throwin' stones â roxie + lysandre
Deserts did not very well suit rich men like Lysandre; the sand was too coarse on their fine skin, too harsh on their eyes. But though he was a rich man, spoilt throughout his life, he had also subjected himself to some of the elements of the wild in order to get a better taste of them. Granted, the desert native to Kalos was not too similar to the one here, in Unova. Perhaps it was a more violent dayâŠ
The sand whipped about him and his tight-fitting sports clothing, long sleeved to keep himself from getting too battered by the wild sands. If it werenât for the fact he was pretty ceetain to get a full mouth-full of sand should he open his mouth, he would have offered a small verbal prayer to whatever higher power there may or may not be for the cause of remembering his goggles to shield his eyes.
His journeys through Unova was part of his attempt to learn about how the region functioned; Sycamore, perhaps having become frustrated with Lysandre staying only within the limits of Lumiose city, ordered him to go on a long vacation, practically tossing air faire tickets into his lap. And so he had gone to Unova, as urged, just to immerse himself in the culture and the sights â the ruins were his goal today.
And on his way forth he saw her, a young woman with white hair, her face covered with her long sleeve out of desperation to battle back the sandstorm. Despite knowing she must have been something of a fool to head out into a desert without any kind of proper gear, he still approached her, sliding off his goggles slowly and squinting against the onslaught of small particles that tired to make their way into his eyes.
Careful to tilt his head downwards slightly to speak, he spoke in something of a loud voice, âDo you need some goggles?â
And still, there was disgusting grit in his mouth, causing him to fight the urge to spit.
The sand felt like sharpened daggers, viciously blemishing her eyesight and nearly rendering her useless in such a vast desert scenario. The rest of her body was hardly any better off, her calves replicating the exact feeling of being licked by the flames of Hell. Teeth grit and lips firmly sealed to keep the sands out.
Forcing a cough into her sleeve, Roxie squinted, electrifying blue hues just barely peeking past her skin. Anything would be better than what she was currently going through-- anything. The increasing intensity of the sandstorm played out different melodies and the like in her head, making her itch for her guitar, which was, unfortunately, back at her house.
She thought that she was, as she had so delicately put it, "fucked", as she was all alone(?) in the middle of the desert, with no damn supplies to help her. Maybe she should've thought that one through a bit better, so she could sarcastically pat herself on the back whenever she made it home, with a snide," Great going, Roxie," thrown in as well. She had never been the self-deprecating type, but she found herself moronic for going out without any gear.
There was the temptation to let her Crobat out, in hopes that it could blow away some of the winds long enough to get anything done, but Roxie knew that'd be a huge risk for her Pokemon, and she knew that risk wasn't worth it. Her Crobat could stay safe and sound, in the pokeballs that she had hidden away... somewhere. Somewhere far too unimportant for the likes of her situation, surely.
The idea of letting her hair down struck her, in the possibility that it would assist her until another human could. Gently pressing alabaster mandibles into the roseate flesh, her fingers curl around her hairband, letting it loose from her head with a gentle, but assertive tug, A small sigh coming past her nostrils, she slipped the band around her wrist, hoping she'll remember to remove it at a later time.
Lysandre's voice gave Roxie a slight startle, having been too caught up in fighting back the sandstorm as well as she could. She found it took far too long for his words to become apparent to her, just barely being able to comprehend the fact that there was, in fact, another human standing before her. Briefly glancing upwards, she took a step back out of shock, clearing her throat soon afterwords.
"Euh-- um... don'tcha need 'em, yourself? I-- I'm plenty fine, yeah, a-oka--" Her voice is cut sharply by a cough, and she cleared her throat once again before resuming her speech. "A-okay, yeah-huh. I'm certainly, categorically, conclusively, come hell or high water, clearly, conspicuously, cardinally, compulsorily sure that I'm f-- fine. Just lookin' for a Scraggy, mister."Â
