The stormclouds were beginning to gather on the horizon. She was running out of time, and patience.
Lucy left the Ecruteak Pokemon Center with an exasperated sigh. Her efforts to find a trainer to escort her to the Lake of Rage during an impending thunderstorm had proven to be much more difficult than she had anticipated. With the entire morning wasted, she stubbornly resolved to go on her own, despite the danger. The rumors of a Red Gyarados sighting was impossible for her to ignore, and she was determined to catch a glimpse of it before it disappeared back into the vast depths of the lake. This was simply an opportunity she could not let pass by.
As she began to make her way out of the city she noticed a figure in front of the Burned Tower. He appeared ordinary enough, although there was something about him which caused her to pause. The years she had spent under the guidance of her mother and grandmother had given her an acute sense of auras, and there was something powerful she sensed in this particular individual, although she couldn’t quite place what it was.
Regardless, she could at least recognize that he was as good a bodyguard as any she could find.
“Excuse me,” she started quietly, putting forth her best effort to be polite. “You’re a trainer, aren’t you?”
She didn’t allow herself to expect much. She had spent the entire day at the Pokemon Center asking trainers to assist her in her quest, and had been rejected at least a dozen times, and had received just as many strange looks.
“Would you consider escorting me to the Lake of Rage before the storm arrives?” Lucy pointed at the dark clouds looming in the distance. “I am able to pay you for the trouble, of course.”
The day had started off simple enough. In fact, Jasmine had expected it to be like any other - she would wake up and assemble her small pack of belongings and thank the innkeeper and continue her peaceful journey. Sinnoh was a continent she knew relatively well, and she enjoyed returning every other year to refamiliarize herself with it. The sights, the sounds, the people. The sense of adventure made a few weeks by sea more than worth the trouble.
Even if she called it an adventure, it was more like opening the doors to a childhood home and relearning its rooms. As different as it seemed, everything was mostly the same. Brush the dust off of everything, and it was like you never even left.
Of course, she didn’t remember zombies on her last visit.
Perhaps it was less zombies, and more just the walking dead. She assumed they were dead, anyways, because they shambled along and broke into dust and bones when slain. Their eyes gleamed red and sharp and they spoke no language that she had ever heard. Whether or not they communicated, they moved quickly and with a strange efficiency, like soldiers. But unlike soldiers - or perhaps like them, in some instances - they preferred to attack any and everything that moved.
This made travel rather inconvenient, to say the least.
As a War Cleric, she was better prepared than most. This was putting aside her general paranoia, which made her prepared in the first place - always keeping her staff nice and clean, always keeping her axe properly sharpened, always keeping vulneraries and herbs on hand in case of emergency. In the case of thieves and bandits, it helped that she was easily underestimated. Concealed by her dress and gloves, she looked all lace and slender bones and feathery hair. But beneath her attire were hard planes and toned muscles and thin scars from years of hard training and work. Really, her outfit was something for her own compensation. While she never particularly cared about looking ladylike, it was easy for her to become self-conscious of her rough hands and arms.
Most would only gather this after the sharp curve of an axe left them trailing blood as they fled. It wasn’t that she enjoyed hurting people - far from it. Jasmine had taken up a staff before a weapon for that exact purpose, but she hated relying on others to save her. So, she had taken matters into her own hands. Even so, very time her weapon had to bite through flesh and leave someone limping away, she had to bite back a bitter taste of regret and guilt. She wanted nothing more than to raise her Heal staff and watch the wound knit back together, leaving nothing more than a scar in place.
It was better them than her, she had to remind herself every time. She was only doing what she had to do.
This was easier to justify when the enemy was black and purple and inhuman. She felt less guilt when striking down these foes, and more fear, more confusion, more curiosity. Where had they come from? Why were they here? Why were there so many of them?
Her peaceful day felt like a lifetime ago, now. Her trip had been cut very, very short. If this was how Sinnoh was now, her only goal was to get to the nearest port and set sail for Johto, where presumably there were less corpses hoping to slaughter her where she stood. Considering she had to cross all the way across the continent to get there, this was a bit of a challenge. She had thought that moving through relatively abandoned countryside might help; there were less villages to attack, surely, so perhaps they would accumulate farther out? But that was just wishful thinking; even sticking to the outskirts, they seemed to find her.
For once, perhaps not alone.
Jasmine felt the magic before even catching sight of the caster. There had been some of these monsters that could cast, but it had always felt dark and muddled. This was pure, unbridled energy; it made the hair on the back of her neck and her arms stand up, made the air buzz and hum. While she was no expert in tomes, she had dabbled, and she recognized the signs almost immediately.
A swordsmaster fell by her hand, collapsing into a heap of dust and waste. Her boots crunched in the rocky, uneven soil as she whirled around, mind immediately assuming the worst. Do they need help? Are they hurt? Where are they? They could have been a bandit or necromancer or any number of vile things, but she hardly cared. They were a person, and they were probably fighting these things, and that meant that they were an ally. Hopefully, she wouldn’t regret that.
Her feet flew in the direction of the energy. White knuckles twisted the handle of her axe, and she paused only once to throw her force into a swing against an opponent. Half of her mind was on the battle, the other on the staff slung against her back - if this person did need help, hopefully it wouldn’t break halfway through the job. She could buy a spare, but in times like these, she doubted that was practical or likely. So it would have to be enough.
Cresting the top of the hill, she saw her target: blonde, tall, vaguely familiar? She brushed the thought aside as quickly as it had come and felt the air pulse as he cast another spell. He was holding his own rather well, it seemed, if she could judge from the dust surrounding him. From her short distance, she could see that he was suffering from a few injuries - all minor, but still something she could assist with. Once the problem at hand was solved, of course.
Gaze darting around, she began to move closer to approach him calmly, extend a simple offer of assistance. The thought of that alone made her stomach squirm, so she just focused on staying aware of her surroundings. Her eyes landed on a knight rushing the unaware mage from behind, and her pulse leaped. Now was no time for polite interjections or words of peace; now was a time for action.
“Behind you!” she cried out, a roar steady and true and quite unlike her usual stammer. Without thinking, she rushed forward and met the undead’s weapon head-on with a crash of metal and a shower of sparks. It staggered backwards from the sudden unexpected impact, and she wasted little time in rushing in with a counter attack. Her blade crushed its armor like paper, and it crumbled away to nothing as its owner perished for a second time. She let out a small pant, shifting where she stood and adjusting her grip on her weapon and trying very hard not to feel self-conscious.
With no other adversary to chase down, she simply brushed away the dust from the front of her dress. What was she supposed to say? Apologize for leaping in? Thank him for helping him? Was this when one was supposed to come up with some witty one-liner to win the other over, making him warm up to her so they could have at least some semblance of a meaningful interaction??
She didn’t know. It would be easier if he spoke up first.
It was only a matter of time before Lacuna found herself back in Lumiose. The city of light evoked memories both precious and distressing, and therefore the dancer knew that no trip inside its borders could be described as predictable. Nevertheless, the purpose behind this visit was both strange and absolute; the dancer was on the hunt for a young man in possession of a very specific talent: namely, the ability to locate her lost hairpiece.
Unfortunately, the information she had was extraordinarily limited. All Lacuna knew was that the boy in question was a student of the city’s university. Hopefully, after consulting a few of his fellow students, they’d be able to point her in the right direction.
Clutching the bag of savings put aside specifically for this trip, Lacuna approached a blond student reading by his lonesome. It was evident by his posture alone that he wasn’t exactly open to conversation, but her options were quite limited..
“Um.. E-excuse me,”
“I was wondering if you could please t-tell me what you know about a student I am looking for..”
If Nimbasa City wasn’t just so unfairly large and crowded, Ren might not have been running to try to make it to his job interview on time. Sure, it wasn’t as big as Lumiose City back in Kalos, or even as big as Castelia, where he’d first come into Unova, but it was still enough to be imposing. Especially for someone who was used to a tiny town like Geosenge. And as the entertainment hub of the region, the city was filled with tourists and people looking for fun--in essence, people who weren’t too inclined to get a move on.
Ren tried to squeeze through the crowds without bumping into anyone, but it was nearly impossible, especially with his suitcase bopping at his side.
Ren needed this job. He’d finally had to check out of the hotel where he’d been staying because he just couldn’t afford it any longer. He’d try to find a cheaper place to stay for the night, but even that would only be a temporary measure. His meager savings from his last job were already wearing thin.
He really needed this job.
And he was running late for the interview.
Ren tried to focus on just getting there. Worrying about what would happen if he didn’t make it would be counterproductive, he told himself.
Easier said than done, of course.
Across the road, Ren caught sight of a deserted alleyway headed in the direction he needed. Once there was a break in the crowd, he quickly cut across the street. Just as he was about to step back onto the sidewalk, though, the indignant beep of a car startled him. He flinched, and his foot hit the curb wrong. Ren’s ankle twisted with a burst of pain, and he went falling down onto the ground.
Passers-by scattered as Ren smashed into the pavement; he heard their gasps of surprise. His palms burned where they’d slammed into the cement, and his ankle throbbed. This isn’t what I need right now, Ren thought, frantically. This is the last thing I need. If I don’t get up, get there, then I’ll--
Ren could feel his panic rising. He stopped, pushed the thoughts down, and took a few moments to steady his breath. He remained immobile for a few moments, all his focus on his breath, before he tried to stand.
When he did, Ren’s ankle screamed out in pain. He might have gone tumbling right back down to the ground if he hadn’t caught himself on a lamppost. Gingerly, he leaned his weight against his twisted angle, testing it. Almost immediately, he had to stop and suck in a sharp breath at the pain.
There was no way he could walk on that. Or, at least not quickly. Not quickly enough to make it on time.
Stop. Think. What else can I do? Could he find some way to contact the park officials, tell them he’d be late, and why? Maybe, but would they be willing to let the lateness slide? He didn’t want to risk it. Maybe he could hitch a ride...?
As he thought, Ren tightened his grip on the lamppost. He was met with a flare of pain from his hand; at first, he assumed that it was just from where he’d rubbed it raw in the fall, but when he glanced over, he saw blood dripping down from the bottom of his hand, far more than a mere scrape would warrant.
There was a deep gash in the heel of Ren’s palm, he saw when he examined it closer. He must have caught it on something in the fall. It was only an inch or so wide, but it was deep, and bleeding profusely.
Oh, fantastic. He watched for a moment, dumbfounded, as the blood dribbled out and pooled in the center of his palm. Was that gonna need stitches?
