Healthy Mind, Body, And Soul [Pokemon Encounter]

[Marcus Brooklyn]

<Entrance>

A healthy spirit resides in a healthy mind and a healthy body.

___

The area around was dank, disgusting, and vile. The foul aromas from the swamp "waters" below seemingly turned visible as the pungent stenches of death, decay, and toxic waste overcame any remaining plant-life. That is to say, if there was any left. Sildios Swamp: laid to wither and die after the constant years of nonchalant dumping of waste products from the various factions of this...war that raged on in the region of Remoor. The fantastic creatures known to all as "Pokemon" have either died away with the rest of the plants, or somehow mutated and deformed to look like sick, twisted, perverted versions of their former glory.

The spirit embolsters the mind with confidence...

Within this living hell of an area stood, or rather, floated, a young man - no older than eighteen. His clothing was swirling slightly within the nonexistent breezes as his six foot, two inch figure, literally, floated in mid air, in a meditative position that forced him to sit cross-legged like a Buddha, his palms and fingers positioned in the physical "om" symbol. His eyes were closed, yet his clothes were still swirling around and his body was still hovering over the charred and barren "grass" that lay underneath.

The mind provides function and coordination to the body...

The young man was a psychic. A form of "mutant" now roaming around the world, the boy was gifted with the special art of lifting objects, including himself, in the air and about with naught but a single thought - psychic levitation. The rather odd, gothic-style clothing the male wore was a trench-coat that split into about seven or eight coat tails that snaked about underneath the boy's legs at the waist. His pants were flared out at the bottom, where the feet were visible; so that they would sag and droop. The many chains, belts, and straps - including the special "tail strap" at the back of the male's pants, right where the belt line was near the base of his spine, swayed about as the boy seemingly kept himself up in the air without even doing so much as... anything.

The body provides the spirit with physical form and mass...

At once, several small, blackened rocks no bigger than the size of grapefruits suddenly begun to shake and rattle around the boy as a small, reddish colored wave of mental energy pulsated around him, the "spheres" of earth being slowly grasped from their location by sheer force of mind. Slowly, slowly, slowly, they rose up from the ground as they began to sluggishly make their way towards the floating boy's location, his eyes still closed as he concentrated with all his best efforts on the three stones, encircling him as if they were three protective spirits.

All work as one, all act as one, all think as one...

Faster and faster the three grapefruit sized stones would spin around the boy's head, as the male's eyelids, closed, began to flutter and flitter about like Butterfree in the wind. More reddish colored pulsations of mental energy would be emitted, showing his intense concentration as he struggled to keep his balance and self-sustained levitation in the air. As seemingly "magical" or "expert" as this was, the boy was still far from perfecting his ability, his gift.

Spirit. Mind. Body. All are one...

The first rock would suddenly fly outward at a startling fast pace, being sent rocketing towards a burned and barren tree trunk no bigger than the size of a baseball bat at its thickest, heading for the base of the trunk dead on. CRACK! Instant hit, as the rock was sent crashing through the tree and into the murky goo below. The second rock would then be hurled upward as if a child was throwing a baseball into the air, then, mentally, would be "caught" again before being sent flying outward in no particular direction, landing into the swamp about ten meters to the right. The third one, however...

All is~

THUNK!

At once, not only did the third rock simply just drop to the ground, but the boy with it, plummeting towards the burnt lands that he once floated under, giving out a loud grunt as dust kicked up where his buttocks landed. Rubbing his butt in pain, he simply groaned. He almost had it, too... Instantly kicking himself back up into a standing position, he wiped his dragon-etched paraphernalia - coat, shirt, arm sleeves and pants - free of dust and whatnot, sticking a tongue out in disgust at how nasty and slimy the ground was. Shifting his eyes towards whatever the noise that interrupted his mental meditation, he shrugged, flipping his coat back towards the right a bit to reveal two, small orbs: one was the traditional red and white, while the other was painted black, lacquered for that shine, and varnished alongside the center streak with a bright coat of red; custom done by the human himself, mostly out of boredom.

Poké Balls. The very tools of the Pokemon trainer's trade, these very balls could capture and instantly tame a wild Pokemon, once captured within its walls. Inside these two were the boy's very faithful companions and his two best, if only, friends; Vee: an ultra rare, golden Charmander whose skin sparkled when released from its safe compartment (and one with a rather perverted mind), and Sasuke: a Riolu whom was usually inward spoken and quiet, but was capable of telepathic speech. Vee was the only Pokemon within the human's team that was capable of speaking the human language, however, had become externally spoken as well. Sasuke, however, was aware of the human's psychic abilities and began to project his own speech within his mind, allowing him to communicate without stutter or shiver; despite the fact that the boy had to actually speak outwardly in order to properly respond, something in which Sasuke understood.

The male's name: Marcus Brooklyn. Eighteen years old, a martial artist who breakdanced on the side. A gifted psychic who could levitate himself and other organic and inorganic objects through his mind. And today was just another day in the horrible, war-torn world of Remoor...

[Dalton[ SMILE!]]

One word summed this place up. A single syllable had the ability to describe this place.

--

Brackish water lapped against exposed tree roots, drawing angry hisses from the creatures inside. Many eyed monstrosities glided through the molasses like water with nary a wave. Innocent pokemon disappeared beneath the still surface with nothing more then a 'plop' to mark their demise. Instead of a grave or prayers, they were eternally laid to rest in the belly of another, gnashing teeth and beaks greeted their deaths, no family consoled them. Occasionally a breeze would flutter the gnarled branches that shadowed the swamp. This little stir of wind would bring with it the smell of decay, death, and the fetid smell of rot. The inhabitants of this Swamp breathed it in gladly, some even letting loose mockeries of grins with whatever number ofm ouths they possessed. For the most part, the swamp was silent--but the feeling of eyes watching you [intent on making you their next meal] never truly left those who paid attention.

Pleasant little islands dotted the thick water, brightly colored flowers clinging to life in the diseased soil. Long bladed grass dipped toward the sludge below--the undersides of it was now a bloody red. The little Edens in this hell were nothing more then tantalizing bait for unwary wanderers. Occasionally a pair of eyes would open at their front, teeth gleaming in the murky water, before slowly closing once again. Rotten logs flowed over the surface of Sildios--their creaks and moans adding to the wicked aura of this place.

--

One word summed up Sildios--it was never spoken better then from the mouth of a disgruntled Elekid.

"EEW."
The little yellow beast repeated for about the tenth time, its flat feet settling deep into the silt of the shallow swamp water. The warmth reminded him not of a bath, but instead of blood flowing back and forth like an ocean. Flies occasionally fluttered by, breaking the odd quiet of Sildios. The Elekid merely sat there with one foot in the water, the other on the last remaining piece of solid land.
"There is no way in hell I am getting in there Daltbeen--if you think I am. YOU. Can go fuck yaself."
With a snarl, the electric type batted at some of the pesky insects buzzing around his head. Removing his foot from the water, the Elekid scooted up the bank, just as a pair of jaws snapped at the water's surface.

Narrowing his eyes, the Elekid leaned forward--watching his trainer grow faint in the distance.
" I hope something eats you--you--you fat ass loser!"
A cheerful wave greeted his words. The crimson top of his trainer slowly faded in the distance, and Wannabe found himself alone.

The heartbeats drumming in his chest sped up--now pounding in his ears. Every rustle was a nasty monster coming to tangle with him. Raising to his feet , the electric type shook his fist:
" None of you losers can take me--I am the great--Wannabe! Bring it!"
It was then that someone started whistling, the annoying noise echoing from far away, it was slowly twisted by the wind into a banshee;s shriek--or was it the Elekid's mind doing the distorting?
"Fuck you Dalton. You already chased me into Rayquaza's ugly ass---I am not letting you lure me into a radioactive Swamp. No way in hell."
Resting both legs by him in an Indian fashion, the yellow bully took to cleaning the muck from his foot with gentle sweeping motions.

----

Dalton splashed in the muck like a delighted child, obviously not the least bit frightened by the monsters lurking underneath his feet. The man took it so far as to whistle, occasionally replacing the high-pitched noise with a few hummed bars. Muck streamed down black fabric, the odorous substance eventaully finding its way into the ranger's boots. With a pause, Dalton wiggled his toes--relishing the feeling as they stirred the liquid resting beside them.
"They should use this stuff at the spa~"
It was then that he moved forward again, his light steps easily avoided the bait islands, instead choosing to walk in the deepening sludge. To him it was about the same temperature as bath water--it was almost like wading in pea soup--except a good bit more smelly. The man's nose was wrinkled in discomfort, and occasionally even he was forced to hold his nose.
"Just like roses~"

--

With a smirk, Dalton twisted to look over his shoulders. Both of his orange eyes gleamed mischievously as he spotted the dejected Elekid shaking a useless fist at him.
" Come on Wannabe..I know you hate being alone..."
Turning parallel to the little beast Dalton began to pick his way deeper inside, jumping upon the floating logs with relish--spinning them under his water logged feet, before splashing down on the other side.

--

Ten minutes of repeating scenery, Dalton found himself on the edge of a large island. Stepping upon it, he quickly examined the state of his clothes. the noxious substance coated him from the waist down, it had even splattered across his crimson shirt front. Wiggling his nose he could feel a large patch beginning to dry. The mans normally wild hair was subdued, a large glob of swamp slime--from the branch of a tree--had tamed it.

It seemed it had done nothing to damper the ranger's good spirits. A ridiculous smile was still pasted on his face, as he trotted across the oddly placed island.

--

Thick trees encased the area, and just as the ranger began to push his way through--a sizable rock smacked into his forehead. Stumbling backward, Dalton lifted a hand to check for blood. Finding nothing but the molasses like slime, he poked his head into the clearing, and grinned. Upon seeing Marcus--even hovering in the air-- the man’s mile seemed to widen. In a cheerful voice, Dalton jokingly asked:
'Taking a lunch break are we?"
The steadfast smile faltered, as pain began to blossom at the stone's point of impact. Stumbling forward, the ranger tripepd over an exposed tree root, before plunging face first into the swamp's depths.


One word:

"Eew."

---

[Marcus Brooklyn]

Only one phrase had been shouted from Marcus's mouth since he had even arrived at the swampy, desolate regions he had decided to meditate in. One phrase, since the Ranger with a smile came in, asked him if he was taking a lunch break, and suddenly slumped over into the murky depths face-first. "Oh, shit! Dude, are you okay!?" bellowed Marcus as he had hustled over towards the other male's location, slowly trying to help him out of the swamps. Breathing a bit heavily now, thankful that it wasn't a mutant Muk or something worse than said mutant Muk, he simply sweatdropped in a sort of obligatory, anime-like style. "Sorry 'bout that. I heard a noise while I was meditating and got distracted. N-no hard feelings, right?" he would ask as he scanned the male's features.

The clothes themselves would scream out "I'm a Ranger. Look at me," but the attitude on the boy, despite being practically soaked head to toe in both slime, murk, waste, and a sizeable lump on his forehead; he looked as if he enjoyed his position as a peacekeeper of Remoor. Shrugging, he continued to further examine his features. Lifting both eyebrows for nothing more than a second, his bottom lip shot out for a split second, his shoulders flying up again in a quick jerk. He was of average, if not, Skitty-quality cuteness. Even Marcus had to admit that there were some rather attractive looking men out in the world, albeit they were either jerks or straight, so he had a hard time finding anyone he really could swoon over. But, as of now, this guy was in pain - and romance would definitely have to wait.

Sure enough, Marcus concluded he was definitely a Ranger. Admirable, due to their efforts to try and restore this godforsaken country of Remoor to whatever glory it formerly had. But, as Marcus would lift an eyebrow, he simply bypassed the exterior looks and went straight for the interior. He seemed rather...happy, for his appearance. Happy enough to have even been hit by that rock that he nonchalantly mind-threw out of the way, in no particular direction. Even as a psychic boy, whom could lift things with his mind, Marcus was far beyond perfect; and he still had a long, long way to go before he could even begin to perfect his art of levitation.

Chuckling weakly, knowing he'd probably get his ass kicked sooner or later, he offered a hand in apology and extended friendship in an attempt to delay the inevitable ass-whooping he would receive in one form or another. "Ah, heheh. L-like I said earlier, sorry about that... err... Rock. 'Name's Marcus Brooklyn. You?" he would ask in a nervous, but outwardly friendly, voice; his dark and sinister clothing seemingly blending in with the ominous scenery that surrounded the Sildios Swamp. Even the supposedly radioactive green clouds above, with that strangely golden sunset out in the west, seemed to make his outfit look as if though he really wanted nothing to do with the boy. But hey, looks were only looks.

He then shifted his eyes to a rather antagonized Elekid, whom obviously did not enjoy the "beautiful" scenery of the Sildios Swamps. Marcus lifted an eyebrow once more, weakly pointing towards the human-speaking Pokemon, his elbow in his waist, as he giggled slightly. "Is that your Elekid?" he would ask, amused by the cursing and antics of the Pokemon whom was fending off all sorts of dangers and disaster areas he would walk into, one after another. A thought would then come to the male's head, as he flipped his hair back into a noticeably long ponytail, squatting down to eye level with the male he introduced himself to.

"What's a guy like you doing out in these places? Don't know 'bout you, but I was meditating before I accidentally clogged you with that rock."

[Dalton[ SMILE!]]

Dalton found it difficult not to gag. Luke warm streamed into his mouth, streaming out his nose. it choked his senses, dulled his hearing, clouded his vision, and burnt his throat. Worst of all was the assault it commandeered on his taste buds. No doubt this was what decaying garbage tasted like. The bitter taste enclosed his mouth, and the ranger barely resisted the urge to open his mouth to spit. Shaking his head side to side, Dalton pressed his palms into the silky soil of the swamp, and pushed. Instead of achieving the desired effect of shoving himself out of the fetid substance, it only made things worse. The soft pillow substance below Dalton sank, the silt grasped at his wrists, swallowing them up in their sandy embrace. Slimy things brushed his alabaster skin, and even the happy man found it hard not to shiver. It was then that a pair of strong hands wrapped around his side, and Dalton tilted his face upward to see Marcus. Instead of being foolish opening his mouth to reply, Dalton nodded. The water at his face rippled outward. The ranger gratefully accepted the others assistance, and was soon sitting up in the odorous water. It dripped off his clothes--dulling the bright colors. A glove of silt enclosed his wrists, inhibiting his skeletal fingers. So instead of his normal cheery wave, Dalton nodded at Marcus. Water sprayed outward from his bangs, the dirty grey substance flew toward the other, and Dalton grinned sheepishly. It was then that you notices the thick sediment coating his teeth, spitting a few times he managed to remove most of it.
"Swallowing that stuff is a bad idea--I hope I didn't. I like having two arms, and eyes."
A decent sized puddle formed around the ranger, and he exuded the scent of death. In fact, he was amazed that Marcus could stand so close. It was obvious the other was worried about vengeance, and Dalton quick;y shook his head.
"I know it was an accident--I don't hold grudges. No need to worry about it."
Instead of standing [ and risking another dip into the swamp] Dalton merely remained with his legs dangling in Sildios' shallows.

With a drawn out moan, the smile shattered, and Dalton gently prodded the growing lump on his forehead. The bump let out a howl, nerve receptors leaped to attention, before marching through his body and dropping off little bursts of pain.
"Damn. Idiotic rock went and spoiled my good looks. It needs to apologize."
The laugh was hollow, and obviously faked. But, eventually the grin stitched itself back together, the pain faded to a dull ache. Dalton removed his face from his cupped hands--muck now streamed off of it like water--and turned to the psychic once again. A clean hand loomed inches from his face, its fingers splayed in a ray like manner. Taking the invitation, Dalton slammed a muddy hand into Marcus' proffered one, and pulled himself up. The grin on his face, showed that he was having way too much fun covering the other fellow in radioactive waste.

"Dalton Swift--and like I said no need to apologize. I do enjoy swimming in deadly substances."
Disentangling his hand from Marcus, Dalton dropped it back to his side. For a moment he contemplated rubbing the muck off on the dark fabric on his pants--but that would only spread it around. So instead, he decided to keep looking like some kind of sand-monster. It would be rather fun to scare his Elekid with. Examining Marcus, he grinned:
" So you a psychic? that little floaty thing was real right? Not one of those scam-artist magic shows?"
Either way it was entertaining, when you weren't nose deep in mud anyway.

Turning to glance through a clearing in the old swamp trees, he quickly nodded.
"That's Wannabe--little pest is mine. He can be a real sweetheart..when he's ...not himself."
Cupping a hand over a muck covered ear to indicate that he was listening, Dalton poked his head through the thinning branches, and shouted to Wannabe:
"Come on over here--nothing ate me!"
Instead of trotting over like a faithful hound, the yellow beast scowled, made an obscene gesture with his hand, before turning his back on Dalton.

--

Shrugging, the ranger twisted his head about in an owl like manner to stare at Marcus. Both of his orange eyes seemed to glitter, his hand scratching at his chin as he thought about the question.
"I came here to meet an old friend of mine. Haven't seen the guy in a while..so I figured I'd drop by."

Listening to the conversation, the Elekid shivered. Somehow he didn't like the sound of Dalton's old friend. That man thought cannibalistic headhunters who threw spears at him were best buddies.

[OMG. That is the worst post..ever.............I think my muse has croaked today. Maybe it will revive tomorrow.]

[Marcus Brooklyn]

Sighing in exhuberant content about the boy, named Dalton Swift, not holding grudges; Marcus was rather ignorant of the possibly harmful substances that were drencing the male's body, even as he shook his sludge-covered hand. And, to be honest, once one stayed here for an extended period, the smell kind of grew on you - if that was considered a good thing. Though hearing this man's rather humorous statement, even if they were pale and lame, about the rock that slugged him in the forehead made the boy snicker a bit, as he lacked a three-dimensional humor at times. Even so, he was already enjoying the Ranger's company.

Hearing him say he "enjoyed swimming in deadly substances" only made Marcus chuckle more, the humor gene skipping a few generations in the process. "Looks like we have something in common, Dalton. I don't mind getting dirty myself, but... Yeah, this place isn't the top of my list, to be honest." he would pause mid-sentence, scanning the area to confirm it was still poisonous. Noxious green clouds of gas? Check. Filthy sludge water? Check. Horrifying, mutated versions of what were Pokemon? Up the wazoo. Good, Marcus was still sane, to a specific degree. (Or, at least that was his own thoughts).

Then it came. The question that usually had Marcus simply walk away or ignore people: "was he really psychic?" Shrugging this time, feeling there was no need to be rude, he smiled honestly and widely. "Yep! Honest to goodness psychic powers, right there! Found out I had 'em since I was... Eight? Nine? Somewhere along those lines." he would pump his arm out, as if he were trying to amplify the truth of his statement. But looking at the sizeable lump on his forehead made Marcus sweatdrop, anime-style. "As you... can... feel, I have the power to levitate things, including myself. It's like a , uhh... sort of flight, if I pick myself up off the ground - and it beats walking large distances." he explained his psychic functions towards Dalton, trying to be calm about the situation. Truth be told, he wasn't perfect, as the round ball of pain on the Ranger's head would suggest, but he had it down to the point where "flying" in the air was a second nature to himself. Scratching the back of his head sheepishly, he looked over towards where Dalton pointed.

"'Wannabe', eh? Sounds fun..." he would sarcastically, yet jokingly, tone. Wannabe. The name itself seemed to grind Marcus's gears. If it was one thing he hated in the world of Remoor, it was poseurs and wannabes. But, it was just a nickname, so what did he have to be mad about? Seeing Dalton happily shout out something towards the Elekid, Marcus Brooklyn gasped in slight shock to see how rude this guy was - even going so far as to flip his alleged Trainer "the bird" before turning his back on him. Sweatdropping again, he smirked in a rather nervous way. "Heheh... You guys must really get along... I think." he would whisper that last bit, unsure of the "faithful" relationship of the Pokemon and Trainer. All he knew is that if that Elekid knew the attack, Frustration, it'd make sense for him to know it - for such a disgruntled sparkplug, that was.

As soon as Dalton Swift explained why his purpose for coming to the Sildios Swamps was, Marcus folded his arms in curiosity, tilting his head like a baby Growlithe. "Old friend? What, somebody lives here?" he would joke in a stale manner, that lack of humor gene rising up once again. Then again, usually hearing "old friend" in a sentence either meant someone was travelling down memory lane to visit a gravestone, or they were really some mercenary guy looking for a bounty that escaped their justice once or twice. He had to, for safe reasons, keep his mental and spiritual guard up. Physically, he knew martial arts; mentally, he could levitate and "fly" away. Spiritually was simply just a matter of willpower, in the end.

[Dalton[ SMILE!]]

[ Dalton's older then Marcus I think--he's almost 30)


The sound of laughter tugged at the edges of Dalton's lips, widening the smile. Sometimes he liked to think of himself as a glee-messenger, who loved to deliver lame jokes, and fake laughs to everyone. Making a pouting face shift into a happy one made his day. While he spoke, Dalton would occasionally pause, and spt globs of waste onto the charred ground.
" Marcus--do you have any water? I think mine'd be ruined after my little dip...and I have no idea what drinking this filth would do."
A single look at the bubbling , odourous substance made the ranger shiver. No doubt he would end up with a pair of kidneys would shrivel up like burnt bacon.

Another drawn out laugh. It appeared that Dalton was on a roll today. Feigning shock, Dalton clapped a hand over his mouth [instantly regretting it].
"But why not!? I mean--look at that beutiful green sky, smell that polluted air, admire that delightful drab scenery! The thick murky water is like a visit to a spa!. It invigorates the senses!"
It disgusted the senses more like. Dalton's face folded in on its self, as he began to cough. The swamp bottom now coated his lips with a noxious taste--much like licking the acid of a battery. Which he had done. Which might explain some things about his current state of mind.

Dalton nodded at Marcus' reply.
" You're the second one I've met this month Marcus. The first was a younger girl--she seemed rather..depressed though."
Not to mention was in Pravus, but no point in drudging up grudgesi n an interesting conversation. Dalton gingerly brushed his forehead again, grime slid from his coated hands to roll down his face, now hanging from his eyebrows.
"Kind of like a magic carpet? I mean not like a persian rug--but that kind of style of levitation? Have you found any uses for it? "
Sheer curiousity dripped from the rangers' words, he was not interested in calling other people nasty names [like freak] or employing Marcus' abilities for his own goals [what goals?], no he was sheerly curious. Unlike the fabled cat it was never his curiousity that made trouble--sometimes it was a lack of it.
"So since its obvious you don't talk about this much .."
Dalton quickly gestured an open palm to Marcus' spread arms--which practically shook with excitement.
"How did you find out? Clock someone in the head with a rock?"
A tooth smily replaced the friendly one, aand Dalton chuckled. It was obvious hew as only teasing. Hopefully this guy didn't go around smacking people with dirt encrusted stones.

What was moving objects psychically called---telekanis right? No , Telekinises.

--

"err...the name's kind of a rude screw-up on my part. When I named the tyke I was rather distraught over the loss of a friend, and he was forced down my throat. So being bitter I called him nothing but..a Wannabe."
Dalton's face crumpled, his eyes became blurry with tears, which he quickly wiped away. The smile dipped downward, and for just a moment--the man's voice seemed hollow, shaking like someone burdened with emotion. The straight-backed posture slouched forward, as if is body weighed too much to hold up. The man's chin dipped toard his chest, and Dalton looked his age as wrinkles deepened all over his baby face. The second he turned away from the bush though, the depression had been cleaned away--and the sunny smile was back in place. No sign of the former convict, or trapped man. Marcus' next comment made Dalton laugh.
"Hates my guts he does. Hates coming outside. Hates doign labor--hell he's terrified of the water. Hates sunlight. Refuses to lift a little white claw to do a thing. Hates me the most."
The words were dark,a nd somewhat haarsh--but the sunny tone with which they were proclaimed made it seem like some kind of joke. A not very funny one. With a wink at Marcus' Dalton allowed his eyes to swing over to the far bank--but the little sparkplug had departed.

--

The Elekid hovered behind a moss covered tree, the deep furrows of the bark seemed to prick at his spine.
"Asshole."
Wannabe murmured to himself--he didn't hate the sun. Nor was he afraid of this stupid ass swamp. Slamming a fist into the towering willow, the Elekid pulled it back with a howl. A large bruise was already spreading across the knuckles, and his claw was broken.
"bastard made me break one of my amazing claes--I'll show him who's scared!"
Glarign t the tree, the yellow brat of a pokemon took a step into the swamp--then another.

The steps were like stomps, each one sinking into the soil, before pulling out with a squelch. Swamp green now aturated his short-fur, and he grimaced in disgust. Pausing halfway across, he scowled--and attempted to turn around. It was then that Wannabe realized he was quite stuck--his calves now were glued into thes wamp muck. A thin, slimy thing then chose that moment to coil about his leg. Fuck.
"DALTBEEN GET YOUR LAZY ASS OVER HERE--I SHOUDLN'T BE FORCED TO WALK THROUGH THIS MUCk! ME THE GREAT WANNABE!"
A experimental jerk of his cemented legs caused him to stumble forward. Fuck.

---

With a wiggle of his light colored eyebrows, Dalton answered Marcus' question.
"Not somebody--Something."
The smile distorted into a demonic thing.

Maybe it was the lighting? The second the Elekid started screaming Dalton glanced at his wrist:
"Right on time. Let's go fish him out"
Sticking one arm straight into the air, and lifting a leg in a dramatic fashion, Dalton took off through the underbrush--leaing muk in his wake.

The regular super-hero.

That's Dalton Swift.

[Marcus Brooklyn]

[Sorry about that. I never usually read others' profiles before I RP with them. I'mma have to get in on that. XD]

Marcus would hollowly laugh at Dalton's pleas for actual water this time around; something was off. Even the black-haired, eighteen year old could tell that Dalton Swift was setting up a facade, even with the rather witty and humorous jokes and cracks. Hearing that he was the second one the man had met earlier, aside from that of a "depressed" female, Marcus folded his arms. Shrugging, he listened further. Then hearing his query on what uses he had for his levitation powers, he simply pointed his finger towards his chin, his mind digging through his archives of constant memories being formed on how he applied his powers. "I can make it so that me, and anybody or Pokemon equal to or smaller than my height and weight fly as well, and I can also launch shit at other people like a cannon. It's really fun, and it helps in case you got a Tauros or nine up yer fuckin' ass." he would cackle this time, knowing it actually helped at times to escape rampant Pokemon [or people] that would chase him and his two friends, lodged in their Poke Balls. "Other than that, it's really like a sort of 'do this for me' power. I don't have to get up to get the remote anymore - it's wizardry, without the lame-ass spell names and cheesy sparkle effects!"

Chuckling a bit at Dalton's question on how he found out about his powers of the mind, Marcus shook his head. "No, actually, I was... I actually found out when I was crying." he would state in a rather depressed tone, obviously having never really been asked that. It was a blur as to what he was crying about back then, but he could remember him figuring out he was a psychic like it was yesterday. But, as for the motive and the usual reason, he could recall it, crystal clear. "All I can say is that I wasn't really the most 'popular' kid back in the day - being picked on, swirlies... The usual kid pranks. I ended up sobbing in the front yard of Sa-" he trailed off. Saffron City. Hell, Marcus didn't even know if any of the residents in Remoor knew of the Kanto region, let alone Saffron City. It was the place that one of the 'resident psychics' found out about his gift for levitation. He decided it'd be best to leave out the nitty-gritty on venue, and just get straight to the point.

"I looked up after I had cried about four minutes and noticed tiny rocks, the size of my pinky, floating around my head like the rings of Saturn. It was cool at first, but I was kinda scared..." he explained further, finding a rusted bench near the murky and molasses-like sludge that used to be called water. He was getting too into his childhood, and already he was telling his life story to a total stranger. Best be cautious, for now - besides, Marcus didn't feel like explaining at the time. "Let's just say 'some shit happened, blah-blah-blah, the end'. It's really complicated." he would give the shortened version, before ending up allowing Dalton to explain how Wannabe got his name.

His suspicions of his ruse in being all flowery and cheerful only got stronger, as the male's voice grew a bit, but noticeably, more hollow upon hearing the fact that Wannabe was rather..."forced" on to him. But hearing him laugh only made Marcus raise an eyebrow, mostly in concern for the new friend he would possibly make [even if he was an old fogey, in his mind]. Seeing as how practically unfaithful Dalton described Wannabe made Marcus concerned once more. The phrase "Gym Badges" popped into mind - the more one had, the more obedient your Pokemon would be. But then again, he hadn't seen even one Gym anywhere in Remoor during his five-year stay. Not a one. This, in turn, brought a sort of grimace towards Marcus's own face - how he longed to go home.

<Something? What does he mean by 'something?'> Marcus thought to himself, wondering if there was something monstrous lurking in Sildios Swamp, eager to just ask to be captured, before hearing the rather loud and obnoxious pleas for "Daltbeen" to come and rescue Wannabe. Watching the Ranger exit in theatrical fashion, Marcus's eyebrow lifted once more. <A Ranger?... Yeah, more like Power Ranger, if you ask me...> he thought in unenthused action, but then again, he was known to breakdance while he fought - shit. That made him a hypocrite. Wincing as if he had defeated himself, he simply closed his eyes, sighing deeply as he concentrated on his feet, the feet that touched the ground. <My feet do not touch the ground... My feet guide me through the wind... My mind is the wind, and my body is the leaf...> he would somewhat chant to himself; an odd quirk he used to concentrate on martial arts meditations. He would apply this towards his psychic abilities, in an effort to concentrate and easily focus his powers.

Surprisingly enough, it worked. His own body was slowly enveloped by a dim, yet noticeably, red glow - his psychic residue - as Marcus was slowly picked up off the ground, his legs slightly bent as if he were trying to balance himself through the air. He wasn't perfect, per se, but he had the hang of it quite well. His very mind could allow him to sail through the air as if he were a leaf in the wind, and the boy would prove so by thinking of his destination: in this case, Wannabe's location. It was as if his mind alone was propelling him now, as the boy's oddly dressed self was sent slowly moving forward before he was now completely horizontal to the ground, like that of an old comic book superhero, as he flew at an even level with Dalton Swift, whom was a rather fast runner to be precise.

"Oi, Dalton! If you want, I can make it easier on you and help fish 'im out, the little bugger! I've got Pokemon with me, too, so it'll be four times as easier!" Marcus kindly shouted out as he had waved his hand, brimming with mental energy, slowly unattaching the small orbs that were attached to his belt and allowing them to slowly revolve around the boy's being, as if they were electrons on an atom. It looked like he was showing off this time, but Marcus was simply preparing to launch one of his comrades out into the battlefield, just in case there was an enemy lurking nearby. One black Poke Ball, custom painted, and one regularly painted white and red one. A Charmander and a Riolu.

An odd combination, for a psychic martial artist.

[Dalton[ SMILE!]]

In a chipper voice, Dalton made his own observations on Marcus' powers.
"Kinda like Tinkerbell from Peter Pan--the whole making other people fly thing."
A rather astute observation. Dalton did not truly think about it being offensive. It never crossed his mind that Marcus would mind being called a feminine, scantily clad, bitch of a fairy. The man paused for a moment, a clay-like hand brushed his chin, leaving flakes in his newly grown wedge beard.
"Why would you throw something at the Taurus? Stop and talk to em."
Dalton grinned once again.
"They may be a little hot-headed, but man are they fun to run with~"
Said the man who had never been trampled. Or chased for that matter. It probably helped having a giant ass Arcanine underneath your legs--or standing next to you with smoke pouring from his nostrils.
" But I adore cheesy special effects! besides--"
Dalton [who was not only a pokemon rights activist, but also a poster-boy for fitness] wagged a skeletal finger in the younger fellow's face.
"That's kind of lazy--why not use it to make a new kind of game? Or play fun pranks?"
Pranks with levitating--hell--you could pretend to be a ghost. It would scare the crap out of people--especially those like Calista.

Ghosts were adorable, the ranger had no idea why not many people loved them.

---

For some odd reason Dalton had an urge to pat Marcus on the shoulder during the story. A show of pity not often seen in this dog-eat-dog region. Even though it was hard, he kept his splayed hand at his sides, and resisted the urge to embrace the other.
"Swirlies were so much fun~ who needs popularity?"
Call it in story commentary. Dalton knew where he was coming from--at least until he brought his Arcanine to school one day and 'accidentally' set one bully's pants on fire. The ranger waited for Marcus to finish, his eyebrows raised in inquiry when he cut off a word.
"Sa-?"
What? Sam's Club? Samuel's Strip bar? A comic book store? No wait--strip clubs didn't have front yards.
"Some shit always happened--it never keeps its smelly little nose away. But thanks for telling me, and if I had seen dancing rocks I would not have only been scared--but checked myself into a psych ward. Not that you're crazy."
Then again did most school-kids even know what a psych-ward was?
But if ya want to continue feel free--I do like frying my neurons."
Dalton may have been nosy, but he knew a dodge when he saw one. After all, before he had joined the vigilante squad he was a police constable. You haven't heard lying until you were one of those--it helped him sniff dodges out like nasty garbage--or swamp sewage. Being a cop had its advantages--the best of which being the free coffee. The worst of which was seeing Remoor dissolve into a criminal's world. Colleagues slowly changed as well, extortion--and bribery ran as common as law abiding cops.

So no more pushing. Marcus was not a criminal after all--hopefully.

-

A sharp whistle broke the lull in the conversation--as Dalton turned around to see Marcus jerking through the air. When the younger boy was even with him, the ranger stuck his tongue out.
"Now you look like superman--without the latex."
Superman. Now that was a fun guy. Even though him an Marcus both had issues with rocks. Ducking an overhanging branch, Dalton felt his pants leg enter the warm water, and shivered.
'Duhduhduhda!"
The ranger murmured, before nodding to Marcus.
"that offer of help would be much obliged--hopefully he'll pop out like a cork out of a wine bottle."
The sight of pokeballs caused Dalton's face to wrinkle in distaste. it could have easily been mistaken for a dislike of the showboating. Which it mostly likely would be--trainers who hated pokebalsl were few and far between.

--

"LIKE A CORK OUTTA A WHAT!? I WILL NOT BE THROWN AROUND LIKE SOME SPONGEWOOD!"
THE ELekid squealed splashing back and forth in the water. Waiting until his arms were waving over his head, Dalton wrapped mud covered hands around the Elekid's chubby waist. The little electric type’s face contorted with anger.
"DON’T TOUCH ME YOU'RE GETTING ME MUCKY! GET YOUR GAY ASS FRIEND AWAY FROM ME!'
The Ranger merely grinned, before tugging. The screaming was common--the insults the Elekid's normal way of conversing. Nothing to take offense at...usually.

Nothing.

[Marcus Brooklyn]

Marcus was indeed happy for Dalton's ability to accept the fact that he was willing to accept the flying boy's help, even if he tried to pry him deeper of secrets. He wasn't telepathic, mind you, but even Marcus could tell when somebody was snooping around where they shouldn't have been. Was the guy an undercover agent or something? Who knows these days; Remoor was too full of possibility to assume that.

Expertly zipping past branches and God knows what, Marcus eventually halted in mid-flight to see that the Elekid he had heard about was eventually cursing, screaming, and shouting his fried head off. As soon as Elekid was popped out of the murky filth by Dalton's "ever-loving self", he eventually ended up calling the black-haired boy what most other men who liked men feared the most, or rather, hated:

"A gay-ass friend."

An awkward silence would fill the air, as Marcus simply hovered in place, the Poke Balls that he had unlatched from his belt still revolving around his being. Raising an eyebrow at the sparkplug of a Pokemon, he eventually gave off a mischievous grin. "You must have 'gay-dar' installed inside that thick skull of yours, or else you wouldn't have saw right through me!" he would cockily taunt before executing the obligatory "anime bitch laugh" in victorious ego. (Assholish guffaw, hand flat and fingers pointed towards mouth) Moving his eyebrow up and down as if he were suggesting something towards Wannabe, he ended up giving off a nonchalant wink towards Dalton. "Yep, as 'Sparky' suggested, I'm as straight as a circle." he would eventually reveal, straight out, towards the older male; practically lax and uncaring about his homosexuality. He figured he was confident about his own, so why care?

His mind suddenly popped back towards when they were running, as Marcus only caught a slight glimpse of Dalton's uncomforting grimace. He only figured it was when he fished out his Poke Balls; not to mention the fact that this guy claims to be a Ranger. And last time Marcus checked, Rangers never really captured Pokemon to begin with, being the natural conservatists they were. But Marcus wasn't doing anything wrong - he was a Trainer. Trainers were supposed to capture Pokemon inside those little tools, it was the staple; the norm. But, if he had to look in the Rangers' eyes, he could probably understand why most of them never used them - it could have been associated with imprisonment. A grimace of his own strew across Marcus's face as he had ceased all mentally charged pulses throughout his body, the seven-tailed trenchcoat that had fluttered about flopping down towards the earth as the boy landed in perfect balance.

"You know what? Looking at Wannabe makes me want to give my Pokemon some exercise." he would blatantly lie towards Dalton, using his psychic energies to bring forward both his Poke Balls back towards the palms of his hands, the sharp pressing sound of steel and cybernetics against flesh and bone pleasing to his ears. Once again, sending an impulse towards Sasuke's ball, he had levitated it to where it looked like he was twirling it with one finger before using his mind to press the little, circular button on the center of the ball - causing it to grow in size to where it looked like it could now neatly fit into one's hands, before then launching it up. "Alright, Sasuke; come on out here!" Marcus would proudly yell out as the red and white sphere spun high, high, high into the air before slowly descending towards the earth.

Clunk.

...

An anime-like vein popped on his forehead, as Marcus wondered just why the hell that timid little Riolu refused to come out of its ball. Mentally pulling the orb back to his hand, he tried again, repeating the same yell [with a little more tension in his voice] and throwing it up with a powerful blast of mind-power. Clunk. "C'mon, Sasuke, what the fuck gives?! Get the hell outta yer ball!" he would shout at the inanimate object that would hold his Pokemon, before finally giving up and shrinking the ball back towards its "travelling size", attaching it towards the one of many belts on his pants. Making a quick, rude finger gesture towards Wannabe, knowing he'd probably do something to piss the human off more, he then repeated the same process with his all-blackened Poke Ball.

"Okay, Vee... Get on out here!" he had now yelled, with a bit of forced calm lodged in his throat, as he had repeated the same, epic, superhero-style throwing of the ball into the air for a frustrating, third time. Clunk. About five veins, maybe more, bulged on the boy's forehead and face as he picked up the ball with his bare hand this time, unconventionally slamming it to the ground. "GOD DAMN IT; EXIT YOUR FUCKING BALL!!!" he would yell out now in anger [as well as a rather long string of curse words], full blown fury pouring out of every known orifice on the peeved human's face, body, and unmentionables; giving off the suggestion that this kid had a really short temper. At least, towards when his Pokemon never listened to him. He would keep smashing his ball into the ground, hoping to God or whatever divine being existed that it would open.

Clack-clunk. Clack-clunk. Clack-clunk.

A slumped body of defeat now, Marcus simply just slouched, a miserably unenthused expression lodged on his face as he just stared at Vee's Poke Ball, wondering just why they wouldn't pop out and introduce themselves. [Imagine one of those "you've got to be kidding me" expressions on him now]. Rummaging through his pockets, he caught hold of a small, metallic case the size of a small, palm computer; flipping the top open to reveal three, shining objects. Gym Badges. The Boulder, Cascade, and Thunder Badges. All earned through hard work and dedication to the way of the Pokemon Trainer. They all glittered brilliantly, even against the lime green fog that sometimes covered the dense swamplands they stood in. But... Shouldn't just having three badges be enough for Marcus to call his Pokemon out without fail?

Of course, it then dawned on him like a damned lightbulb - they were in Sildios Swamps. Of course nobody would want to enter here, it smelled so damned bad. Sighing, feeling a tad bit nervous and ashamed for his sudden, spontaneous burst of rage, he eventually turned to Dalton [whom he had temporarily forgotten existed], quivering a bit. "Sorry 'bout that... I don't usually get angry at my Pokemon for not coming out of their Poke Balls - in fact, this is the first time they never wanted to, to be honest..." he would apologize towards the Ranger, whom he knew would eventually get mad at Marcus for even keeping such abominable machines like that, if he was the kind of person who did that sort of thing. But it would be understandable; however, Marcus only thought he was protecting his Pokemon, not imprisoning them - he would truly die for his friends' safety. Plus, it was impossible for him to tame a wild Pokemon on its own, rather. [He never really was great at being a natural breeder, mind you]

[Dalton[ SMILE!]]

The Elekid's mouth dropped in shock, and he began shaking his head. Static crackled through his body, the pokemon's face swiveled through a spectrum of emotions. This little cycle ended with a haughty smirk, and a single elongated finger--this time the pointer, and not the middle. The words were accompanied with laughter, and narrowed eyes.
"You can try that all you want fucker--but I'm on to you! HAH! LIAR! THAT's BEEN TRIED BEFORE! GAY-DAR BAH--and I DON'T HAVE A THICK SKULL SHUT THE FUCK UP! AND QUIT TRYING TO TRICK ME, IT WON'T WORK--SOME OTHER IDIOT TRIED IT ALREADY!"
Who was it that had tried? Some creepy old man--grinned at him and called him darling. Flirted even. The second Wannabe had freaked he started to laugh. Dalton's new little fuck up friend was just like that guy--after all who would tell something that sick and embarrassing to a complete stranger?

At the suggestive twitch of the eyebrow, the Elekid looked to his trainer for guidance. The ranger merely smiled back, before turning to talk to Marcus. No one seemed to be laughing, maybe it wasn't a joke? Sweat began to pour from the electric type in buckets. The smirk faltering, the two parts of Wannabe's jaw separated, his mouth now formed a small "o".
"HOLY CRAP--GET HIM AWAY FROM ME! RAPIST! ! DALTON!"
The ranger merely peered down at the Elekid with devilish smile on his face. The thin fingers around his waist tightened, moving slowly back and forth across the terrified pokemon's short fur. Little sparks leapt behind them. In a dismissive voice Dalton spoke to Wannabe--whispering just loud enough for Marcus.
"Oh bah--no self respecting man would rape you, though Marcus is more of a boy.... Otherwise I would hav--hehehe. Oh my god..I can't be that mean. Quit being a baby Wannabe, Marcus is helping me get you out."
The Elekid merely stood in the water, staring fearfully up into his trainer's eye. Dalton was a really good actor. With eyes like headlights the Elekid stood still, as the ranger gave another experimental tug.
"Dang Wanna--you're in there tight...something holding you?"
What the hell could be holding him in the water? The Elekid's thoughts instantly leaped to the tentacle that had formerly slid across his flesh, and he began to whimper.

--

Now let us return to Dalton's conversation with Marcus. Some men might have gotten angry, some may have walekd away--and most would have thought it a joke. Dalton however did none of these. Instead he lifted his shoulders in a shrug, and gently smiled at Marcus.
"You're very brave to admit that to people Marcus~ I admire that. And if you think Imma have a heart attack don't worry--I don't care about silly things like sexuality."
Well not usually. Sometimes it mattered. But Dalton did not understand why everyone based their lives on it. The Ranger watched as Marcus touched down in the swamp, the trench coat swirling above the water.
"Nice jacket Marc."
Dalton had reached the nick-naming stage with the new friend. It really only took him a matter of minutes.

The first refusal drew a smile out of Dalton--but Marcus' reaction drew a scowl. The anger that nwo covered the ranger's face
" Hey. Why not kindly ask him ? Maybe he's sleeping."
Maybe the kid would stop ? When Marcus explodedin frustration, Dalton instantly dropped his Elekid, instead pouncing on Marcus, one arm wrapping around the pokeball before it splashed into the murky water, and the other laying horizontally across Marcus' neck, or right in front of it. The ranger's breathing was taed, and heavy. The smile was gone now replaced with a disapproving frown. Water lapped at Dalton's knees, who currently had his face lying parallel to Marcus. The ranger was knelt in the water, mud sucking at his boots like a demonic vacuum cleaner. It was all ignored because he was currently seeing nothing but red.

The explanation caused him to drop his arms back to his sides, but the hands were still clenched into fists.
"..Look..that's fine and dandy. But you wouldn't force a friend to come out would you? Do you really think bashing their home against rocks helps?"
The more he spoke, the less anger was evident--and by the end of it the words Dalton just sounded rather sad. Glancing at the badges Dalton slowly shook his head:
"Those guarantee nothing--what use is a little trinket when you're holding a creature with the powers of earth? "
None.

The Elekid ignored the speech, and returned the childish gesture. Adding to it a protruding tongue.
--

In quick loping strides, he repositioned himself near his Elekid--knees bent. The cute little punk did weigh a lot after all. Dalton was not a believer in grudges, and marcus had only hit the Pokeballl--now if it had been a Pokemon itself..well the boy would be in some hot water. Psychic mutant or not.
'"Come on Marcus. He needs to moved."
After all ..some of his friends might mistake the electric type for a snack. Just because he was annoying--that didn't make him lunch.

[Marcus Brooklyn]

Despite being simply mad at a Poke Ball, Marcus suddenly found himself not only body-deep in radioactive sludge, but also manhandled; and not using his homosexuality as an excuse. Okay, maybe he over-reacted a bit. But even so, it wasn't like either Vee or Sasuke to just...not obey him. Hell, they rarely refused to, in the sense - he practically took them in like they were just strays. [In which they really were.] Calming himself with relaxing breathing exercises, having made absolutely no attempt to resist whatsoever, even as he was tackled to the water below - despite being nearly nose-deep in harmful chemicals - he was finally released, drenched in dripping goo...or whatever it was. Mentally groaning at the fact his perfectly good outfit was ruined, he simply had pulsed his mental waves to summon his Poke Balls once more, regretting his actions.

___

Hearing Dalton's comments on his Badges, however, really didn't make any sense. Was he serious - he thought they controlled Pokemon? As if. Marcus simply shook his head as he eyed the three Badges in a reminiscent tone. "No... I was..." he whispered aloud, trailing off once more as his eyes fixated themselves upon the trinkets. Oh, how they reminded him so much of home. Home... That was the one place he desperately wanted to go back to - after staying five, hellish years in Remoor. Back in Kanto, where his mother and father eagerly awaited his return. Back in Kanto, where the comforting gaze of everyone's smiles would greet him, rather than the cold, heartless stares and glares of the residents of Remoor.

Back home...

"...Reminiscing." he finished, slipping the metal case into his sludge-filled pockets, [not before emptying them out first], cleaning off the black Poke Ball that had been drenched in slime. Vee's ball. Slipping both back onto their belt, he swiftly turned his gaze towards the Sildios landscape, rolling his eyes and placing one hand on his hip. "Besides, since I was the one who forgot the situation I'm in, this is a nuclear, fuckin' dump. Of course Vee and Sasuke don't want to come out without Death wanting to melt their spines." he dryly motioned, huffing as he sat on solid ground now. He closed his eyes, trying his hardest to temporarily forget everything, everyone, around him. To just... Seclude himself. Isolate himself from all of reality. It was a coping mechanism he had used as a martial artist and as a psychic to pretty much escape the bullshit he dealt with in Remoor, and so far, it helped Marcus keep his sanity. What was left of it, anyway.

"Come on Marcus. He needs to move."

Sighing now, having finally calmed himself - and isolated his mind from reality - he focused on the obnoxious and rude Elekid stuck in the muddy filth below, thrusting his open palms out, eyes still closed, towards his location as if he was going to cook up something big. Slowly, red pulsations of mental energy "pipped" out of his palms, towards the Elekid, and surrounding Wannabe in a reddish energy similar to his own. A slight twitch of the concentrating Marcus's mouth could be seen on his left side, as he continuously poured his mind, his willpower, into trying to lift and separate Wannabe from the swampy depths below.

Seconds passed, then minutes. For a small Pokemon, the thing was damned heavy. Marcus's fingers would slightly curl now, as if he were tightening his grip on Elekid, when in reality he was simply increasing the mental brainwaves he was letting loose. As much of a violent temper Marcus had today, he was hellbent on just getting this guy to shut the fuck up and go away. Being insulted wasn't usually important enough for the black-haired boy, but being called a "rapist" was going too far. However, Marcus kept his cool as he tried his hardest to psychically lift Wannabe out of the sludge and over towards solid ground. He wouldn't get thanks, or even so much as a compliment, but if he was helping somebody out, than it was the least he could do.

<God damned sludge... Ruined my good pants, too...>

[Dalton[ SMILE!]]

Dalton for one second did not think badges controlled pokemon It was the ones that did who worried him. Not only did they show them off, but sometimes the trainers sometimes grew careless. Yelling at pokemon, not caring about the dangers--and that was when fools were hurt. Half the time the pokemon were blamed, occasionally shipped to sanctuaries, the rest usually quietly disposed of. So the ranger had not meant to be rough, which was obvious as his eyes roved over Marcus. Little water droplets caught his flicking pupils, reflected in shimmers, before falling into the black of the swamp. Wedge shape teeth nibbled at Dalton's chapped lips. With a broken sigh, he placed his head in his hands, murmuring to himself, before turning back to the psychic mutant.
"sorry kid.... I ... I've seen some horrible things done to pokemon...it kind of makes my blood boil. Even though you would never hurt them--"
Images of half starved, beaten, and Pokemon with festering wounds flashed though his mind. Creatures stretched to their breaking point--and left to die like insects. Blood splattered walls. Cruel eyes. Crueler hands. In the space of a single heartbeat cases flashed across his mind. The Ninetales who had her tail cut off, before having her throat slit--and thrown in a bloody ditch. Her mistress pranced around with it as a belt for weeks. The Nidoking, who had been forced to fight until his skin was held together by nothing more then will. So many. So horrible.
"So. I am sorry if I lost my head--no hard feelings right?"
The smile replaced the pensive frown of before, and besides the added moisture it was almost like back in the glade.
"Memories--bad ones or good ones Marc?"
Dalton questioned, hell he had been doing the same as the kid moments ago. Of course--he doubted his blood-stained memories had anything to do with shiny trinkets in a bed of velvet. Unless you count the time, he found a Spoink's pearl in a jewelry box.

The normally cheerful ranger was taken back by Marcus' vehemence, and what seemed to be rage.
" Oi. Its not your fault--after a while its like a hot spa. No need to beat yourself up. Also--I'll pay for the clothes if you want."
Then again the only money he had brought was covered in swamp. Nasty. Smelly. Radioactive. Not to mention extremely dangerous swamp. Mud now dripped from Dalton's splayed fingers, creating little riplles in the swamp--which would hopefully resemble their fight in a few hours. Nothing more the ripples. Grudges were horrible. They corroded people--and if the desire to take down Pravus was a grudge.

Then Dalton knew that pretty well.

When the psychic did his breathing exercises--which rather resembled yoga--the ranger merely watched. It would be rude to interrupt--and after shoving Marcus into the swamp being the polite was the least he could do.

--

Dlaton watched Marcus work, trying his best to assist by pulling on the overweight Elekid. Eventually the mud began to loosen, flowing away from the electric type. The area around Wannabe was lit a bright red, and Dalton was forced to let go--as the Elekid was lifted above his head.

With the finality of a slamming door, the mud sloshed back to its original position, a little black worm glared up at the glow, before disappearing into the secret sandy world underground Sildios. An elongated whistle slid out between Dalton's lips.
"That's some power you got there Marc."
Wannabe--as was to be expected from such an asshole--was not in the least bit happy. It seemed he had gotten over his fear of rape rather quick.
"DON'T TOUCH ME WITH YOUR PSYCHIC MUMBO! PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN YOU GAY ASS PRICK!"
Chubby little arms batted at the noxious air, scattering smoke, and smog to the wind. Dirt encrusted feet kicked at invisible enemies, clumps of green mud fell down like rain.
"DO I LOOK LIKE A GOD DAMNED BIRD~!"
Then it was over, and the Elekid clutched at the ground, drawing in rotting grass to his flesh.

Dalton--as was usual--merely grinned, and made a silly statement. Gesturing from his dripping hands, to the Elekid's feet he murmured:
"GLOVES AND BOOTS!"

[Marcus Brooklyn]

Marcus, as he was attempting to lift out the Elekid from the murky filth below, simply gave off a half-smirk upon Dalton's apology. "No worries. Besides, I sympathize with you - both my Pokémon were abandoned when I found them, though Sasuke was the one who was beaten senseless. I ended up having to battle him in order to catch him - but not before I healed him at the Vermillion Pokémon Center, first! He gave Vee a run for his money, too, but I got 'im in the end!" he explained, before cackling slightly, then going back to a straight, serious tone. "But I agree: Pokémon should never be hurt like that, no matter how much they disobey you." he now exclaimed, shooting a quick glance at Wannabe and his loudmouth self. Basically put, that little sparkplug was the very poster child of Marcus's entire statement, so he had a good reason to really say what he did. Being told Dalton was sorry again only forced a chuckle. They were clothes - they would wash out. [Hopefully.] "Not a biggie. Approximately ninety nine percent of my entire wardrobe has these kinds of clothes; it's only a small detriment."

___

Good or bad memories? Marcus really never thought about what specific kind of memories those badges gave him. His face sort of grimaced, apparently giving off the expression that maybe his memories weren't all that great. "What do you mean by that? Before or after I came to Remoor?" he questioned, laughing again, despite being distracted from his original goal of freeing Wannabe from the mud-like consistency of water below. "Well, before I came to Remoor, I lived in Kanto. Viridian City was where I took residence in before I began my Pokémon journey. Pallet Town was where I found Vee, and the shores of Vermillion City was where I found Sasuke. I could say that those latter memories were more or less the 'good ones'..." he driveled on, trailing off again like he had a tendency to. That's when the ship he took came into play... The ship to Remoor.

"Pretty much after that, it was nothing but five, long years of war-ridden hell, suffering and death. But hey; I made friends, right?" he finished with a perky squeak, reminding himself that Dalton practically took time out of whatever existence he ever had to at least speak to Marcus in a pleasing, if not optimistially sarcastic, tone. Ignoring most of the other comments Dalton made, including on how it wasn't Marcus's fault for forgetting he was in a nuclear dump, he simply focused his psychic powers of telekinetic levitation to work. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he would squirm Wannabe out of the muddy thick goo from below, before that nasty squelching noise was heard squishing and squashing, finally releasing the little fatass Elekid from his temporary prison.

"Tch. This ain't nothin', yo. But I can seriously feel this guy's weight, even with my mind. God damn, he's heavy!" he graciously accepted the compliment, in a sort of "gangsta slang", from Dalton, only to be greeted yet again by the slanderous yelling of Wannabe, whom now flailed around like a Magikarp out of water. Being called "gay ass prick" was no way to thank someone either. Marcus simply cocked a grin as he ignored the slanderous lie, thinking of possibly flipping Wannabe upside down and threatening to shove his head into the waters below instead. However, he wasn't like that - especially since this guy was nothing but hot air. Finally setting the hot-headed Pokémon down, Marcus kicked himself back up to his feet, shaking himself loose of sludge like a dog would in regular water.

"You oughtta punish that fucker, Dalton. He's grinding my gears..." he kindly, yet in an irritated way, suggested to Dalton, folding his arms and sighing as he tried to get his mind off of the rather rude and mean things Wannabe would say. Shrugging, he simply cocked another smirk. "Then again, I'm not one to tell somebody what to do - I have enough problems telling myself what to do, at times! Haha!" A true statement, at best - Marcus was a free spirit, thankful he had no allegiance with anyone, anything, or whatever. He was his own army, a fighting force who relied on nothing but the concept of human survival to get him through the thickest of situations. Admirable, yet highly reckless. For one usually decided to join one of the slowly-rising factions that sided to fight against others.

__

The Rangers. Pretty much environmentalists to the extreme, the Rangers were hellbent on restoring the natural order of the Pokémon world and ensuring that the violence would stop - even if they took violent methods to do so. Marcus knew they were a more recent group, and with very little funds and resources, they barely managed to squirm along. But, he could tell, they had extremely good intentions on helping this hellish place that was once called a vacation spot. Even moreso is that Marcus was well informed these days, thanks to his five year stay in said vacation spot, so he knew that the Rangers had powerful allies as well: The Legendaries. Pokémon only thought to have existed in myth, they have always captivated the human to the point where he simply slept on nothing but their stories, even so much as using that as fuel to keep him going through this Apocalypse of a time. They were like his hope, so to speak, in addition to his own willpower and determination to survive.

__

Then there was Team Pravus. Powerful, ruthless, and downright evil. Marcus himself [possibly unbeknownst to Dalton] shared his hatred for this organization, whom had usually disguised themselves as a business corporation. In truth, the boy had seen slight traces of their illegal, underground activities to realize they were the cream of the villain's crop. Practically, in vague terms, they held half of the entire region's assets to themselves, and were rapidly growing in power. Even moreso was the rumors and stories he had heard of Pravus's "experiments" - taking innocent humans and Pokémon and performing horrible experiments to fuse their DNA strands together, making these...mutants. These... "Pokémorphs." This was inhumane, it was cruel and violent on both sides of the scale, to unwillingly just fuse two species together. It wasn't natural. But then again, he never met a Pokémorph, nor did he know if they actually submitted to them on a whim. It was only speculation at best, but Marcus Brooklyn still knew this was wrong. Not to mention their rather thuggish and downright criminal activities that most others would see in movies, like blackmail, theft, murder, extortion, environmental damage and harm, and possibly about twenty other horrible, planet-destroying actions. Why would someone want this to happent to the only planet they were given? Just...

...Why?

__

Marcus had sat there for quite sometime, thinking to himself. Of course, since there was a lunatic Elekid and a Ranger whom had appeared to have some form of bad history thanks to his sudden spouts of depressive tones in his voice, he wasn't alone. His mind, however, was easily trying to think of a way to practically prove to Wannabe that his spouting of slanderous comments was really getting on his gears. An idea had struck the boy's cortex now, and almost without warning, he flipped his muddy trench coat's one of many coat-tails out of the way, pulling out Sasuke's white and red Poké Ball. Twirling the collapsed sphere with his finger, floating above the tip of the digit with a single thought, he gave a glance of overconfident attitude towards Wannabe.

"You seem confident that you can kick my ass, Wannabe, what with your constant referrals to me being gay." he reiterated himself towards the Elekid, before allowing Sasuke's ball to roll into his fingers as he pressed the tiny button on the center, causing the sphere to expand in size. Even though Sasuke, or Vee, wouldn't come out due to the fact that this swamp region was filled with noxious gas, he knew that the little Charmander and Riolu would never, ever, EVER pass up an opportunity to get into a scrap.

"Hope you don't mind, Dalton, but is it okay if Wannabe proves he can back those words up?"

[Dalton[ SMILE!]]

At the acceptance, Dalton felt his smile gradually lighten, eventually losing its sheepish quality. In a even keel, slightly curious voice Dalton quickly questioned:
"hrm. That was very kind of you--any idea what happened to the trainer who did it?"
Once could practically see the gears turning in his head, a whiskered nose twitching back and forth like a hunting hound on a trail. Even though this story was long ended--it still brought to Dalton an urge for justice. A single solemn nod showed how deeply Dalton agreed with the other's sentiments--thus why the psychic had found himself face first in radioactive waste.
" No . They shouldn’t--sometimes I think we're the ones who should be treated like animals."
Even with all their powers--it was rare to see a Pokemon kill a trainer without motive. Most of the times h eh ad witnessed it, it was an accident--or the poor pokemon was not right in the cerebral cortex.

Grinning now Dalton chuckled with Marcus.
"The benefits of buying in bulk. But where do you get that cloak? You need to get a matching cloak, or I should!"
Dalton glanced down at his clothes, it seemed he also had his own laundry bill to pay.
"But clothes are clothes--plenty around. Its not like I am wearing
any valuable trinke--"
Like a man possessed, Dalton began tearing at his dripping shirt front, buttons flew apart in a blur--deft fingers popping them from their recesses. A simple square coated in muck stuck out against the ranger's bare chest, a bit of lime green was visible through the coating. Humming nervously the ranger began to remove the drying mud--breath hitched in his chest. Like a cobweb a pattern spiraled across the formally unblemished glass. That must have been the crack he heard when he fell. Squinting, the man decided the picture was undamaged, and slowly re-buttoned the sodden shirt--covering up his "necklace". A simple coarse rope wrapped around his neck--and with the collar now flat against his muscular neck, it was now visible.
"Excuse me Marcus--did I miss anything?"

The ranger had returned in the middle of the story.
"Life has its up-and-downs, but Remoor wasn't always like this."
Back in the day it had been a beautiful place large forests, and perfumed airs.
"Sorry life smacked you in the face kid--but sometimes it's worth it Marcus.."
The ranger now stood with a splayed hand on his Elekid's forehead. Sparks leapt around his fingers, causing nothing more then minor discomfort.
" I know he is--that's what too many potato chips does to a critter."
The yellow beast snarled, and ducked under Dalton's arm. Instantly, he leveled at glare.
"Who you calling heavy you...you....GRAWR!"
No insult was good enough. Nothing that would not backfire on him anyway. The look he threw at his trainer seemed to be a taunt--a silent threat. Everyone knew who ruled this relationship. Him.

"OH~ I would love to Marcus. But I can't think of anything nasty enough . I mean this is six months of bad mouthing I need to address--what's leaving him alone in a dark gloomy swamp gonna make up for?"
The ranger's face was set in a nonchalant grin. The hands stuffed into his pockets were relaxed--it looked like he said things like that everyday. The Elekid rolled his eyes and chuckled. Waving off the derisive action with a toss of his head, the ranger laughed along with Marcus.
"Who doesn't have trouble controlling themselves? I mean look at all those murders in jail."
Another serious topic turned into a cruel joke with a friendly grin--and the wrongness of this was lost on Dalton. Completely lost.

Somewhere in the silence, Dalton had removed his hands from the rapidly drying pockets of his pants.

Once again Dalton allotted Marcus time to think--going so far as to clamp a hand over the shouting Elekid. A pair of needle sharp teeth slammed into his wrist, and with a wince, Dalton wagged his free hand.
"You're not a vampire-Zubat, quit being so mean."
The second Marcus spoke, Dalton removed his hand. The Elekid began to spit and gasp--wiping a grubby hand across his sandpaper tongue, to get the taste of ranger out of his mouth.

The closer Marcus approached, the farther the elekid moved away. Dragging his feet through fetid water and weeds, the electric type attempted to gain ground on Marcus. Dalton moved to the side--decided that keeping his nose out might do the Elekid good. After a second of retreat, Wannabe let out a snort.
" I can kick your ass---never said anything about your pokemon."
Nothing had been said about Pokemon. Those bastards were a different breed of fight. Very rarely did he bad mouth another pokemon. Black eyes unwavering, the Elekid continued to stare down Marcus, not even hearing his trainer's comment.

"It's up to you. I am sure he'd enjoy showing off."
A subtle wink. Another smile.

Dalton had never said anything about letting someone else punish the big-mouth. What Marcus did from now had nothing to do with him.

[Marcus Brooklyn]

Marcus's face somewhat extended, to show slight shock, at Elekid's mighty statement about how he, alone, could kick my ass. He would cough up a giggle, before he then palmed his Poke Ball once more. "Yeah, but humans fighting Pokemon is so uncivilized. Plus, everyone knows you're lying." he jokingly, yet in a somewhat serious tone, stated; hoping to rile up Wannabe's anger a bit more. The more frustrated one got usually meant that they were unfocused, their minds were clouded from a crystal-clear temperament. Even so, he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to kick Wannabe's ass and put him in his place. Kicking backwards like some martial artist dude from the Matrix, pushed further with a small blast of mental energy thanks to his control over his levitative powers, he was now a good sized distance away.

"This may be a swamp, but neither of my two Pokemon resist a challenge!" he would grin devilishly, before confidently launching his Poke Ball into the air, a wild smile erupted. "GO! SASUKE!" he shouted as loud as he could, ignorant of the fumes and toxic smelling substances, before the Poke Ball, spinning wildly red and white like nothing but a blur, finally snapped open with a gigantic "POP" noise, a sort of cybernetic sound emanating from the sphere as a white colored energy suddenly poured forth from the interior of the ball, slamming hard against the ground and materializing slowly, slowly, slowly, into physical shape, form, and mass.

The form would reveal a small, two feet four inch Pokemon, covered in blue and black fur, a slightly yellowish patch covering his neck like a giant scarf or some sort of floatation device thing. It was more or less lupine in appearance, like a baby jackal, but it had two, black appendages attached to the sides of his head that twitched ever-so-slightly. His blue tail, slightly zig-zagged, swayed back and forth like its lupine form suggested it would, as his large, crimson eyes opened up. Sasuke's gaze seemed to be rather shy, inward drawn at best. Like an innocent child whom was afraid to get to know a new friend. His little blue paws, with tiny spike-like protrusions on the backs, folded over each other as his left foot dug deeper and deeper into the ground, his little stance rigid and timid. His eyes darted towards the ground, then back to his Master, Marcus.

<M-Master... This place is foul-smelling... Why did you call me out when I could get dirty?>

The voice itself was childish in its own, but only Marcus could directly hear it. This Pokemon, a Riolu, had the ability to telepathically speak the human language, despite his outer appearance clearly showing he never spoke at all. However, because Marcus's psychic powers only went so far, he had to outwardly shrug. "See that guy over there? The little lightbulb of an Electric?" Marcus, outwardly, questioned, before Sasuke nervously eyed the Riolu, still apprehensive of the nervewracking demeanor it set off. Those bold and piercing eyes... They were too scary to look at! A tiny bark erupted from his throat before the little Riolu crumpled to the ground, his arms and paws curled around his knees as his eyes closed tightly, unwilling to look at that horrifyingly scary face of Wannabe's.

<Masteeerr~! He's too scaaary~! I don't wanna fight him!>

Marcus frowned. "Really? You sure you don't wanna fight him, Sasuke? You don't have to if you don't want to..." he questioned loudly again, before the little Pokemon slowly worked up a tiny shred of courage to stare the Elekid in the eye, with one squinted one anyway. Sure, the pupils were small, and his eyes pretty much said "I'll kick your ass", but... Was he really over-reacting? It was only a Pokemon, and it didn't even look as old as he was. Shuddering still, the Riolu shook his head and slowly hopped back up into a cute fighting stance, his eyes set fiercely onto Wannabe as his palms started to glow with a strange, blue energy that radiated like fire. Marcus smiled, brimming with pride in Sasuke's courage. "See! It's nothing to be scared of, Sasuke - it's only Wannabe." he teased further, the Riolu nodding slightly.

<...T-then... Allow me the honor of battling you...Uhh... W-W-Wannabe.>

The last statement by Sasuke wasn't able to be heard, but one could definitely tell that Sasuke, despite his timid exterior, was prepared and willing to fight. It was about at least a week since he last battled, so it could be good exercise. Straightening his stance temporarily to politely, and cutely, bow in courtesy towards the Elekid, he got back into position, ready for the signal to begin.

[Tch. This is a craptastic post, Feather. Apologies on my behalf. XD]