marcus' finger, before words beat against his eardrums. For a moment he looked shocked [as did all the patrons in the lobby--a man yelling at a poor baby Pokemon~! THAT MAN WAS A CRAZY ASS--or at least an asshole!]. The Elekid's scared expression quickly faded, now replaced with one of boredom. "Name's Wannabe .. not Asswipe--but even a bind man could figure out you meant me. So what?" The human was now at his level, arms bent like a gorilla. The diseased breath of the homosexual washed over the Elekid, and he turned his head to avoid it. " .... what...grunting in the forest not enough? Besides why do I have to prove the truth?" The Pokemon shrugged, turning away from Marcus, and completely ignored the offer of violence. " ... it would be a ..... Waste of strength." The hesitation in his answer showed that it was more then that. The Elekid's face was currently one of shock--this guy WANTED to be punched? What a completely bonkers man. You did not mess with the insane, which was why he had never brawled with Dalton. Or so much as slapped anyone else.
The Elekid giggled.
Bah. Why would he hit Marcus--besides the guy was injured. " Too easy." If he had in fact chosen to fight with the human, he would have aimed a kick at the groin, followed by a static shock to the knee. Marcus was not the only one who was eager to break rules to prove the other wrong.
But Wannabe did not need to truth proven. "You look like an idiot. That's too good to be true." With a scoff, the Elekid stumbled away.
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Post by Marcus Brooklyn on Aug 10, 2009 13:49:00 GMT -5
Marcus's contorted expressions of hot blooded fury eventually turned into hot blooded frustration, as soon as Wannabe just... walked away. Seriously, he walks away from the opportunity to beat up a human being!? Who does that?! Seriously, most people would totally jump at the call to beat the living shit out of somebody! Marcus was about to lose his cool, but eventually regained it upon a thought entering his mindset - was Wannabe... Prideful? Wait, that was a given; of course he was - to the point of egotism on the highest degree. Perhaps he "didn't believe in hitting weaker opponents." That could have been the case; the olden day samurai sure as hell didn't believe in killing weaker foes for the hell of it. Scoffing at his comment on forests and grunting, he folded his arms. "I hate the outdoors." sarcastically replied, only providing more fuel for Wannabe's insults. A counter insult popped into his mind - a rather well-thought one, too - but he kept it into his mind, for later. (Insert fictitious, evil laughter)
But in any case, Marcus had to get out one comment, under his breath: "Chicken shit." He eventually just stood up, removing the bloody pants strap and re-equipping it to his pants, allowing it to hand loosely down. Going over towards Dalton, aware of his presence, he eventually shrugged; smiling wide and proudly. "The bitch is afraid. But in any case, there's option two: getting this wound closed up." he announced his further course of action, assuring the Ranger friend that he would get his wound inspected upon. Going to the counter, he leaned over, smiling at the third receptionist to take her spot there. (the other two weren't so much as caring towards the two humans the former times around). "Minor Head Injuries Ward?" he asked, smiling calmly and politely. Pointing down the hallway, but not before pointing up, she curled her finger towards the door. So, the trenchcoated boy eventually translated that as "up, down the hall, and to the left."
Thumbs up towards the receptionist, he beckoned Dalton to follow him to the elaborate elevator. "Hey! Let's go ride the elevator! It'll be fun guessing which floor it's on!" he jeered out, smiling cheerfully and in complete ignorance of Wannabe's existence now. Pushing the button repeatedly, he finally watched the white doors fly open, rushing inside the empty booth and, literally, jamming all the buttons down so that each of them glowed like fireflies. The door closed, eventually, and would propel Marcus up, floor after floor, looking at the signs that lined the tops of each hallway to see if the Minor Head Injuries Ward was even there. Of course, it took about, at least, eight or nine floors; but in the end, on the tenth floor up, he found the hallway Marcus was supposed to go down, and made no hesitation to do so.
As he walked, though, people stared at his oddly dressed manner. All black clothes, decked out in red, limegreen, and blue straps and chains; belts accommodating his outfit, too. Like he was some sort of freak. But the boy didn't care - it was a fashion statement; it made him look badass in several cases. Most of the time, though, his pants were hellishly comfortable. This was averted, though, by the caked swamp muck on the bottom of his pants, having hardened as if though they were recently starched. Sitting patiently on a bench that was next to the ward room's door, he simply twiddled his thumbs, in complete childish ignorance.
[[God. Sorry, it's a crappy post. I had to get something done today. TT^TT]]
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Post by Dalton[ SMILE!] on Aug 10, 2009 21:12:36 GMT -5
" That helps prove my points. Real men don't hate the outdoors--but then again gay-prick if you aren't a man ..what are you?." The Elekid paused in the middle of the room, taking care to step around puddles of gore--and wipe a large smudge of it off his freshly scoured foot, a stain quickly appeared on the "flawless" tiles. It was once again the putrid green of the swamp--that pair were leaving dirt around the place like dogs and crap! Someone would always step in it. Turning around to speak his mind on the subject, Wannabe watched as Dalton swooped toward Marcus.
It appeared he no longer wished to stay quiet. " .. So what does that make you? Besides an adorable little hypocrite?" Te electric type spluttered, face changing colors as he grasped for words. Finally he settled for jabbing a gleaming claw at the ranger, and yelling: "WELL YOU SMELL LIKE SHIT---AND STEAL CHILDREN!" The words were met with odd stares from an old couple, both of their eyes were expanded to the size of small plates. In comedic unison, the pair blinked together, before turning toward each other and shrugging. Wannabe was currently pointing at empty air, a dotted outline showing the ranger's former position, which was now as barren and empty as Wannabe's manners.
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Dalton curled Lila closer to his chest. The man nodded at Marcus, following him to the reception desk, and leaving the young Elekid to his spazzing. No one would steal him anyway--not eve n the most desperate robber would take a pokemon that defective. " ... Yes. He's afraid. Dare I say wisely? As you've deduced he is little more then a blowhard." The man stated matter-of-factly, before turning to follow Marcus. Pausing right before a bend in the hallway, he turned about and winked at the young lady behind the desk, a roguish twinkle in his gleaming eyes. "Glad you decided to come quietly--err--go quietly." The ranger grinned at the youth, bending his head so both of his eyes loomed inches from Marcus. " ..by th e way ..if I say anything lie that excuse me, I watch too many crime shows." Jabbing the button beside the elevator door, with more excite then normal, the ranger waited for the elevator to invite them in. A red arrow glowed above the door, and it popped open with a bell chime, passengers spilling out.
The arrival of all the new clients disguised the sound of greedy little claws smashing against tile. Slipping in behind Dalton--unseen , hopefully--the Elekid leaned against the wall, finding himself was a very uncomfortable view of the ranger's behind.
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Like a child Dalton began to fidget in the elevator. Frozen fingers clapping on the bar behind them [one arm still clutching Lila], dried swamp muck spilled into a decent pile on the floor. For three floors after that, the ranger and Oddish proceeded to hop, the Oddish letting out excited giggles.
The Elekid on the other hand was forced to move, narrowly avoiding a free-lance ankle. "JESUS! WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM!?" The "hidden" villain shouted, revealing himself to the upbeat elevator music. It was a rather odd theme for Churchill [Wanna], but it was better then being squished by Dalton's ass.
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People flowed in and out, the quartet staying on until the tenth floor.
Following the surprisingly eager patient, Dalton entered into the main hospital corridor, shoes squishing against the tiles. Reaching out a hand, the ranger gently grasped Marcus' shoulder--mistaking his agitation for pre-checkup jitters. "They can give you a sucker if you're scared. Always makes me feel better." Especially the butterscotch ones. It was so fun to crinkle the paper into balls, watching it make patterns in the fashion of a kaleidoscope.
"Does Lila want a sucker?" A little ring of feminine laughter---he doubted she knew what he was talking about.
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The Elekid found himself drifting in a sea of bodies--none of which slowed down for a little electric type. Shove , and shock as he might Wanabe watched as the doors closed in front of him, slicing away his last views of Dalton's muck covered back, and the snapping tails of the black cloak.
The number ten seemed to elongate, burning like a beam of light as the door slammed closed--with a grind of gears, the winch began to pull. The elevator moved upward.
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Post by Marcus Brooklyn on Aug 11, 2009 15:22:39 GMT -5
[[Going to just... Skip forward again. Don't really feel up to snuff right now. >____>]]
Marcus felt a powerful slap of Dalton's hand upon his shoulder, jumping slightly as the Ranger told him that the nurse in the ward gave out suckers in case he got scared. Laughing softly, as to avoid angering other patience, he flipped his hair up in a flamboyant fashion. "As if needles scare me. See this?" he questioned, before pulling down his right coat sleeve, revealing an exposed arm. Upon it was a rather grisly looking scar that ran down a good length of the front, and back, of the forearm; Marcus wiggling his fingers as if he were lightening the mood. "Two years ago, some asshole stabbed a thick as hell sword through it; right between the radius and ulna. Thankfully, I didn't move, or else I'd have a prosthetic by now." he informed, grinning sheepishly as if he were proud of his war scar. Slipping his sleeve upward, he only turned back towards the wall. "I'll tell you about it later; after I get this injury checked out." he concluded, before a chime signalled for the next "customer" to enter.
Without hesitation, he entered the doorway in a rather confident, perky attitude; suprising the nurse with a chuckle. "A-and you seem happy today! What seems to be the problem?" the female, whom looked around her early twenties with long, black hair and ebony eyes, questioned Marcus; whom hopped up on the table with an enthusiastic grin. Typical for someone who gets pistolwhipped in the back of the skull - especially if you're Marcus Brooklyn. "Got into a scrap; injury to the back of my head. The blood! It's ruining my hair, I tell you!" he joked, acting as if he were horrified by the dried blood with full blown, theatrical facial expressions of fear and agony. Chuckling in responsive humor, the slim and well-shaped nurse walked towards the back, inspecting the open gash upon the teenager's head. Her eyes widened a bit, before she nodded gravely. "I see. Well, the good news is is that it should definitely heal up fine; but I want to give you this, just in case." she had informed, before going towards the cupboard to reach for something.
In due time, Marcus flipped through the pages of the latest "Pokémon Informer" magazine, scrolling through the various articles to see just what may capture his attention. News, news, and more news; of course. Most of it was dealing with the various financial and environmental crises that were overtaking Remoor, and how the government officials claimed they were doing their best to keep it under control. The boy's face contorted into serene disgust at the pages, as if the paper had ruined his day. But, in actuality, it was the government. They said they'd fix it all, like they should. But, truth be told, they really looked as if though they were only making things worse. Environmental hazards grew more and more lethal, cases of wild Pokémon attacks got serious, to the point where death by dozens were now commonplace; even to the point where multibillion dollar corporations were suddenly declaring they were bought out or went bankrupt - without any given warning or forewarnings, for that matter.
It was all a mystery to Marcus, but he was only eighteen. Still too young to be getting into that sort of stuff.
The nurse returned with a vial of a clear-like liquid, placing it in Marcus's hands. Smiling, she stared him straight into the eyes, the boy responding with a happy-go-lucky gaze back; obviously making no attempt whatsoever to look down. He was one: gay, and he was two: too mature to do something so hideous in public. Wannabe popped into his mind again, but was instantly snuffed out like a candle. "It's a salve that'll help speed up the healing process. Make sure you wash your hair first before you apply it, and do it once ever six hours. It should heal up in about three days; at the latest." she informed cheerfully, getting a manly handshake from Marcus. "Aaaand I thank you for your kind and patient work, Miss. Have a wonderfully spectacular evening!" he had cheerfully wished the nurse a great day before triumphantly walking out of the doorway, leaning against the wall as he stared in that traditional, cocky grin, shaking the vial around as if it were a treasure.
"Piece of cake! Where to next?" he asked in cheerful attitude, that devilish grin of mischief reappearing once more upon his cleaned face. Looking backwards, he could only straighten his face as he thought about the gunshot Abra, whom was probably in extensive care now. Sighing, he shrugged towards Dalton. "It'll probably take a while before I get any results on that Abra. In the meantime, why don't we just go chillax and have fun? It's been ages since I was back in Nada!" he offered the opportunity to have the Ranger join in on festivities, before looking down in a sort of half-cocked grin towards Wannabe. "I'm sure there's a hooker or five you can put your mitts on. Hey, they're straight, at least!" he would only execute another "obligatory, anime bitch laugh", as he calmed himself down, a poker face upon his expression. Shrugging, he only sighed. Meh, he could have done better.
[[Bleh. Not too bad, for a hastily done post. >__>]]
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Post by Dalton[ SMILE!] on Aug 12, 2009 22:02:56 GMT -5
The ranger let out a quiet whistle, half tempted to run his fingers over the scars raised edges. " ..still.. needles can be scary .............even with a nasty little beauty mark like that." In the conversation, Dalton's hands had slid down to his waistline, wrapping around the bottom hem of his shirt. The muscles lurking in his wrists jerked, before slowly jerking upward. An inch above the hip bone, the ranger slipped his hands back out, the shirt flapping " .. Wait,.. why was someone carrying around a sword in this day and age?" Obviously someone would have stopped him--or notified the psych word about a man carrying a sword around. "Very good you didn't but ya know prosthetics are big hits at parties!" Balling his sleeve in his palm, the man staggered around, miming injury. "THE HOST CUT MY HAND OFF! OH GOD!" A giant grin. Followed by a rather too carefree: "JUST KIDDING! So fun." But this was not show and tell, so Dalton was not going to take his shirt off. The ladies had not paid for a horror movie. All of the police work, and extreme sports really took their toll--it was like looking at a Michelangelo. One that been run through a meat grinder.
When Marcus next spoke Dalto nodded. Pulling out an invisible memo-pad from his pocket, he scribbled the words "storytime", before stuffing it back in. In his arms Lila blinked, and offered up a question: " Whatsa Saword?" "A very nasty thing." "What's Nasty?" Stunned silence. Children were so cute--but really hard to hold a conversation with. Instead of replying, Dalton finally decided on a response. With a delighted squeal, the ranger nuzzled into the little plant type--grinning when she giggled.
Following Marcus--ignoring the odd gaze from the nurse-- Dalton ducked into the room. The doctor had nice legs, and of course must be a very smart lady to get past medical school. " ...So his brains won't find themselves on the floor anytime soon? Well it seems you were right Marcus." White coat swishing around the door jamb, the ranger hopped over and yelled at her retreating back: "Thanks for checking him out ..err.. his injury!" It looked like he wanted to tap dance, or at least wag his tail--judging by the silly grin across his cheeks. It stayed there, when the ranger draped himself across Marcus' chair, reading the words with a slight frown. "Well ..silly little politicians seem to be at a loss again." Lying--that was all the did. Or course Pravus did pay them to do it, just like they paid for this hospital. The normal rude comment did not erupt, and the ranger paused, where was that perverted little Elekid--standing behind his ass in the elevator. Really.
In a flash, the appointment was over, and they both exited the room. The ranger walked with a light step, practically "Quit being cheeky mister. Maybe we can eat.. if we don’t rot the food with our body odor....PIECE OF PIE! TO A PIZZA PIE!" The segway only popped into his mind, after he had already begun to speak. Dropping it as a lost cause, he proceeded toward the Elevator. "WANNNNABEEEE~" Silence. "Guess he doesn’t want any hookers.. or fun. We can go start a bar fight!" In fact. It would be a ton of fun to do.
" ..or we can eat. So it's up to you...after we find Wannabe ..where oh where could he be?" The singing was atrocious. The Elekid's current location was worse.
Crammed between many bodies he randomly stabbed at a floor button, and felt the elevator steadily raising. The door slowly creaked open--sending bright light flooding into his eyes. Screams echoed through the corridor, and the elevator slammed closed behind him.
A cheery little sign pronounced:
"WELCOME TO THE PSYCH WARD! HAVE AN AMAZING DAY~!"
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