((OOC: You put “ the sealed entrance(s) is/are […] places”. This tells me/the rest of the rp-ers that there is more than one. You *might* want to fix that. To other people: for the love of whatever deities that you do or do not believe in, please fix your grammatical errors. Otherwise, I will attempt to sic the influenza on you. Should we create a discussion thread? Should I go for the current color or a different shade of purple?))
Damien the Venonat
Giga Drain, Tackle, and Supersonic
A few fragments of old paper littered the back alley. Things did not normally last long in the Southern Sector, but what survived for longer than expected had grown to have toughness, in mind or body. Paper had neither, but could provide the path to either. Damien reached out with a foot to catch a remnant of newspaper, but it was old and he had read it before. Nothing changes in the Southern Sector at a reasonable pace; one must come to expect the posts of the gangs’ leaders to be the only thing that differs from year to year. To him it was lamentable, but, at least, he did not have to be apprehensive because of a looming war or societal change. That stagnant world of his would kill him before long, he predicted, but there was a small kernel of hope that there would be respite in escape.
Although it was wise for Damien to move frequently, since he had angered no few people, his cache of emergency “food” was difficult to move without being stolen or otherwise lost. It had been a few days since he had changed the location of his stash, but doing so was not imperative until he was on the verge of being discovered. Appearing as a lump of fur had its advantages. Damien had decided to remain there and not reconsider his choice of staying, for moving posed more problems unless those he had angered knew where he was and were determined to do something about the varmint.
’Such as those who wish to harm me…they won’t,’ Damien half-thought, half-wished. He had been discovered previously once – it was his desire to not be squashed as before. A few paces in front of the alley there were a few Pokemon doing some pacing. ‘Profanity. I’ll have to make a premature relocation,’ he thought, ’unless, of course, they are vacillatin’ ‘bout makin’ a venture into here.’ Fleeing was almost an option, but that would be difficult, because he had chosen this place for his nest while hungry. It had only three exits. Perhaps he would have to find a new location for a nest.
The Pokemon mulling about decided to leave, but not without some grumbling from one. Damien recognized that one and attempted to bend his antennae in such a way as to hide them beneath his fur. He partially succeeded, but that tipped one of his articles of “food”. That unidentifiable semi-consumable rolled far enough out of the alley to alert the leader. Or so it seemed. The piece of Damien’s cache was disgusting enough to resemble a piece of trash. Trash littering paths was common enough, and something spherical could easily have rolled out of a trash pile.
Last edited by wayjun; 21st February 2013 at 5:24 AM.
~Please address me as Zorro.
If there are many errors in my post, it is because I am posting from an iPod ~50% of the time.