ρυηιтιση éтєяηєℓℓє

A desperate man turned a deaf ear to a warning he should have heard.

[deremords-blog]

Open -- Winter Quiet

Winter silence was a different kind of silence from other seasons. It was cold, but all sound was stifled by the world itself. Ah, it was peaceful, too. Lysandre took a deep breath, one that was almost shaky, but not quite. His lungs were still clean and the air was crisp enough for a small sting. But it was going to be unpleasant soon. So soon.

The air was going to drop to frigid, and he had only one blanket. It was a bad night to be stuck traveling, but here he was on the road. The next town wasn't for a half days walk, either, so he was out of luck unless he came across someone else.

At least he had Thierry. At least he could enjoy the winter quiet.

As it was now, he settled in on the side of the road at a campground empty of people. A little wood gathering and setting up, and he and his partner had a small place to settle in.

"This is good, isn't it?" His Pokemon purred; noncommital. He knew it would be uncomfortable. But it would be peaceful. Even the sound of his voice for that moment was unpleasant. It was better in quiet.

[deremords-blog]

DAY 3 -- ALIBI

Here's the problem-

He didn't really have an alibi. As it stood, Lysandre wanted people around him getting hurt to be the last thing. So he left to he all by himself.

Not that it was easy to be alone in Kalos like this. It was a terribly busy place, and the damnable politics that he knew so well made certain there were many, many people without shelter. So he HAD been with someone, several someones, it was just a matter of how reliable they were.

Lysandre gestured to the crumbling, grey building where he had spent the night. "I was...there. The whole night through, Thierry and I. It was a bit chilly, so we curled up together, with a thin blanket. There were two others with us, also...transients. Thierry kept the fire burning all night."

He wouldn't defend himself, not anymore. He wanted the people who did this gone, but he didn't really deserve people looking at him without judgement.

"We really shouldn't cast someone out so recklessly. I want to see this end."

[deremords-blog]

Alibi 2

The murder from the night before had shaken everybody in the area, the older couple who Lysandre had been helping out no less. The idea of them getting hurt because of him made his stomach turn – the last thing he wanted was for these nice people – who had given him some money for his help and then offered to put him up in their guest room – to suffer. Lysandre knew well that if people realized who he was he would be a prime target. Many people would probably revel in him suffering, after all…

Most of the day he was with them. The afternoon he spent working with them, and then closing up the shop. He spent most of the time in the backroom, moving things around and handing them objects to stock the shelves int heir tiny, little market. After that, he’d gone back with them to make, eat, and clean up dinner, before thanking them for their hospitality and excusing himself into the night, where he would be alone should someone come after him.

He knew it would sound suspicious in any light. He knew he was always suspect in other people’s eyes – that was the way he’d branded himself, now and forever.

Eyes turned to him, and he did not smile. Though he would usually manage one – a little hint of something, well-practiced through the years, he could not. He was tired. This was exhausting and sad. “I ate dinner with a couple who hired me on as an extra hand. I’ll admit I’ve yet to fill out the employment paperwork, but I do have it on me...They invited me to dinner once they closed the shop – the Sleepy Sliggoo Market – and I helped them prepare it. And clean it up. I left the house by 7 or 8 PM, and after that I just wandered the streets a while.” Here, Lysandre paused to touch a bruise growing up on the side of his face, swelling onto his left eye. “I’m not sure when, but I settled down to try to take a small rest on a park bench. A couple of kids thought it would be fun to push around the homeless man, and one of them got me good in the side of the face. Its swelling up now. I know, it probably doesn’t seem like much, and nobody has a reason to believe me – but I would never want to see this kid die, not like this, not in any way.”

The tall man breathed out a sigh. Clouded, disbelieving eyes. He couldn’t convince them with anything, he knew. He didn’t blame anyone for it. Instead, he let his hands fall into his pocket, touching the small wad of bills he had, and the paperwork stating temporary employment at the mart. Then, his eyes wandered over to the others gathered there – their tears, recalling their excuses – and even looking at the man, who hovered at the very, very edge of the fire. “And – lets not go into the wreckage. We have the note here. It probably was someone who knew his Pokemon – but with a little information that could be anyone. And I won’t accuse the grieving.”

As for who he would accuse – he didn’t know. The thuggish man at the edge of the fire was suspicious, and the girl with the alibi for the bar – she seemed oddly distant now too.

He just couldn’t get over the note, though. The way that it seemed so personal. Like it knew the kid somehow. That was suspect in and of itself.

[deremords-blog]

Murder #1

This entire scene was chaos. It turned Lysandre’s stomach to see a girl in a state like that…

And then there was all the goddamned infighting. All these people – and some of them guilty, oh god, some of them guilty, fighting in with themselves. Nobody wanted to die, nobody wanted to be arrested – nobody wanted things to turn out like this. He couldn’t blame them. He really, really couldn’t blame them at all. Even if he had been guilty – and boy had he in the past – he would defend himself as well.

But this time, it wasn’t him. He swore it would never be him again. His alibi probably wouldn’t turn up impressive to many, though. More like he couldn’t really speak too much on it – he was being payed under the table to help out a local shop with stocking things early in the morning. The normal stocker – the owners husband – had injured his back, and they couldn’t put another person on wage for so much so he had simply volunteered….but it was illegal, and he really didn’t want to get them in trouble.

But, man, there was one loud kid. The one – Green, or something – was fighting back tooth and nail to say it wasn’t him. It was suspicious – even if the kid really wasn’t guilty – for him to be talking so loudly about this all. And his attitude. Lysandre tried not to leap to conclusions, but he was a very biased man. An attitude that reminded him of the  upper class, a demeanor of arrogance and near-on holier-than-thou mannerisms…

It really rubbed him the wrong way. It wouldn’t buy him any favors. And if push came to shove, Lysandre would probably choose him to investigate as well.

[deremords-blog]

Purple Chatots - Spring Event

[dragonchampion-hgss]

deremords‌:

Oh. No, oh no, did he know? Did he know who he was – he was being so serious, the heavy, heavy seriousness. It felt almost grim, and very oppressive. Or maybe that was his nerves again – Lysandre couldn’t help but stiffen up, just for a moment before he pushed that worry down and out of his head. Don’t think about that, dummy! Not everybody is out to get you. You’re just…out to get you, usually. My own worse enemy.

And Lance ruined it. He absolutely ruined it. Sure enough, Lance had just thought that there was something wrong with his voice. Which there was, by forcing it. But there were people who really talked like this! In Kalos. Maybe not here, but it was a real accent, and he had heard it before, he could swear by it!

Harnessing his best offended expression, Lysandre placed his hand over Lance’s to try and push it away. “I beg’yr pardon? Jus’a’cuz I speak a bit diff’rnly don’t mean I have som’thin wrong. This accent, unformtunate assit may be, is my na’ve tongue. Don’t mean I’m not educ’ted either. Might not be great wi’da woods, but I am wid the books.”

Oh, he sounded terrible. It was a real accent, but it was so painful to speak. He would have to be completely mindful to keep it up. 

Lance visibly stepped back before quickly bowing in apology towards his partner. “I…I can only offer my most sincerest apologies to you Lys!”

It was a shame to know that his self introductions was just as bad as it always has been. This man certainly did seem like a good fellow, even if Lance was not used to the way he spoke. He cleared he throat to break the awkward air and silence that came between them.

He turned towards the direction of where the two were supposed to be heading.

“Shall…Shall we be going?”

[deremords-blog]

Wow. The fake offense actually...worked. Lysandre always knew he was a good liar – he had to be, with his previous place in the world, as well as with his plans with Team Flare. He had to keep lying and lying and lying...but he never knew he could make something as absolutely ridiculous as this sound proper.

“Lis’n, Ah’m sorrey I snap’d at’chu. Ah don’ righ’ wan’ our alliance tah be host’l. Bu’cher right. Les’ get walkin’.” As he finished his sentence he began to walk, taking just a bit of pleasure in the sound of his footsteps in the grass; the rustle, the swish, the breathy movements. Maybe, despite his lack of knowledge on the matter of the woods, this would not be so bad.

At least he could enjoy the outside without feeling absolutely and totally desperate for food, shelter or other basic necessities (that he didn’t really quite deserve). If the only cost was...this ridiculous accent that seemed to have Lance completely and absolutely fooled, then that’s a cost he would take. It was much better, smoother, nicer than the alternative.

[deremords-blog]

Weariness -- OPEN

[deremords-blog]

pavback‌:

“That man has been sitting out there for almost an hour.” A woman sighed from behind the window of the cafe, pitying the scene before her.

“You want me to get rid of him?” The blonde waitress volunteered, not exactly paying any mind to what her aunt was talking about. Instead, she had been focused on updating the menu on the chalkboard for the next shift.

“No, no.” The older woman answered. She was used to trainers of all ages making their rounds through Olivine City, worn out from the trek between here and Ecruteak City. However, the disheveled appearance of this particular man wasn’t quite the same as a 12-year old with dirtied shoes and hair soaked with their own sweat. Most of those trainers still carried the bright-eyed smiles on their faces when they reach the port city, taking in the sight of the harbor and the lighthouse.

Rather, this man appeared to be troubled, though minding his own business on a bench just outside of the cafe. Her fingers instinctively fell on her bottom lip and her expression grew more sympathetic the longer she watched him. “I wonder if he might be homeless?”

Keep reading

It was one of the least friendly, approachable ways to be offered something kind, but he would not turn down free food when he was this starving. Still, it took a few moments for him to recognize what was happening with the way the woman stood and spoke to him. She wasn’t even making eye contact, which was something even weirder to him – a man who came from a rich world of confidence and men who spoke only once they had the full attention of another – something which usually required eye contact. In an almost comedic display, Lysandre brought a hand up, pointed at himself and blinked once, twice, before reaching his hand back out to take the plate.

“Well...thank you. That is terribly kind. Are you the owner or...a worker?” He suspected the second from her attitude. It was...unprofessional, but that could be due to her age. She looked...younger at least. Or maybe she just hadn’t received the -

No, bad thought line. People were not beneath him because they had not been as lucky. Besides, he had no right, ever, to pass judgement on any person. He had squandered every effort he had been given in life, every good thing had rotted away thanks to his actions! This girl was probably a far more stunning example of humanity. If anything he should bow his head to her.

Which is what he did. Eyeing even the small piece of garnish, he smiled. It was probably scraps, or leftovers, but he did not care. It was free food, and incredibly kind. Now, he couldn’t help himself/ Lysandre’s weary eyes burned, and began to fill with tears, which he attempted to hide and choke back by keeping his head lowered and taking a bite of the offered meal. It was so delicious. It was the best thing he eaten, or so it felt. Forget the gourmet food he’d been given before. This was one given out of kindness, and it made it so much better, so much stronger tasting. The juices were more flavorful – everything.

He swallowed a bit – with some difficulty, for the tears had made a large rock manifest in his throat. He lifted his head to the girl again, and offered her a smile, stretched, thin on chapped lips. “I...would like to thank the chef too. I think its wonderful. Thank you...thank you so much miss.”

[deremords-blog]

Breath of Freedom ||Fantasy  AU || Clair + Lysandre

@blessedtamer

Life within the walls of the royal city was, as ever, bustling without halt. Merchants from all over the kingdom and beyond came to peddle wares – ugh, that was a thought from his father. A derogatory statement to those who worked their hardest to share their livelihood, no matter how simple or mundane others may think it is. Lysandre did love it too – there were things here he would never see if he remained on his own in the castle. Exotic pottery and carvings, homemade sculptures and foods which were quaint but delicious.

At least he was not the only one who enjoyed this. He knew well, very well, that it was not very becoming of a Prince to walk in plainer (but not entirely plain) clothing, without guards and in the daylight. That, though, was something he often disregarded. Lysandre enjoyed freedom, even in the tiny tastes he could get beneath his father’s watchful glare. But, when it was his fiance who asked to do this, then he could get away without much – or any – griping. Diantha, dressed down in a simple white dress cut just high enough to draw attention to her, but not high enough to be scandalous, wandered along each booth, hovering over each unique item and speaking to each owner. She made friends quickly, spoke warmly as though she had known them for a long time. It was a skill that came with ease to nobility – Lysandre had it as well, but he hung back more. In this city, his father knew basically each breath he took. If he acted even a bit less than reserved and princely, then he would get an earful.

Still, it was rather adorable the way her eyes glowed and glimmered, the rise of her voice when she found something particularly interesting, the gentle way that she handled objects, with just her fingertips.

Despite how truly terrible it was for him to think it, the thought could not escape his mind; ‘though I do not love her, when she behaves so, I cannot help but adore her.’

Certainly, the thought filled Lysandre with a sense of guilt and self-disgust. Heavens, Diantha was his betrothed, by the gods! Even if he felt nothing for her at this moment, he should continue to try, to find every piece of her which is good and hold onto it as though it would save his life. Perhaps it would; as a man of deep passions and romance, he had to be true to himself or else something within him would wither. So he had to find love, somewhere within this all. Something beyond just the friendship he felt.

“Oh!” Her voice reached its peak high pitch, practically a squeal or sharp intake of breath. Her hands, balled tightly into fists, shot up to her chest and remained there, as though she could not process at all what she was seeing. Lysandre turned his head from a particularly lovely looking glazed pot to her, and then beyond to what she was gaping at.

He, too, froze.

It was a magnificent creature there, tall as he was at its shoulders, with scales shiny, smooth and the color of a deep ocean; blue-green and catching the light in amazing ways, reflecting it into the air as a kaleidoscope of colors. Beside it, a woman, who stood firm and tall and confident, beautiful blue hair waving slowly with each of her motions. One hand rested against the dragon’s side, and the other on her hip, in a fist. She had a commanding presence, confidence that rolled off of her in waves practically visible to the bare eye.

And before her and the dragon – a pair of guards. They seemed to be locked in an argument, something which drew the woman’s hands away from her to gesture furiously. Diantha seemed, however, to not notice the air around at all. She was entirely captivated by the dragon, letting her hands finally fall down. “Its so beautiful. I must get closer -”

Without consulting him at all, she wandered nearer the dragon, who turned its head towards her rapidly. Its eyes were intelligent, understanding and soft. Lysandre felt dread immediately – it looked as though the dragon could understand everything about humans, their words, their feelings. It almost made him melancholy – why was it here, with a chain about its neck, with a woman handler, before people as though it was a spectacle? Probably because somebody demanded it come here to be treated as a spectacle. Something for the city folk to marvel at.

Diantha came around the side of the conflict, wedging herself between the guards and the woman and dragon. Ah, so that appeared to be her plan. Defuse the situation. Of course.

“Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but notice your beautiful friend. Whoa re they?” Diantha’s tone was so pleasant, but she glanced to the side, catching Lysandre’s eyes, urging him to come help. He crossed to her as well, offering a pleasant smile to both the guards and the woman. “Yes. They look quite well tended to. I amm sure with great care and attentiveness.”

Hopefully this would help. Hopefully.

Perhaps he would learn something new too.

[deremords-blog]

Purple Chatots - Spring Event

[deremords-blog]

dragonchampion-hgss‌:

“My goodness…” Lance gave Lysandre a look as he put a hand on his chin…there was something odd about this individual. Something about the way he looked…the way he carried himself…it completely contrasted with the way he was speaking. Yes the way he was speaking was very odd. Was he talking that way intentionally? Did Lance talk like that?

No. Of course not! There was no way anyone could ever speak in that manner, and be completely serious! Had a throat illness of some kind befallen his companion?! That must be the answer! After all there was no way anyone would speak in such a manner on purpose!

“There is no need to hide the truth from me!” Lance placed a heavy hand on his partner’s shoulders with a grave seriousness in his voice. Fafnir his Dragonite was busying himself by getting to know Thierry by gently poking at him with his paws.

“Your will to keep going despite your issues is most admirable, but to force yourself any more would be detrimental! You must head to a hospital and get whatever is making your voice sounds so ridiculous checked out!”

Oh. No, oh no, did he know? Did he know who he was – he was being so serious, the heavy, heavy seriousness. It felt almost grim, and very oppressive. Or maybe that was his nerves again – Lysandre couldn’t help but stiffen up, just for a moment before he pushed that worry down and out of his head. Don’t think about that, dummy! Not everybody is out to get you. You’re just...out to get you, usually. My own worse enemy.

And Lance ruined it. He absolutely ruined it. Sure enough, Lance had just thought that there was something wrong with his voice. Which there was, by forcing it. But there were people who really talked like this! In Kalos. Maybe not here, but it was a real accent, and he had heard it before, he could swear by it!

Harnessing his best offended expression, Lysandre placed his hand over Lance’s to try and push it away. “I beg’yr pardon? Jus’a’cuz I speak a bit diff’rnly don’t mean I have som’thin wrong. This accent, unformtunate assit may be, is my na’ve tongue. Don’t mean I’m not educ’ted either. Might not be great wi’da woods, but I am wid the books.”

Oh, he sounded terrible. It was a real accent, but it was so painful to speak. He would have to be completely mindful to keep it up. 

[signsofsummer]

The Past Catches Up With You | Summer & Lysandre

@deremords

Summer stalked back to her hideout in a huff. The man had returned to his campsite without anything notable. Again. As she approached her own camp, an initially faint melody grew louder. She arrived to find Pichu entertaining a crowd of local forest Pokemon with his Ukulele.

She scratched the scruff of a Gogoat as she considered her options. She didn’t particularly mind camping out in the woods, but usually she was on her way to a destination or stopping by briefly to help with a problem. Not just watching a guy go about his day. A moderately shady guy, sure, but he hadn’t done anything remotely interesting in the few days she’d been watching him. She wasn’t a spy and Ranger training hadn’t improved her ability to sit and do nothing for extended periods of time.

Summer’s patience was up, and she didn’t plan on spending another night in these woods. She couldn’t just leave though, Ranger Headquarters wouldn’t be impressed with a report that she’d come across some suspicious activity and done nothing to resolve the situation. At the very least, she needed more information about what was going on. And the easiest way to learn what someone was up to was asking them — nicely, or not.

She directed the gathered Pokemon to clear the area. If the man reacted badly to her appearance, she didn’t want any of them to get caught up in the crossfire. Except Pichu of course, who could only be convinced to leave her side in dangerous situations when they involved diving underwater. With the wildlife dispersed, the woods were unnaturally quiet as she crept back to where she last saw them man. After one more check that her capture styler was fully functional, she charged into his campsite.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Summer demanded, styler at the ready. Pichu backed up her words with a threatening crackle of electricity from his cheeks and a less-than-threatening twang on his ukulele. Based on what she’d observed in the past couple of days, the answer was probably ‘nothing much,’ but some people liked to monologue about their nefarious plans, and she wasn’t one to deny them the opportunity.

[deremords-blog]

Lysandre had the vague feeling of being watched over the past few days – but he wrote it off as his own anxieties. These days – or maybe all of his life – he was jumping at shadows, or glancing over his shoulders. Even though he had been doing nothing of suspect the past few days. Sort of. He’d been camping in the woods, heading to towns he passed nearby, helping out with odd jobs and earning food and money in return. When he couldn’t, he would simply eat a dash of the rations he had, or Thierry would catch something for him. As much as he disliked it, he would clean and cook a wild creature – more for his Pokemon’s sake than his own.

This time, though, it turned out to be true. In perhaps the rudest, most dramatic display of interruption to a meager lunch of trail mixes and jerky, a girl burst through into his camp, frightening him quite well. Unable to hold it in, Lysandre shouted – a loud, genuine one – and ended up falling onto his back,  arms flailing and throwing his handful of trail mix about himself while he did so.

Granted...it wasn’t a very threatening pair he was faced with. A girl – or a young woman?  - and a Pichu. With a musical instrument. Which was rather adorable, and it actually brought a smile to his face to see, question or not.

“Well, currently, I was having lunch. Then I was going to...walk some? Attempt to find a town, offer my hand at some physical labor, or just gardening for somebody else. I’m sorry – did I do something wrong? Am I in a protected area?” She wore clothing similar to that of a park worker – sort of. He had no idea what or who she was, just that she was suddenly here and startling him. And that she had a cute Pichu, and now was not the moment to ask for a song from a Pokemon, no matter how much it is that he would like to. “If I am I’ll leave immediately. I should probably clean up the food though – I’m sure its fine for Pokemon, but I know that some wild areas have rules against that to prevent them from becoming overly friendly with or begging from humans – am I talking too much?” As he spoke, he moved to pick up the dropped dried fruit and nuts, stopping only at the end of his sentence to lift his head and look at the girl inquisitively.

[blessedtamer]

【 daybreak 】clair & lysandre

[deremords-blog]

blessedtamer:

      He recovered enough just to tell her his name.  The rest of his Common was fast and mostly unintelligible; Clair understood a third of what he was saying.  The man mentioned Druddigon’s name, or, she supposed, he was thanking the dragon.  Then he lay over, all energy spent, looking up at her with his glassy blue eyes.

      Clair pursed her lips.  Pathetic.  Absolutely pathetic!  He let himself get into such a sorry state—sunburned, worn-down, and covered with dirt—and now he shook from any effort he made.  Even that little sip of water was too much for him.  The man—lozenge?  Lys-something—was fast asleep.  Just like that.  A second ago he was awake (kinda), but here he slept like a big, dumb, giant baby.

      She leaned forward, hands on her knees, staring intently at his grimy face.  The man was passed out.  Part of her wished he’d be stuck in a nightmare, if only for being an annoyance.  Clair sighed. Okay, so she didn’t really think that.  Guy was annoying, though.

      “Hey.  Wake up,” she said, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder.  She shook it hesitantly.  Nothing happened.  The man lozenge exhaled deeply, his harsh breath tickling her knees.  Clair suppressed an urge to giggle.  Moving to his side, she brushed against Druddigon, who growled low in his throat.  Clair gave him a look that said “can you believe this?” to which the dragon merely blinked.  Yeah, didn’t think so, either.

      Clair turned back to the man lozenge.  Druddigon got up from his haunches and lumbered towards the front of the cave, found a good rock and began basking on it.  The man’s ragged looks deceived him: under her hand, Clair felt the rounded shoulder of a well-built physique.  His torn clothes and vagrant’s appearance seemed to be a façade. She frowned.  No homeless person had shoulders like these.

      Her hand tightened on the stranger’s shoulder. Who was this guy?  Not lozenge, or whatever his name was.  What did he do?  Why was he here, of all places?  Clair frowned, her gaze black upon the sleeping man.  As much as she hated to admit, she was more than just curious about his story.

      Which was stupid, because she shouldn’t.  It wasn’t any of her business.  And she didn’t care.

      “C’mon, you big idiot,” Clair grumbled, shaking the man roughly.  “Get up.” But that didn’t work, either.  She growled and shook him again, getting up on her knees and putting her whole body into it.  “Up!  Get up!”

      None of that had any effect on the man.  Which left only one thing, something she’d been holding back from doing.  Part of becoming a ‘better person,’ or something.  Clair kneeled.  Got right up into the man’s face.  Then she reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair.  “OI!  WAKE UP!” she cried, yanking his head backwards.

      It was like an explosion.  The man lozenge’s eyes shot open, and a yelp of surprise burst through his lips.  Clair recoiled backwards as the man awoke, skinning her knee on a rock, her hand releasing his hair as if it’d been made of fire.  He stumbled awake, sitting up haphazardly and holding on to the ground.  His arms were spread apart to prevent from falling.  It’d be pretty funny if he didn’t have a horrifically shocked, confused look on his face.  Like he’d awoken from the clutches of something awful.

      Clair hardened her sentimental side and narrowed her eyes at the man.  “Finally,” she said, adjusting herself so she sat cross-legged, taking care to avoid her injured knee.  “No sleep.  Not now.  You hurt.” The words were more than awkward on her lips.  But she was getting more comfortable with it—the language, it seemed, wasn’t as forgotten as she’d thought.  Clair tried again.  “You need help.  But… won’t find here.”

      The man was coming to his senses.  He looked at her with his (pretty) blue eyes and let out a weak, gasping breath.  Clair didn’t know what he said, but she had a pretty good idea it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows.  “We can’t stay here.  Not good for you.  We have to go.”  Her eyes roamed down his leg, where the man… seemed to favor one leg.  Issues with his foot? Ankle?  “Can you stand?”

There was a pleasant feeling...one of drifting by. Like he was on a small boat, or a gondola, laying on his back in the fading sun. The gentle rocking of the river lulled him into a deeper, deeper restful feeling. Like all the aches were just fading out for the moment, sucked into the gentle sway. Ah, he could just smell the river now, clear and clean; the freshness it carried that was indescribable, the slight hint of the thriving, fresh vegetation that bloomed alongside the clean waters. This was a peace that he had been without for so long, had wanted for a bit...something instead of the endless trekking, the nonstop hard ground and aching body. Somewhere in the far depths of his head, he knew that this was a dream, not the reality of the situation...but it still didn’t quite reach the front of his mind. It couldn’t. He was too happy and content.

Until the gondola tipped over. It brought with it the sensation of crashing; the return of the noise of rumbling, earth cracking, a cave collapsing on top of blue scales, the sound of bones breaking.

Or rather, he was jerked out of his little reverie by one of the rudest, most violent awakenings he had ever received in his life. Pain shot through his head from something unknown, and he felt as though he might be about to drown – caught somewhere between the reality of his situation and the dream-state he had been trapped in a moment before. He flung his arms out to try and catch himself on something- anything, and felt solid ground, confusing him greatly as he realized, in his dazed and slow mind, that he was still in a cooled cave, in the middle of a desert, hurting because of all the wandering he did alone, all the somehow-getting-lost he had forced himself to manage in an attempt to be alone. He could feel his face frozen in a mask of shock, heart pounding, breath coming in fast and ragged, sucking up air he had thought he would be starved of forever a moment ago. It was only after being given a moment to process that he realized the sudden rekindled soreness in his throat was from a shout he must have unintentionally let loose – and the expression of the woman seemed properly irritated with him. He’d fallen asleep on her when they had yet to finish their conversation and he had yet to wish her off, as well.

Clair began to speak again, but this time he had been anticipating it. He was able to listen to her words and understand them, parse through the heavy, unfamiliar accent. His body stiffened up at the suggestion of leaving, of not sleeping, of going somewhere else. Lysandre’s hands curled in on themselves, fingernails biting his skin softly with the anxiety brought on by the mere thought of having to try to face another person who could, possibly, recognize him for the man he really was. A sharp, but weak, gasping breath an a jerk forward – sending stars through his vision, tingles through his scalp, and agony rocketing through his sides, and he was talking fast, forgetting the common tongue for a moment and allowing his natural voice to come through. “No, please no. I am perfectly fine to just rest here for a few hours and then move. I can make my own way back – leave without me, I don’t desire any shelter-”

Of course she ignored him, she couldn’t understand what he said. Rather, she kept on going, eyes wandering down his leg. So, she’d noticed the limp he had. Obvious, old damage from his gravest mistake. Of course she’d seen.

“No.” He said, putting his hands up and attempting to return to his plea. “No – I mean yes, I can stand but – no, I think I would rather rest here for a while. I don’t need much else in the way of shelter -” Her expression hardened more. It became nearly as fierce as a dragon in visage; the set of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes was intimidating, too intimidating...and it reminded him of being chastised as a child. “Really, I am being honest. I might look to be in a bad state now, but with a small time of rest I will be fine. You should continue on, and not allow me to ruin your desert stroll. I would feel exceedingly guilty if I were to be the cause of such a thing-”

Her expression became more intense. She even stood up and approached him slightly – just a bit, a warning that she was going to make him come with her whether he liked it or not. Everything in her stance and voice told him so – and she had help too. From the rock where it was sunning itself, the hulking Druddigon breathed in a deep, slow sigh, making Lysandre all too aware that it was still there, and could come and help out its trainer at any moment she wanted it to.

With a heaving sigh ad a slump of his shoulders, Lysandre bowed his head to her. “Fine. Okay. I’ll walk out of the cave with you. I just...I have nothing to pay you back for your kindness with.” He admits that, hiding his real anxieties (though lacking anything to reward her with did indeed make him feel quite ashamed and further useless). With a grunt of effort – only half falsified – he pushed himself up to his feet, took a step, stumbled – and as caught on her shoulder. Sheepishly, he offered her a tired smile. “Thank you. Once I walk a bit I should be fine. Its only a small sprain. I just need to get accustomed to walking again.”

With her help – and painfully aware that he was a heavy burden, and likely neither looked nor smelled like a real gentleman – he was out, back into the blazing sun. Against the blinding, scorching light, he tucked his head down, trying to shield just a bit of himself from it all. But he had no choice but to look – still squinting forward, he faced before them, eyes partially on the ground to keep from tripping on hidden rocks or dips in the sand. No doubt they would walk a while, but he could make due with that.

It was just that...he would have to speak to another person, a native, likely, who knew of him, and his face, his name, what he he’d done! If that happened, then everything would be up. He bit his lip – he would have to pretend to be someone else, or else it would all be over.

Think, think.

What if...that accent of hers! The other language! Yes! He would disguise it as conversation when they reached civilization. He only needed one or two phrases -

“It will be a while until we arrive at any form of building or settlement. Could you, perhaps, teach me a few phrases in your language? I am interested, you see. And speak to me more. That may be a selfish request, but I have not had conversation in a while, I will admit.” He only needed to grasp her accent a bit, memorize the sounds of words...he would be safe then. Or, at least, slightly better off. Or not – it would just, simply, at least make him feel better.

[deremords-blog]

Weight We Bear - AZ & Lysandre

[deremords-blog]

curseoflight:

The cold blanket of night had long since overtaken the land.  AZ had been traveling for nearly a day by then.  He wasn’t sure where he was heading now– not yet, anyhow.  But he had been growing far too comfortable staying in that last town.  There was no reason for him to overstay his welcome.  He didn’t suppose he could ever stop travelling until he’d been everywhere.  Perhaps one day it would be possible to say so, but for now, AZ accepted his lot.  It didn’t make him happy, but it kept him focused.

The woods of this area were thick and dark, especially under the canopy that shielded what little light there was from the stars.  AZ was cautious in his movements, his eyes kept sharp for any obstacle on the forest floor.  He was acquainted with this sort of travel, but it never really got any easier.  Certainly not with his size, anyhow.  The woods slowly grew denser.  AZ realized then he must have been skirting the outer limits of the area.  His compass indicated he was heading north, but admittedly, that was all he knew for now.

Ahead, the glow of a fire could be seen faintly.  Another traveler on the road, AZ presumed.  Or a camper.  Either way, AZ could feel how his limbs had grown heavy from walking.  The bending of his knees sent pain shooting up his legs.  His feet barely wished to move of their own accord.  He wasn’t sure if whoever was out there would be alarmed by his presence.  Being approached by a man of his stature in the dark of night…  well, he’d been mistaken for a monster plenty of times in his life before, to say the least.

Even still, AZ wished to see if they would share their fire with him, if only for a few moments so he could rest.  He’d move on if they wished.  He didn’t mind if others disliked to be in his presence.  He wouldn’t want to be with himself either.  He pushed himself to keep moving as the fire got ever closer with each step.  He could almost feel the ghost of its warmth on his exposed face.  That in itself was nearly as comforting as the heat he felt as he reached the site.

Outlined by the deep orange of the flames was a man and a Pyroar.  It was clear from their tense poses that they had heard AZ’s approach and were alarmed.  The Pyroar looked ready to attack at any moment.  The rumble of a snarl could be heard above the quiet crackling of the fire.  AZ hesitated.  He stood there, in the bushes, studying the situation.

That man…

No, it couldn’t be.

Could it?

Only then did AZ proceed again, but slowly.  Each footstep was painfully slow, his knees creaking in protest.  As he emerged from the thicket, it became all the more clear who AZ had inadvertently stumbled upon.  His descendant, that man…  Lysandre.  His appearance was absolutely unmistakable, and, paired with that Pyroar, he should have guessed it sooner than he had.  It was immediately clear to AZ that Lysandre recognized him too.

The dawning realization, the sheer horror on his face made him look like a Deerling in the headlights.  There was dead silence.  AZ did not know what to say, and Lysandre seemed too shocked to move a single muscle.  If someone had told him that an eternity passed between this moment and the next, AZ would have believed it without a second thought.  It was as if time froze for a few seconds before returning to normal.

Lysandre was the first to break out of this frozen trance.  He reached for some sort of object out of AZ’s sight and held it up and out towards AZ.  It was some kind of food– jerky, it seemed?  With the most uncomfortable smile on his face, Lysandre spoke:  “Would you like to sit with me a while, to simply talk and eat?”

AZ appreciated that he was trying to be polite, but it was…  unsettling in a way.  Lysandre was trying to dance around their terrible history together, though it was obvious that it was on both of their minds.  Who could possibly imagine what had happened to Lysandre after his plans had failed?  AZ had spent so many nights awake wondering what had become of his descendant.  He had figured he was crushed and long dead, his happy ending never coming.

This was more reassuring to AZ than thinking that his descendant was living.  Lysandre was too much like him and he hated that.  His family had made the same mistake twice, and despite how much AZ had learned, he apparently hadn’t learned enough to do a damned thing about it.  He stood by and let someone else do the dirty work of saving humanity from Lysandre.  Of saving humanity from what AZ had created.

AZ and Lysandre were two halves of the same whole and it seemed clear to AZ at this moment that his descendant was paying dearly for what he had done.  He had changed since the last time the two had been together.  AZ, as much as he wished to have never crossed Lysandre here, knew there was no use in leaving.  AZ would finally have a chance to say his piece.  Lysandre would have to listen.

AZ wasn’t hungry, but he accepted the jerky to set Lysandre at ease a bit.  He pulled his heavy backpack off of his shoulders and dropped it to the ground.  He stretched his shoulders a few times before sitting down on a log near Lysandre and his Pyroar.  He sat in another dead silence, staring at the piece of dried meat.  Food had never looked so unappealing.

“I’ll talk with you, Lysandre, but you must be willing to listen.”

AZ stared into the fire as he felt the heat on his skin.  The flames danced and made indistinct shapes that quickly disappeared and reappeared.  There was too much to talk about and no good place to begin.  His knees throbbed now that he was resting them, stretched out awkwardly around the fire.  He finally dragged his gaze towards Lysandre.

“How did you do it?  I was certain you were dead.  I didn’t think there was any way to…  survive what happened.”  AZ paused.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know if this is something you wish to talk about.  I can’t help but be curious…  I’ve been wondering for so long, ever since…  it happened.”

Every second of silence that stretched between Lysandre and his ancestor left a sensation like a needle being inserted into his skin. He could practically hear the sound of a second hand ticking by, pushing another needle down…

It was definitely guilt. Guilt and shame, but in a different sort than that he felt when he thought of what he had done in a more isolated, global sense. Now he had to sit down with somebody who was related to him – distantly, but still related – and see how it affected him. No doubt it did – severely, in a way that Lysandre could not even begin to fathom. AZ must see him as though hes a mirror – and -

“How did you do it?”

Lysandre’s heart dropped. His hand automatically moved to his breast pocket, dipping his fingers into the pocket and gently stroked a finger along the smooth, fire and skin-warmed scale which belonged to his late partner Pokemon. The corner of his lips twitched, but he couldn’t manage a single real expression. No sad smile, no frown, no sorrow nor anger. There was simply too much that he felt about the matter – and no, he did not want to talk about it. He didn’t want to, but he supposed he really did owe it to his ancestor for what he had done.

What they both had done, he supposed. Millennia apart, for different reasons. Reasons they framed as selfless, but were really grief-borne, selfish creations from their own minds. Lysandre could accept that now; that he had been wrong, that he had just given in to a great amount of fear for the future, of a warped perception of what most people were like from his own, isolated experiences. It was a bleakness that he had been unable to escape from – that he should have asked for help from, that he should have tried harder to outrun – but that seemed to, in looking at AZ, go on and on and on without end.

“It wasn’t my choice to keep on living.” Was all he could think to begin with. It was still so fresh that he could not think to choose his words carefully – just give a tumble of words seeking to describe what had been the slowest moving few seconds of his life. “Loire – my Gyrados – he was inside his Pokeball. He shouldn’t have come out – but they have wills of their own. You know. They sense danger sometimes and they just – move. On their own. Do whatever they want, what they think is best – and I guess he knew it was bad. Maybe he always did, maybe he saw it coming – I guess anybody could. But he popped out, and he – tossed himself. The whole building was coming down, you know. But he threw himself into the rubble to try and – save me I guess. I deserved to get crushed, but he wouldn’t let that happen – he was too loyal and – I didn’t get away unscathed, no, there was damage but – he was all curled around me. And I couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it, I couldn’t pull him out, I couldn’t – I don’t deserve to have Pokemon.”

His voice rose while he spoke, words coming in faster tumbles, and not really giving any details. He felt tears come- stinging, too soon, the memory was too fresh – and when he finally reached the ending, Thierry lifted his head and gave a small growl to his owner. The Pyroar flicked his tail in irritation; this was the reason why he had come along, and Lysandre knew that much, so, withholding a sob, he lifted his head slightly and let his hand fall on the Pokemon’s head. “I think Thierry disagrees. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this affection.”

Lysandre lets his head fall again, feeling the heat of his fire crawl across his cheeks. Warm and pleasant. He hoped it was doing good for AZ as well, genuinely. Right now, despite the discomfort of them being together in presence, he really wanted him to be physically comfortable. Anything less would feel...wrong. He was trying to make amends – which he could never – but make them in smaller ways. Ways which could be distractedly pleasant. Something that felt a little bit right at least. Not that he would say such.

“...Would you like a blanket. I can spare you one. It’s neither nice nor particularly thick, but it could be something.” He glanced towards his bag; all he had was a rather thin blanket and his sleeping bag – which he would pile together when it was particularly cold. It wasn’t much at all, but he could forgo his own comfort. Especially if it bought him more time to avoid exactly what it was that AZ was going to talk to him about.

When his ancestor had said ‘he had to listen’ it filled him with anxiety, like pouring water into a cup. All of it, building up towards an overflow. What did he have to listen to? He knew he did not listen at first – that was why he was in this mess- that he should have back then…

“Ah. Before you start talking- I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. It probably means little now...but I’ll listen this time.” Lysandre lifts his head once more, trying to seek AZ’s eyes so he would know how serious he is. He will listen. He means it, AZ deserves it. 

[deremords-blog]

Poni Perchance - Hau + Lysandre

[deremords-blog]

malasadamaster:

It was always interesting on Poni Island! 

At least, that was his opinion. For some reason, the island felt like a new adventure each time he went there to train or just explore and see all the strong Pokémon parading around. Sometimes he even sat down to sketch stuff if his attention span allowed it, but he carried his drawing supplies just in case! He wasn’t super amazing at drawing, but he’d only get better with practice! Even if his skills weren’t up to par with that of an expert yet, he still enjoyed drawing nonetheless. 

The boy was recklessly dashing near the shore, Noivern flying close behind him as they almost collide with another person.

“Ah! I’m so sorry-”

Hau returned the bow quickly, also apologizing. It was mostly his absentminded running that had caused this, after all! At the question he tilted his head, thinking for a moment

“Well, not THIS specific island, but I was born and raised in Alola!” He nodded to himself, smiling brightly as his Noivern clung to his back. “Hmm, well, there’s not really many restaurants on this island, but there’s lots of wild berries you can pick up and eat!”

The way the Noivern clung to its trainer was endearing, and brought a warm, albeit melancholy, feeling. It reminded Lysandre of how Marcel used to climb onto his shoulders and wrap his arms around him, peeking up over him to see the world from a higher place – and to feel more secure. The poor thing never really got completely over how he had been ostracized from his group before. Ah, he missed his Pokemon dearly – but it was for the better that they were removed from the trouble that he caused. They deserved a good, warm, easygoing home.

Lysandre listened to the boy talk, feeling his heart sink a bit. Berries. Berries weren’t a meal – but if there was nothing else he supposed he could deal with that. Though, he wasn’t looking for a restaurant per-se either. He simply sighs, letting his shoulders droop for a moment, before lifting his head again to meet the boy’s face. “Even if it is not a restaurant, its fine. A bar, a small place which serves up an entree, or some seafood. Or a market, where I could buy myself a sandwich or something of the sort. That’s all I need.”

He wanted to offer the kid something for this too – but he had very little. He pushes his hand into his pocket, feeling a few crumpled bills, and sighs. It really, really isn’t much. “If there isn’t even anything like that...then I suppose its time to scavenge a bit. Are the berries around here significantly different from other regions? ...Rather, I hate to admit this, I don’t really know much in the way of surviving off of berries. But it is a good suggestion. Thank you very much - ...I’m sorry, what is your name? Its rude of me not to ask.”

[deremords-blog]

Nerd Squad -- Lysandre & Maxie

[deremords-blog]

mathemaxical:

He’d been staring for too long, a fact that he only picked up on when the smallest hints of discomfort washed over the stranger’s face. Maxie ceased the stares, instead choosing to focus his attention back on the blueprints set out on the table nearby. The amount of detail was, to be honest? Enthralling. He seated himself to perhaps, get a better look as they spoke with one another.

“We should.” He steepled his fingers together and gave the man - Lys, apparently, wherever had he heard that name before? - a meaningful glance. His eyes trailed downward to follow the tip of Lys’ fingers, guiding along the lines and sketches like he was following a river on a map.

On paper, his ideas were good; voiced, they were brilliant. Maxie empathized with the notion of wanting to better the world. After all, wasn’t that what Team Magma about in the first place? Bettering things for the good of humanity? Nowadays, he wasn’t too sure if that was really what he was set to do, but long ago he must’ve been convinced. “For a ‘hobby’, you seem good at this. I can understand resources being scarce, but for a man with your vision?” He paused. “Not impossible.”

Silence. It was around here he realized that he hadn’t introduced himself either. Maxie, despite being more composed than his rival at least on the surface, never had the best grip on manners and formalities. Still… at the very least, effort was always appreciated.

“Maxie,” he replied, sitting back and pushing his hair back, “A pleasure to meet you.”

Lysandre knew he was intelligent. He had always been told so (which he wrote off as his mother being overly doting) and his success without his family name had solidified the fact in his mind. Being complimented – even lightly- by a complete stranger in this manner, who had taken an interest in his work without any knowledge of who he was or what he had done was...flattering in a sense he hadn’t really been exposed to before. Usually, everyone already knew him. His reputation announced him before he announced himself. Perhaps this was one of the perks of trying to make himself fade away. A little perk, but a perk nonetheless.

Maxie. That was a rather nice name, wasn’t it? Lysandre managed a small smile, hoping to seem at ease and thereby make himself actually at ease. It was a bit of a silly, pulled, stressed strategy, but he hoped it worked to calm himself. Everything would be fine so long as Maxie didn’t flip too many pages over and over again and find his real name, or schematics left over of the weapon and who-knows-what-else.

“It’s probably my pleasure to meet you, in all honesty. I’ve been rather starved of conversation of late, so please do tell me if I am talking too much or too loudly.” It was more like a worry he constantly had, rather than one he had just recently developed. Though, there was an added problem that he could give himself away. “Oh. And I also want to thank you for the compliment. If you’re the type with resources, perhaps you will be able to come up with something based off of my ideas. I wouldn’t mind it at all.”

[deremords-blog]

Purple Chatots - Spring Event

@dragonchampion-hgss

To say he was out of place would be an understatement. The weather was rather muggy – the type of humid that clung to the skin and refused to let clothing pull away from the skin. The scars that littered his body from the collapse of the Earth atop him constantly filled him with a  sense of self-consciousness and dread when it came to the idea of showing anyone them. Thus, he was standing in the heat in long pants and a thin, but still long-sleeved jacket, over top of the thin-fabric tank top. He was miserable, but at least he wasn’t showing his scars off.

It was probably vanity that lead him to do this, when he stopped to think about it a moment. Vanity, and not what he tried to convince himself it was: a need to hide scars and keep people from asking about it, thinking that it would help them identify him rapidly (as if the color of his hair or his tall stature was not already a huge giveaway to those versed in the state of global affairs).

Regardless, life was a bit better standing in the shade of a tree, where the sun was not quite so vicious, and where the occasional breeze would do him well to cool him off. And that tree is just where he stayed, up until he was called forward to meet his partner for the little…scavenger hunt? Nature excursion? Regardless, it sounded like a dash of fun, and he would take the money if he could and leave the before the interview, which would serve him well for food ad a place to sleep (not outside) for a good while, providing he was smart with the money – which was a skill he’d learned back in university, out of a decision that he needed to.

Granted, his heart sank when he saw the person he was supposed to partner with. Lance. This guy wasn’t the type to…mess with. He was likely the kind that would know who Lysandre was. He would have to play stupid.

So he greeted the other man with a smile. He offered his hand to him, waiting patiently for it to be accepted. “It’s good to meet you. I hope we do well. Oh…but I’m afraid I only have one Pokemon to my name. Thierry is an excellent partner, but I am afraid I won’t be pulling my weight. I’ll simply do all I can, though. I’m certain you’re quite capable yourself.”

[dragonchampion-hgss]

Lance was…feeling quite good!

He had just finished his routine stretches, and was heading over to where his partner was supposed to be. Unfortunately he had not been allowed to wear a cape, so he wore a simple outfit consisting of his Purple Chatots shirt, and some shorts. 

Lance couldn’t help but feel a sort of giddy excitement that he hasn’t felt in such a long time. How long has it been since he’s last enjoyed playing these types of  Spring Games? Fond memories of him and Clair violently competing to defeat each other brought a smile to his face.

Ah. He could see a man standing underneath a tree, looking quite bothered. The childish giddy smile left Lance’s face and was replaced with one that was more befitting of an adult. The man was a very tall individual with an impressive set of red hair, and the handshake he had just given him was strong and firm. 

“It’s good to meet you as well! Let us both strive forward with confidence and claim victory! There is no need to speak about yourself in a such manner.” Lance smiled as he gestured to the Dragonite that stood by his side.

“This is Fafnir. He has helped me overcome many difficulties, and he shall help us overcome this one as well. My name is Lance! What is yours?”

[deremords-blog]

Lysandre was hit with a deep sense of what he could only explain as...bemusement. Was this guys manner of talking intentionally as excessive as it was? Or was this merely natural? Did he speak that way? Would he give himself away if he talked too much like himself? Oh, oh no. He was going to have to come up with some stupid way of speaking. Some accent. Think, Lysandre – ah! Northern Kalos had a strange accent. Anybody who had never been thee probably wouldn’t recognize it. Even so, he would mix it up just a bit. Throw in some...slang words.

This was turning into a mess rapidly. Even more than he thought it would when he was handed the purple shirt. The color seriously clashed with the color of his hair in the worst manner possible – his hair was vibrant red, this purple was a bit closer to the blue side. It made him feel like some kind of child’s candy. A garish child’s candy.

“Fafnir looks t’ be an e’cellent parn’r. This’s Thierry.” Lysandre removed his pokeball from his pocket, allowing it to open and release Thierry into the warm weather. The massive Pyroar stretched his paws before him and arched his back, stretching out with a shudder and an impressive yawn before settling back to sit, glancing from Lysandre to Lance expectantly. Lysandre, in the meantime, attempted to keep himself from grimacing at the terribly chipped words he was trying to force out. It sounded terribly uncultured.

“M’names Lysa- Lys. Jus’ call me Lys.” He’d been trying with the accent too hard, and forgotten to come up with a fake name. How stupid could he be! Hopefully shortening it was enough.

[lxvrina-blog]

Oops, I Did It Again [Lovrina + Lysandre]

[deremords-blog]

lxvrina:

The man clearly had a vendetta against that crystal construct blooming as the centerpiece of Geosenge as if it killed his livestock, destroyed his crops, and delivered a plague unto both his houses. Lovrina, meanwhile, was just enthralled. Of course she had an affinity for dangerous weapons; XD001 was enough proof of that fact. Studying other creations of mass destructions and drawing inspiration from them? Better than any overly bejeweled sundial, that was for sure.

With her? It was always the newest innovations.

“I’m a scientist.” She gave him a confident little smirk. “And sundials might be great and all, but… this is definitely more interesting.”

The weapon laying dormant with no power source disappointed her greatly. Not because she was planning to use it in any capacity, but because something that great and beautiful deserved better. Maybe she’d try and tinker with the mechanisms, see what made it tick.

Apply her findings to her next greatest work.

“Yeah, I’m totally not from here. You so found me out.” She raised her hands in a gesture of playful surrender. “We’ve totally got nothing like this back where I’m from. Orre, I mean. It’s basically a wasteland.”

This was old news. What wasn’t, however, was the mysterious stranger in front of her, who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Guy really needed a night of good drinks. “You’re staring at it too,” she pointed out, tilting her head coquettishly, “Call it my girlish intuition, but I definitely think you’re just as fascinated by this as I am. I know I like staring at these kinds of inventions and learning from them, right?”

She may have come to Kalos for the sightseeing, but this weapon was about to prove the highlight of her trip.

Ah-hah. A scientist. Likely not a scientist of the kind he...had much affiliation with. She struck him as the type who would get an idea in her head and proceed to ignore the advice of everybody around in order to do what she, and she alone, wanted. Regardless of other people’s well-being, regardless of the destruction or the havoc it might cause. Honestly, the hint of reverence in her voice made his stomach tighten into a knot somewhere between disgust and concern – had he once sounded like that? When speaking of his terrible, grandiose plans?

He didn’t have a response much for that, until she played up that he was also staring at it. Lysandre begged to differ that his reasons were...completely different, but he could neither give too much away or, he felt, really defend himself to the type of woman this was. Still, he would try – in the most innocent manner he could manage.

“I’m afraid that I’m looking at it less out of interest and more out of…a sense of sorrow, you could say? This is my region – my home. To recall what happened when somebody used this – both in the deep and the recent past – causes me a great deal of distress. I fear I’m not fond of even the idea of ‘weapons of mass destruction’ either.” He paused in his speaking – he was more or less just repeating words now. He would give a small push back against her, just a small one. He normally wasn’t so adverse to flirting, but in this moment he was simply...rather overwhelmed in the past. And hesitant towards the future. He would rather not be pulled into something to further the long list of ill deeds he’d committed.

“I on the other hand, like looking at these kinds of things to think of how to combat them. I’ve been contemplating a means to destroy something like this forever. I doubt anyone would ever let it be so. But disabling it eternally – that’s another thing.” And it wasn’t a lie. He was...quite knowledgeable about the workings of the Weapon. If anybody could, he or his former Scientists could disable it. Or re-enable it. The former was far more appealing a thought.

[deremords-blog]

Purple Chatots - Spring Event

@dragonchampion-hgss

To say he was out of place would be an understatement. The weather was rather muggy – the type of humid that clung to the skin and refused to let clothing pull away from the skin. The scars that littered his body from the collapse of the Earth atop him constantly filled him with a  sense of self-consciousness and dread when it came to the idea of showing anyone them. Thus, he was standing in the heat in long pants and a thin, but still long-sleeved jacket, over top of the thin-fabric tank top. He was miserable, but at least he wasn’t showing his scars off.

It was probably vanity that lead him to do this, when he stopped to think about it a moment. Vanity, and not what he tried to convince himself it was: a need to hide scars and keep people from asking about it, thinking that it would help them identify him rapidly (as if the color of his hair or his tall stature was not already a huge giveaway to those versed in the state of global affairs).

Regardless, life was a bit better standing in the shade of a tree, where the sun was not quite so vicious, and where the occasional breeze would do him well to cool him off. And that tree is just where he stayed, up until he was called forward to meet his partner for the little...scavenger hunt? Nature excursion? Regardless, it sounded like a dash of fun, and he would take the money if he could and leave the before the interview, which would serve him well for food ad a place to sleep (not outside) for a good while, providing he was smart with the money – which was a skill he’d learned back in university, out of a decision that he needed to.

Granted, his heart sank when he saw the person he was supposed to partner with. Lance. This guy wasn’t the type to...mess with. He was likely the kind that would know who Lysandre was. He would have to play stupid.

So he greeted the other man with a smile. He offered his hand to him, waiting patiently for it to be accepted. “It’s good to meet you. I hope we do well. Oh...but I’m afraid I only have one Pokemon to my name. Thierry is an excellent partner, but I am afraid I won’t be pulling my weight. I’ll simply do all I can, though. I’m certain you’re quite capable yourself.”

[deremords-blog]

Destined Distaste || Giovanni + Lysandre

Lysandre sat with his eyes closed, back of his head against the cold brick of the buildings side. It was the type of dusk cool that leaked through the hood of his worn jacket and chilled the back of his head. This place had likely been in the shade the entire day, leaving it chilly despite the summer sun beating down on the rest of Kalos. Casting his eyes up, he could see the pink, yellow, lavender colors of the setting-sun sky. It would be beautiful to sit outside right now, on a hill outside the city somewhere, in a light jacket for when the humidity started to disappear and the chill settled down in, and maybe the dew dropped and dampened everything. Left little droplets, catching dying sunlight, or the light from screens, or the moon, then refracting it back like a kaleidescope, or like tiny gems. Hundreds of of little precious stones on display for no cost. 

But that wasn't where he was. He was in the city, in an alley, which smelled like cigarette smoke, alcohol and leftover food thrown away to rot. This was the only place inside a city he could close his eyes for a moment, if only to get a half seconds rest before finding some cheap food.  Or working for some leftovers in a shady dive that was understaffed, as he had before. 

Whatever. Think of the cool bricks on the back of his head, not the uncertainty of the future or the hunger in his stomach, the kind which he could never fill. His own fault. He couldn't mope about like this when he was own doing. 

He only wished that he was alone. Lysandre knew from the start that he wouldn't be; alleys like this were the domain of late night illicit meetings, and resting places of men who lacked homes. He probably looked to fit right in with the latter; desperately in meed of a haircut and a trim of his beard, clothing tattered and dirtied. Even some of the red of his hair appeared black from the volume of dirt that he'd ended up having caked in. He could stand that the least of all his conditions.

Regardless, he could hear the voices of other people. The sound of their footsteps coming closer, laughter, conversation. With his eyes drifting closed and thinking of nothing, their words came into focus at the front of his mind. 

“Yeah, man, w e can do that. Seems like a good thing to me. More reach for you, more stuff for us. And a damn sponsor. And all we have to do is help you bring in your chapter.” The way they were speaking sounded like something along the lines of a gang chat. It roused a fighting reaction inside of Lysandre’s stomach; really, these were among some of the worst people. For added salt in that little wound, one of them spat at him as they passed – they probably thought he was some homeless ruffian. They weren’t totally far off, granted, but still….it felt bad. Even when he had money, he never gazed down at other men in that way. And if he did, he tried to correct it.

His anger was bubbling a bit, but the next thing set him off. It was just one word he heard in passing – Rocket – but in the context of the moment he knew what it had to be. Team Rocket. A group he’d heard of, read of, and never approved of. The people that he actively thought were the type to ruin the world.

Okay, perhaps he was jumping to conclusions – but that thought didn’t occur to him. Lysandre was already up, stepping towards the nicest-dressed of the group, and grabbing his shoulder firmly. “Rocket isn’t welcome here.” He made his voice as low and dangerous as possible. Combined with his somewhat gravelly tone from being parched and not talking too often, he felt he cut a passably intimidating figure.

The look on the face of the guy who spat at him earlier said as much; he was a shorter man, so Lysandre’s height and width probably made the guy feel like a Joltik looking at a furious Ursarang.

His grip grew slightly tighter on the man’s shoulder. “You’re the one in charge, right? You’re dressed it. Send your pals away. I want to have a chat.”