#coolteachxr

[vagabond-dad-blog]

HAPPY (EARLY) BIRTHDAY HANA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAVE A @coolteachxr​!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[waveguidances]

『burn the house down.』

@coolteachxr

The street lamps burn dimly in the murky air as Riley passes them by.

His eyes fall on the minute details. He notices how the pavement glimmers (slick with rainfall from the previous night). He notices the occasional passerby (or several, he’s certain there’s a club nearby). Or the stray Growlithe who ghost these alleyways, keeping vigil on their homes (in garbage). Apart from the idle hiss or chatter that fall upon his ears, the back streets of Castelia are dead quiet.

But Riley knows better.

Contrary to popular belief – the city of Arts and Business thrives when the sun begins to set. The seedy underbelly of Castelia awakens in the night, its agents free to operate under the cover of darkness. Crime, as Riley had understood it in his debriefing, was organized here. There were systems in place, gangs who ruled ‘factions’ of the city much like territory to lords. (And an apparent mafia, but that wasn’t his business). Interpol had always turned a blind eye to these sorts of things. Never to interfere, until the mass populous was in danger.

And that’s why Riley’s here now.

He taps a single finger to his earpiece.

“… This is Agent 928. Nothing to report on Yule Avenue.”

Static. And another male’s voice, monotone. “Keep searching. Our analysts predict that the next heist WILL happen here. Are you sure you haven’t seen anything?”

Riley’s face hardens. “Trust me… I’m sensing nothing. It’s quiet ––“ And he lowers his voice on the off chance he’s speaking too loudly, “— there’s nothing here.”

“Too quiet,” his commanding officer remarks coolly.

Riley rolls his eyes.

And then color overtakes his vision.

Blue – the color of wisdom and deep thought. However, the aura is not heavily saturated. The blue is muddled with flecks of gray, which lighten it to a steel-like hue. Someone detached from human emotion, Riley thinks, or someone experiencing a very calm adrenaline rush.

Seconds later, the alarm pierces his ears.

“Agent! What’s going on out there?” Riley doesn’t answer.

A one-story, bricked facility sits on the corner of the street. The building is flanked by a large barbwire fence on all sides, reaching higher than any one human. A hole has been crudely cut on the most visible side of the fence. And from out of the hole and into the open darts a figure, hood drawn over their head. On their hip, they heft a large cylinder type mechanism. Obviously too heavy to carry with one hand.

Their head snaps over in Riley’s direction. And then they dart down the adjacent alley.

The shout leaves Riley before he can think.

Fingers outstretched, his eyes narrow. Blue rings around both of his hands and irises. Warmth flows across his open palm before it fires. The bolt grazes the thief’s body and the item spills from their grasp as they tumble to the pavement. As Riley lunges forward to grab a fistful of hoodie, the thief lugs the cylinder in both hands and continues down the alley.

Riley books it, coming to a stop only when he sees the wall. The backside of another building (four-story) has effectively blocked off the other end of the alley. He silently thanks Castelia architects for their sloppy designs, but the emotion fades as he watches the thief run towards a spiraling structure on their left. In the dim light, Riley can just make out the skeleton of a metal ladder. It winds to the top of the adjacent building, granting roof access.

He swears lowly.

Mechanically, his hand moves in the direction of staircase. Blue gathers in his palm. The warmth fires as the thief has just grasped the sixth rung. The aura bolt bursts upon impact, and Riley watches his suspect fly. The body strikes the ground at an odd angle and from the way their aura dims, he knows that he’s stunned them.

But as their aura dims, a chill runs up his spine.

Their face has been exposed, the hood torn from the force of the Aura Sphere. Splayed out among the pothole riddled asphalt is Harley Jackson. Ally, friend, confidant. Pale-faced in the light of Riley’s aura.

He kneels, pressing a finger to Harley’s wrist. A cold sensation takes Riley’s stomach and bleeds into his chest and limbs.

The earpiece clicks to life once again. “Agent – report. I heard signs of a scuffle; did you catch a suspicious party, or not?”

In the distance, sirens join in the alarm wails. Red and blue lights dance on the alley walls, the surrounding puddles. And a moment later, police officers are by his side.

He should move, but Riley doesn’t. Law enforcement cuffs the body, and he does nothing. They shout, yell, and curse – as to them, this thief is nothing but more lowly street scum to arrest – and Riley just watches.

He can’t believe this.

“Agent.”

Riley’s fingers tap the earpiece. His lips twitch into a scowl.

“… This is Agent 928. We’ve successfully apprehended a suspect. It’s just as our analysts predicted.”

[bxdgame-blog]

catching up to do - Harley&Charon

meeting up with the coolest guy around! - @coolteachxr​

If she knew she was basically carting around plants all over town, then she wouldn’t have taken the job. Relaxing her ass, this was torture! The plants were heavy as hell, people kept trying to get their money back because of “quality” and a bunch of other farmer lingo she didn’t understand, like just take the flower and go, yelling at her now isn’t going to solve anything. Luckily, some trainer school would be her last job for the day and she could collect her check and go the fuck home.

She peered into the class through the door windows, trying to find a room that looked like a biology class, whatever that looked like. They all looked the same to her: kids sleeping, a teacher’s seemingly endless rambles, and a classroom wouldn’t be complete with a whiteboard cluttered with diagrams and concepts written on it. It made her feel a little bad knowing that kids more than half her age are practically geniuses compared to her, but that’s just how life really be. Soon enough, those kids will be outsmarted too.

At the end of the hall, she spotted a classroom that stuck out from the rest, she wanted to take a closer look at the drawings on the blackboard, but didn’t want to look like a weirdo.

“Helllloooooo~? Is a Mr. Harley here?” she knocked on the door and let herself in, if it was the wrong class then she’d just apologize and leave, but she just had to see the blackboard in person. Call it a weird obsession, but she can’t not touch a blackboard.

[trainercenric-blog]

@coolteachxr liked for a starter (kind of)!

     Squinting slightly as he peered down at a bright yellow pokemon that had strayed a little way away from it’s trainer’s side, Cenric’s brows knit together tightly in confusion.

     Having only branched out to Johto and Hoenn in his time, anything found outside of the three regions he was familiar with remained a total mystery. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t native to any of the three, nor a popular choice for trainers who visited from outside of Kanto, apparently.

     He could kind of see why. The thing was a little… odd, to say the least. What a goofy face. And were those pants?

     Glancing up, Cenric turned his attention to the man who must have been the pokémon’s trainer. He’d been staring at the poor thing for a good few minutes now… Might as well offer up an explanation of sorts, and maybe try and find out more about the creature in the process.

   “Ah… Could you tell me what kind of pokémon this is? I’ve never seen one before, so it’s rather… interesting.”

[undellabay-rp]

The laidback teach is ready at coolteachxr!

Class is in session! Make sure Mr. Jackson heads on over to the Masterlist and finishes roll call!

> Chimchar-Mod