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Old 07-05-2017, 10:57 AM   #35
Maskerade
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Join Date: Jun 2017
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((Sorry for the delay guys. Can I ask you to keep a link to your profile in your replies, and ideally your Memakyu? Your sig will do fine! It just saves me the trouble of rummaging through threads!))



deoxys:

The elder seems unaware of your presence as you draw near. Upon closer inspection you realize he must be well over eighty, maybe ninety, completely bald and with a white beard so pristine it’s a miracle how he can maintain it as such sitting on the dusty railroads of New Fizz’s outskirts.

It isn’t until you speak up that the man opens his eyes, seemingly pulled away from some sort of meditation by the sound of your voice. If he is in any way irritated, he does not convey it; remaining absolutely motionless, sitting cross-legged on the railway and hands resting on his lap with palms facing upwards, he finally replies, though he does not face you directly as he speaks – his eyes, now opened, stare straight ahead the maze of iron trails and the horizon beyond.

“Trainspotting,” he says summarily, in a low-pitched, somber voice.

He closes his eyes again, but you then notice his eyebrows contorting and rising, as if he suddenly felt something. Like a statue come to life, he turns his head painstakingly slowly and finally stares at you proper, with renewed interest for whatever reason.

“I am waiting for a special train, one that only appears right after dark,” he says in perfect monotone. “I sense that you’re… properly attuned. If you believe in ghosts, sit with me and wait.”

You can’t tell if the man has lost his mind or if there is more to him than meets the eye. You can, however, hear the unmistakable sound of a train approaching in the distance. The elder has just invited you to sit on the railway and wait for whatever comes – a behaviour clearly at odds with the most basic of survival instincts. Will you indulge the man, try talking him out of it, or perhaps walk away entirely in search of something more… sane?




Schala:

Although the old librarian makes no effort to conceal her annoyance at being interrupted, you’re not going to back down from your pursuit just because you got on her bad side: you insist about what subjects you’d be interested in, as well as your partner Rufflet, to which the woman responds by scoffing with disdain after a prolonged moment of dead silence.

“Look at this one,” she mutters under her breath as she ever-so-slowly rises from her chair, “not even able to name a single book. Sure, make the old woman scour all of the giant bookshelves for something that might catch your eye! No, not that one! Hmm, not that one either, no! But maybe the one all the way up theeere, would you? Humpf, as if she’d even finish any one of them….”

She goes on mumbling, clearly confidant that you can’t hear her, but the woman seems to be deaf as a door and even her supposedly private complaints ring loud and clear across the otherwise noiseless library.
She walks around the desk and finally reveals herself in full – the elder stands up to your waist, has impeccably-cut grizzly hair kept at shoulder-length, black-rimmed glasses and a spotless dark blue librarian uniform complete with a yellow écharpe.
She begrudgingly guides you to the left wing of the library, her pace so slow you are forced to think she’s deliberately trying to bore you into changing your mind. The two of you enter a maze of bookshelves that the librarian seems to have traversed a million times before, showing no trace of hesitation despite her snail-like pace. She finally stops in front of a massive shelf similar to all the others, scans it for a minute and finally points upwards with a tiny hand, all the way to the top row of books, inaccessible to either one of you without some stairs.

“There. Natural History. Enjoy.”

She turns around briskly and prepares to return to her desk, retracing her steps three times as fast as before, you can’t help but notice. However, just as she’s about to bend the corner and vanish back into the maze, she stops abruptly and looks to the side, at the wall of the library itself, where you spot a small door of dark-red wood. The librarian hastily walks over to it, makes sure it’s tightly shut, peers over her shoulder like a vigilant crow and quickly disappears back to her precious documents, her precious mahogany desk and her precious silence.

You look back at where the old woman had pointed: a row of at least fifty different books stand perfectly aligned, of varying covers and titles, among which classics like ”Perfecting Darwin – The Oak Theorem”, ”The Lost Isles of Cascadia”, ”Excelsior – Fact or Fiction?” and ”Cloud Garden Throughout the Eras”.

Well… what now, Miss Schala?



morningstar:

Immediately, forcefully, the man takes your Bag from you to confirm your testimony. It isn’t until he scans your Trainer ID thoroughly, alternating between the document and your face several times, that he seems to loosen up a bit.

“Hm. Checks out.”

With a whistle, he calls the Growlithe keeping your partners pinned down back to him, and lowers his gun – though he does not store it away. It is only now that you allow yourself to take a proper look at the man, now that there isn’t a loaded weapon between him and you – the officer must be somewhere in his fifties, and his expression is one of exhaustion, visible even beneath his grizzly beard and obscuring sunglasses. Clearly this whole situation has him on edge, even if he seems to have come to terms with the fact you’re not dangerous – because even if you aren’t, someone else hiding in the area clearly is!

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles in a low tone, clearly unused to apologizing. “Tell your Pokémon to keep their damn heads down and take cover, I won’t be responsible for what happens to them or to you.”

He rises slightly from his cover and prepares to move back out into the open, weapon in wrist, but stops mid-motion before looking back to you.

“A dangerous Pokémon trafficker – man or woman, no idea - came to shore on one of the cargo ships that docked today,” he finally explains. “We got word of it, but by the time we got here, they’d already moved to the Industrial Complex – we believe they intended to continue onwards to the Railyard and catch a train out of town, but the guard stationed here at Bullarum caught them breaking in. They made the man hostage, along with the workers of that canned Finneon factory, some twenty people in total.”

He sighs and brings his fingers to his temples, haunted by a stress migraine.

“We issued an evac order on the rest of the Complex, but now we have to break into that factory and take that criminal down. And as you can see, he or she’s got a one-up on us, sniping from an unknown location as soon as we stick our necks out. For a moment, I thought you were the one we’re after, making a run for it before we arrived – we didn’t expect civilians out in the open. Again… sorry about that.”

He peers over cover, towards the large white warehouse two buildings away from your current location – “Finne-Can”, reads the bright red sign above the front door. The criminal is hiding there, peering through one of the many windows of the two-story building, and he’s got hostages with him…

“Listen girl… I mean, Athena. My name’s Trent Gatt; I’m the Captain in charge of this operation. Keep heading south from here and you’ll reach a blockade – tell the guys there I sent you and they’ll let you through, then get as far away from Bullarum as you can. This is no place for young adventurers right now.”

Well, you have your orders… what will you do?
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Last edited by Maskerade; 07-07-2017 at 11:18 PM.
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