limited moments with unlimited thoughts || Harley & Marshal
starter for @mixedmarshalarts
Now, Harley can confidently say that he’s making some headway in his life. After years of struggling -- both in his education and breaking down the walls encased around his heart -- his hard work paid off when he managed to graduate from Castelia University. Then he went on to become a teacher in the local high school, where he’s slowly but surely learning as well as teaching. Everyday is something new and exciting, and honestly, he owes it a lot to Alder.
If he didn’t come across the strange man who jumped off of a cliff that day, Harley didn’t know where he would be now. Perhaps he would have gone down a different path, or maybe he’d remain where he was, slowly self destructing in his guilt. Alder had took the time to give a completely wary stranger much needed advice, and over the years, showed his support through a variety of ways. Monetary items or advice, he truly helped Harley be the man he is today.
So, when Alder mentions that he had taken another person under his wing, Harley is understandably intrigued. The way he describes this Marshal fella reminds him of a gangly bushy haired teen who was ultimately scared of the world when he shed his tough front. Harley didn’t know his story, but if Alder took him under his wing, then he probably needed a push in the right direction, too. He feels like, just like he had been all those years ago, Marshal would find himself thrust into a new scary world of trust and acceptance.
An urge to help hits him like a thunderclap. Harley finds himself wanting to do what he can in making Marshal feel like he’s not alone, that he’s got support. It is this reason that he accepts Alder’s invitation for lunch at one of the Champion’s house. He’s eager to introduce him to Marshal anyway, so this is an opportunity for him to wiggle his way in without arousing too much suspicion. While Harley has come to find himself caring for Alder, he did have an image to maintain.
With a box of cupcakes tucked under his arm, Harley knocks on the wooden door, humming a little tune as he waits for someone to open the door. He knows he swung by a little early, but his curiosity is nagging at him. The teacher wants to know who this Marshal is, and what would be the best ways to help if the need ever arises.
"Following Iris's recommendation, I would like to request...a Jangmo, if at all possible."
Well, this was a recommendation from a Champion and an Elite alike, so Gabby knew she couldn’t let him down. But she wasn’t gonna lie. Wasn’t gonna front. This journey. This one was hard. Vast Poni Canyon was kind to nobody, and Jangmo-o only existed in the trial site, waaaay above where everything else was.
The two had to camp out for days, trying to find the elusive Pokemon — if it would be there at all. But eventually, they found him: the little highlighter pink and yellow Jangmo-o, and boy, the little guy was a fighter! But that only would mean he was fit for the Fighting-type Elite, would it?
It was a hard-fought battle. Ty ended up being on the receiving end of the Pokemon’s super hard, scaly headbutt. He was a proud one, to be sure, chirping and trilling after knocking Ty square on his rear-end.
Needless to say, it was sort of a relief that he’d be out of their hands soon. When Marshal arrived, the baby Pokemon greeted him with a headbutt to his leg, and a battle-ready trill.
“Oh, hey! Be nice! Sorry about that, Marshal. This one wasn’t an easy catch by any means.”
“He’s gonna be a tough one, but I’m sure he’ll be your perfect training partner! I’d just watch by your feet, if I were you!”
Cheren swallows thickly. He finds that maintaining eye contact with Marshal is difficult; it’s not that he fears the Elite ( quite the opposite really ) but his apprehension stems from elsewhere. Perhaps it is out of sheer respect for Marshal, having faced him at least twice in battle. But the underlying reason lies in the question of why Cheren had made the trip over Unova’s League to begin with.
After all, Cheren wasn’t the type of person to make trips solely for leisure.
“ And you can refuse if you want, I understand that it might be a lot to ask of you – maybe I shouldn’t even be asking you, but… “
He frowns. No, he can’t set himself up so that Marshal feels sorry for him. That’s a sign of weakness, that’s precisely the reason he’s here—!
“ … I want to work out with you! “
The words spill from his mouth, all at once. Cheren surprises himself how loudly he utters it out. Before he can lose his confidence again, Cheren continues:
“ I’ve always wanted to look… a little stronger. And I think bulking up would really help me. I feel strong in my battling prowess, but it’s always been a dream of mine to look strong on the outside, too. And I’m not looking to get bodybuilder strong, so, if that’s not a deal breaker for you… great. ”
Cheren exhales.
“ … Alder used to compare me to you, and how we have a lot in common. And I thought this would be a great chance to get to know you too, so… what do you say? “
🤛🏼 (of course Harley knows how to throw a punch but how about a Professional Boxing Technique(tm))
Soft intimacy meme (Accepting!)
Now, he likes to think that he knows how to throw a punch. These knuckles, scarred and rough as they are, is the proof that he’d been using them for a long time. Harley knows better than to punch with his thumb tucked in, or to throw a punch to the forehead. Fingers consists of hollow bones, whereas the forehead layers over a thick skull. Guess which one’s caving in the event of a straight hook there.
But, his punch is build up from years worth of experience. It’s self taught, used better in a street brawl than any professional setting. So, when Marshal offered to show him how to throw a boxer’s punch, well, he’s very much interested. He stands by the side and watches as the other gets into his stance. A beat of silence, before he swears he hears the air crack from the force of the punch. Harley whistles low, supremely impressed.
“Well hot damn, that can easily KO someone,” he comments, bounding over with a childlike grin on his lips. “Can you teach me how to do that?” Having a variety of punches in his arsenal is always a good investment, in his book. He might not have Marshal’s muscles, but he knows how to coil in before striking. If he can apply that to a boxer’s punch… well, his future enemies better watch out.
First one I already answered!☺ What's a character that you desperately want your muse to play with? Why?For Hau: Hala! I’d love to see that interaction but sadly not many people play him :cFor Burnet, any of the other professors! ▽ Why did you create this muse?Well, if I’m completely honest... Pretty much all my muses happen because I see art or anything else of them and something in my brain going “!!!! That’s my muse!!” It’s more like the muse picks me if that makes sense? It’s weird, haha!
The colours swirled together, browns and greys and yellows. Paint shone as it was dabbed across the canvas, blended into the shapes of the cliff and walkways that stretched out behind his workspace. Green eyes flicked back and forth; observing details, constructing ideas, watching the brushstrokes with a startling mix of care and abandon. Painting is precise yet messy, constricting yet uninhibited, plain yet elaborate.
Burgh had never ventured this far north before. He had no reason to, except for leisure, so that’s exactly what he was doing-- he’d taken some time off from the Gym and travelled past Opelucid City, setting up his canvas at the base of Victory Road. There were constantly the rumblings and such from within the wall-like cave system, evidence of the trainers that toughened their teams there in order to successfully take on the Elite Four and Champion ahead.
A familiar face exiting one of the lower tunnels caught his eye as he looked away from his work-- a muscled man with a dark brown complexion who Burgh immediately recognised as Marshal, the fighting-type master of Unova’s very own Elite Four. Catching Marshal’s eye, even from this distance, the Elite nodded in acknowledgement, and the Gym Leader smiled and waved in return. Burgh had never met the man before but it felt as if there was an unspoken camaraderie between them, as there was with most members of the Unova League.
He returned his attentions to painting for a while, Marshal still in the corner of his vision every time he looked up, and for several minutes Victory Road was unusually silent until a loud explosion rang out from somewhere within the caves. Startled by the noise the brush in his hand to streak across the length of the canvas, but the painting mishap was the least of his worries now; rocks and dirt were crumbling down the steep cliffside, heading straight towards the man below.
His hand gripped Phillip’s Pokéball at his waist, ready to jump in and help. But it was already apparent that Marshal had seen the danger-- and was more than capable of handling the matter himself.
▲ - Toolbox in hand, Thorton shuffled his way inside the Unova Elite Four’s grand entrance. His tired eyes, dark from last nights all-nighter, remained glued to his recorder, reading whatever was relevant to his latest request. He glanced around briefly, hummed at the beautiful interior design surrounding before going straight to the problem at hand. The Statue loomed over him but Thorton felt nothing but muted awe.
► “Splendid. Meticulous. Just...grand!”
He slowly ghosted his fingers over the design and found a small hatch that popped open with a click. The wiring and technology behind the workings of this palace-like Champion League dared rivaled his creation back in Sinnoh. For a moment, Thorton’s eyes brightened and smiled like a kid opening their Christmas present. He couldn’t stop his gasps of excitement and almost lost his grip on the toolbox.
At his outburst, Thorton ducked his head in embarrassment and shoved his working gloves on with a hasty jerk. Any trace of his happiness erased by his usual, bored expression. This wasn’t time to gawk around like a mindless tourist. Better for him to fix the Statue as quickly as possible and leave. Least the possibly of running to. Her.
He scowled and flipped open his toolbox, forgetting to check in with whoever was his guide and got right to work.
