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HokumPocus RATS WE'RE THE RATS WE ARE THE RATS
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The sturdy tablet begins to draw power from its environment, whirring quietly as it activates. Vital information from your adventures will be stored here.
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HokumPocus RATS WE'RE THE RATS WE ARE THE RATS
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10 mos ago
Soft breezes entered the small town of Slopadelphia, slipping through the cracks of houses and bringing the scent of wet mud to anyone up this early in the morning. Rainwater rolled off of crops in fat dewdrops and glistened against a backdrop of rust and wood. It was one of those mornings where the sky looked like an old blue blanket and every breath taken felt heavier than usual.
Slopadelphia had its humble start in the old world as a series of mediocre bus stops and later evolved into a series of mediocre train tracks several decades after the explosion. Although it was now vaguely considered to be a town, most of the tracks still remained embedded into the ground and divided the area in two rough sections with a town square in the middle. The houses in both sections were all in various states of disrepair, sporting old paint, clutter, bulky air conditioning units and the occasional tasteful bare doorframe. Navigating the cramped and maze-like paths was near impossible unless you were a local, and on this particular day, againt all odds, someone wasn't.
"I said, please let me in!!!"
Hector Mineshaft. Late twenties, soot colored hair and eyes. Tendency to apologize, especially when unnecessary. Currently trying to meet the local territory professor with mixed success.
"First you eat my oranges, and now you come to bang my door down? Your generation needs to know a lesson or two in RESPECT!"
Professor Charcoal. Old. It was accurate to say that he was bitter at having his radio calisthenics interrupted, but it was also accurate to say that he was always bitter and this was just a convenient way to justify it at the moment.
The professor's house was isolated and far away from the rest of Slopadelphia, which made it easier to spot. The ceramic zigzagoon statues and various warning signs scattered along the way helped as well, although every local simply identified the off-white shack by its pale orange trees and their infamous hermit of an owner. The younger citizens of Kasparc especially feared his horde of pampered zigzagoon. If a toy was stolen with one of their pickup abilities, it wasn't getting returned.
"I said I was sorry!", pleaded Hector. He had made the mistake of plucking one of the professor's many, many oranges from one of his many, many trees, as despite his lawful nature he had skipped breakfast and had regretted it. The young man straightened himself up a bit and mustered the courage to continue begging the professor to open the door. "Kasparc law states that an area's designated professor has to assist in the pokemon delivery process!", he shouted. His eyes teared up a bit. "Failing to comply will result in various legal consequences!"
The inside of the door grew quiet for some time, until the professor raised his voice again. It had the softness and grace of a trash compactor. "Well, I don't HEAR any damn kids there, it's just you! How do I know you're not just trying to rob an old man of his resources!?"
It was no use, Hector would have to wait on the teenagers that were selected by his coworker. As was typical for less developed areas where nominations were less frequent, they were on the older side of the scale. His coworker, Helena, had various ways of letting them know, from ominous letters to speaking with their parents to hunting down a mutation with a crossbow and carving the coordinates onto its intestines. She had approached one of them in groucho glasses at one point. For Hector, she represented everything wrong with their organization. He thought of her with a sigh and waited for the new scouts to arrive.
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Bleary eyed and confused, Harland Akris gradually regained consciousness, facedown and basking in the amplified warmth of the day, which was seemingly ever-present in his grandmother's rooftop greenhouse. Knowing this, he had moved his mattress about two years prior, and had taken to letting the strong smell of Granny's herbs and spices lull him to sleep.
A gentle rapping against the nearby greenish-black tinted glass caught his attention, and Harland looked up to see Granny snoozing in her rickety old rocking chair. She had clearly meant to bring him some breakfast. She had also clearly been struck by a case of the munchies, as there was hardly a crumb on the tray that sat across her lap.
Standing up and stretching with a groan, the young man staggered through the rows of planters and, swiping a small handful of dried semilanceata from a drying rack as he passed by, made his way towards the door.
Popping the small mushrooms into his mouth he rounded the outside of the greenhouse and bent down to wake up his grandmother - pausing as he noticed the envelope that sat on her breakfast tray, slightly splattered with old juice and flecked with stale breadcrumbs. It was addressed to him.
"Oh?" He wondered aloud, picking up the envelope and scanning the message within. "Oh... Oh!"
Quickly running back to his mattress, Harland grabbed a few things, jumped into his walking around clothes, stuffed a few more things into the pockets of said clothes, and then brought his blanket out and draped it over Granny.
"Off to expand the business Gran!" He called, once he was halfway down the stairs.
Panting and trying to get his pupils just a tad less dilated, Harland jogged up to Charcoal's place. There was someone official-looking there already (as his letter had suggested there might be) and Harland took a moment to compose himself before approaching further.
Breathing under control? Check.
Hair neat-ish? Check.
Post-mushroom giddiness in check? Not check. Ah, whatever.
"Hey there!" Harland called, his voice sounding a bit more excited than was necessarily cool. Fortunately, it served to make him seem invested in the looming task itself, rather than just high.
A gentle rapping against the nearby greenish-black tinted glass caught his attention, and Harland looked up to see Granny snoozing in her rickety old rocking chair. She had clearly meant to bring him some breakfast. She had also clearly been struck by a case of the munchies, as there was hardly a crumb on the tray that sat across her lap.
Standing up and stretching with a groan, the young man staggered through the rows of planters and, swiping a small handful of dried semilanceata from a drying rack as he passed by, made his way towards the door.
Popping the small mushrooms into his mouth he rounded the outside of the greenhouse and bent down to wake up his grandmother - pausing as he noticed the envelope that sat on her breakfast tray, slightly splattered with old juice and flecked with stale breadcrumbs. It was addressed to him.
"Oh?" He wondered aloud, picking up the envelope and scanning the message within. "Oh... Oh!"
Quickly running back to his mattress, Harland grabbed a few things, jumped into his walking around clothes, stuffed a few more things into the pockets of said clothes, and then brought his blanket out and draped it over Granny.
"Off to expand the business Gran!" He called, once he was halfway down the stairs.
Panting and trying to get his pupils just a tad less dilated, Harland jogged up to Charcoal's place. There was someone official-looking there already (as his letter had suggested there might be) and Harland took a moment to compose himself before approaching further.
Breathing under control? Check.
Hair neat-ish? Check.
Post-mushroom giddiness in check? Not check. Ah, whatever.
"Hey there!" Harland called, his voice sounding a bit more excited than was necessarily cool. Fortunately, it served to make him seem invested in the looming task itself, rather than just high.
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Lord Orgasmo Professional Disappointment since 1999
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6 days ago
Seth
Seth lazily opened his eyes as he sat up from his bed. He yawned as as he stretched his limbs. His eyes suddenly widened. "Aw, shit. It's today."
Seth groaned as he dragged himself out of his bed. He looked over to a chair in the corner of his room. His beanie and backpack sat there. He walked over and put on his beanie. He'd always been fond of them. He never knew why. Just one of those things, he guessed.
He looked in his pack. It was all the stuff he had prepared earlier in the week. Those few days really went by fast. Inside was just general stuff. An extra set of clothes, snacks, water, money, that kind of stuff. He put on a jacket and backpack and began to head outside. "Bye dads! I'm heading to the proffesor!" No response. Did they leave already? Or maybe they just didn't want to see him go. Oh well.
About 15 minutes later...
Seth arrived at the lab where a couple other people seemed to be waiting. "Hey now." He raised a hand and waved. Was this everyone? He expected a few more than this, but it was whatever. Hopefully they could get started soon. He's always liked adventure games, though he guessed this would be far more grueling than this. Though he supposed fighting monsters wouldn't be to far off. Maybe he should've brought a weapon or something. Oh well. No magic either, that kind of sucked.
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The Wilderness, Kasparc
MUTANT MAPS AND ORANGE DOORS.
MUTANT MAPS AND ORANGE DOORS.
Twang!
The sound of vibrating string and the whistle of an arrow enthralled Shishu. For most of Kasparc, exploring toxic wasteland was a death sentence, yet not for Shishu, wild girl. Shishu was a bonafide Tarzan, swinging from vines and wrestling mutations to the ground in the name of fun, yet often she was looked down on for the same reasons.
So, when Shishu found herself alert that someone else was nearby, she grew curious.
When Shishu arrived at the source of the sound, there had been no one in sight. A mutant's corpse was pinned to a tree by a crossbow bolt; its organs shredded with some kind of blade. It was abnormal, even for Shishu, whom tried to make sense of whatever intricate design was cut into mutation. Shishu stared deeply at the sliced flesh, confounded as she struggled to understand what the markings meant. The cut marks were like a foreign language to Shishu, as if the coordinates were completely alien.
Giving up after several minutes of almost headache-inducing thoughts, Shishu began to walk away, but soon stopped in her tracks. If she could't understand what the markings were, then perhaps one of the townsfolk were willing to help Shishu. Scooping up the mutant in her arms, Shishu darted off in the direction of where Slopadelphia resided, and was met with the same gazes she was always greeted with-- nose-wrinkling disgust.
Shrugging it off, Shishu wandered the town for anyone who could make sense of what she found. Of course, no one was willing to help Shishu, which was often the norm. Seeing no one was willing to help, Shishu decided it was best to sell off the rotting corpse to a local butcher rather than keep it around. After all, even for someone who lived in the wilderness, Shishu still had a use for money or whatever she could get in return. Tools, water and food... anything.
It was then when the butcher noticed the cuttings on the beast's flesh, and pointed out to Shishu what it had meant. Something about coordinates, which Shishu had never heard of. Apparently, someone wanted Shishu to go to some professor's place, but she had never heard of a professor before.
Taking what she could get from the butcher, Shishu decided that she would pay this "professor" a visit. To make such a display to capture her attention, it was clear that they wanted something from Shishu. Thankfully, it wasn't a far walk to wherever the professor had been located. Two people were already there, and a third was arguing with a door about oranges. Still with a curious atmosphere, Shishu watched the orange kid, wondering why he was shouting at a door. After all, Shishu didn't know doors could talk.
Or could they?
The sound of vibrating string and the whistle of an arrow enthralled Shishu. For most of Kasparc, exploring toxic wasteland was a death sentence, yet not for Shishu, wild girl. Shishu was a bonafide Tarzan, swinging from vines and wrestling mutations to the ground in the name of fun, yet often she was looked down on for the same reasons.
So, when Shishu found herself alert that someone else was nearby, she grew curious.
When Shishu arrived at the source of the sound, there had been no one in sight. A mutant's corpse was pinned to a tree by a crossbow bolt; its organs shredded with some kind of blade. It was abnormal, even for Shishu, whom tried to make sense of whatever intricate design was cut into mutation. Shishu stared deeply at the sliced flesh, confounded as she struggled to understand what the markings meant. The cut marks were like a foreign language to Shishu, as if the coordinates were completely alien.
Giving up after several minutes of almost headache-inducing thoughts, Shishu began to walk away, but soon stopped in her tracks. If she could't understand what the markings were, then perhaps one of the townsfolk were willing to help Shishu. Scooping up the mutant in her arms, Shishu darted off in the direction of where Slopadelphia resided, and was met with the same gazes she was always greeted with-- nose-wrinkling disgust.
Shrugging it off, Shishu wandered the town for anyone who could make sense of what she found. Of course, no one was willing to help Shishu, which was often the norm. Seeing no one was willing to help, Shishu decided it was best to sell off the rotting corpse to a local butcher rather than keep it around. After all, even for someone who lived in the wilderness, Shishu still had a use for money or whatever she could get in return. Tools, water and food... anything.
It was then when the butcher noticed the cuttings on the beast's flesh, and pointed out to Shishu what it had meant. Something about coordinates, which Shishu had never heard of. Apparently, someone wanted Shishu to go to some professor's place, but she had never heard of a professor before.
Taking what she could get from the butcher, Shishu decided that she would pay this "professor" a visit. To make such a display to capture her attention, it was clear that they wanted something from Shishu. Thankfully, it wasn't a far walk to wherever the professor had been located. Two people were already there, and a third was arguing with a door about oranges. Still with a curious atmosphere, Shishu watched the orange kid, wondering why he was shouting at a door. After all, Shishu didn't know doors could talk.
Or could they?
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HokumPocus RATS WE'RE THE RATS WE ARE THE RATS
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10 mos ago
After exchanging polite greetings, Hector surveyed the three youths in front of him and hastily took notes on a battered clipboard. “Only three this time around, eh?” he remarked, as if they somehow knew who was going to arrive. One of them appeared to be under the effects of drugs, yet the government official shrugged it off for later. It felt dirty and wrong to ignore it, but he was in a losing battle against the mysterious old man behind the door and had to act fast if he wanted everything to go smoothly. A pang of shame struck him as he saw one of the teens sport messy, putrid clothing. Hector added up the context clues and was now aware of just who received the organic invitation. Helena and her recklessness...
“Well, I guess that´s all of you for this town, er, village. No sorry, territory.” He rested a gnarled pencil against his chin and glossed over his clipboard one more time. After the disaster, etymology had been thrown out the window and it was commonly thought that Kasparc bigwigs were determining names via spinning a giant wheel. These accusations offended them greatly, in part because they weren´t true and in part because they used dart tossing, which they insisted was far more elegant. Hector´s data currently listed Slopadelphia as “An ambitious train station.” The report went on to state several warnings over not drinking the water or coming into prolonged contact with the residents. He gulped.
“Well, names are just names. What´s important here is the great new journey all of you are going on, starting today.” said Hector nervously. Had this period of waiting continued, he would have forced all of the teenagers to engage in absolutely horrible icebreakers. Fortunately, the door swung open.
“What is all that racket going on?!” yelled professor Charcoal. He looked like a sandwich meat that had gained sentience and decided that despising all of life was the best possible course of action. He wore a soft mint bathrobe that had been gnawed at from every edge possible. When he spoke, it swayed around as if it was just as angry as he was. The old man stared long and hard at every one of the ruffians in his yard, something that he had practiced earlier in the morning. He was quite proud of his scowl and hoped that the others would recognize just how superb it was. “Well?? What are you all just standing around there for?? Aren´t you all gonna come inside???”
The professor´s house was every bit as decayed as he was. Half a dozen zigzagoon were scampering around the wooden floors, save for a pair furiously mating in a corner. A large hickory shelf stored every toy that the impish pokemon had stolen from children over the years. Professor Charcoal limped towards the far end of the house, where a bare folding table accentuated the stained yoga mat right below it. He dragged his body across the house slower than usual, taking things slow so he could savor the moment. He hated every single person that was with him right now, and yearned to let them know. If everything went according to plan, he´d even get to shake his fist at them a couple of times. It had been awhile since he had done that, he thought.
Hector neatly placed a sheet of paper and a snapped pencil on the table and cleared his throat. “Well, to start off, I want all of you to write your name down, as well as a few more tidbits about yourself. Don´t worry over what to write, the point of this activity is to have a clear example of your handwriting. If you can´t write, draw something.” He clasped his hands in satisfaction at having more or less restored order to the activity. “After that,” he added, “ you´ll decide amongst yourselves over who gets to pick their pokemon first.”
Professor Charcoal held his hands behind his back and closed his eyes in pride. “Back in my day, we just tossed a handgun in the middle and whatever happened happened.” he said, beaming. Hector chuckled nervously. “The only right way to solve a problem is peacefully, professor." Hector had a warm grin and spoke with a slight edge in his voice. He may have been just a bit nervous over the new wave of scouts and their, uh, free spirited personalities.
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"I bet you'd feel pretty at peace if you had a gun and nobody else did." Harland said with a chuckle as he swiped the pencil and scribbled away at the paper for a few moments. When he was satisfied, he beamed at Professor Charcoal and stepped away from the table so everyone else could get a chance.
"What would happen back in your day, Professor? Gran says I should respect wisdom when I come by it - cool or crazy stories too. I figure this'll probably be one of those."
"What would happen back in your day, Professor? Gran says I should respect wisdom when I come by it - cool or crazy stories too. I figure this'll probably be one of those."
Slopadelphia, Kasparc
NICKNAMES GALORE.
NICKNAMES GALORE.
"Well?? What are you all just standing around there for?? Aren´t you all gonna come inside???"
The loud shouting from inside the laboratory broke Shishu free from her absentminded stare towards Hector, who had begun to address them soon after she arrived. An old man stood once where a closed door was, covered in a mint bathrobe with gnawed edges, obviously where Zigzagoons had ate away at his dressings. His angry bitterness reminded Shishu of rumors she had overheard in the past, yet she could not place a name to the face, instead choosing to deem the old professor as "Bathrobe Man."
As she followed Orange Kid and Bathrobe Man into the laboratory, Shishu took a glance around. The "laboratory" was more of a house than a professor's laboratory, and it was falling apart—just like everything else in Kasparc. There was an old hickory shelf filled with chewed up children toys, and a folding table along with a stained yoga mat. All and all, it reeked of the stinky poverty lifestyle that had infected the region long ago, and hasn't been changed since.
Drawing Shishu's attention to him once again, Orange Kid begun to speak to the three that had gathered outside the lab. Apparently, they were supposed to scribble down their name and some facts about them. Shishu couldn't write, but thankfully, Orange Kid had decided a drawing would be fine as well. Before Shishu could step forward to the plate, however, someone else had beat her to it—a dark-skinned teenager, whom Shishu chose to dub "Mohawk Boy."
Taking the pencil from Orange Kid, Mohawk Boy began to write some words down on the piece of paper. To Shishu, nothing appeared readable, rather, it appeared as a bunch of scribble marks. Out of all Mohawk Boy wrote down, the only thing that Shishu could make out was the mushroom he drew. The stem was there, along with the speckled top, like the mushrooms that sprouted off the back of a Paras. Maybe Mohawk Boy had something to do with mushrooms?
With the other teenager not taking the initiative, Shishu decided it was her turn. Taking the pencil in her hand, Shishu found herself unsure of what to write, or rather draw, in her case. Eventually coming to a conclusion, Shishu doodled a sloppy drawing of herself and some puffy cloud-like trees that were supposed to represent the overgrowth outside the town. Deciding that it was enough to "introduce" herself for whatever Bathrobe Man and Orange Kid wanted, Shishu handed the pencil to the last remaining teenager in the room.
The loud shouting from inside the laboratory broke Shishu free from her absentminded stare towards Hector, who had begun to address them soon after she arrived. An old man stood once where a closed door was, covered in a mint bathrobe with gnawed edges, obviously where Zigzagoons had ate away at his dressings. His angry bitterness reminded Shishu of rumors she had overheard in the past, yet she could not place a name to the face, instead choosing to deem the old professor as "Bathrobe Man."
As she followed Orange Kid and Bathrobe Man into the laboratory, Shishu took a glance around. The "laboratory" was more of a house than a professor's laboratory, and it was falling apart—just like everything else in Kasparc. There was an old hickory shelf filled with chewed up children toys, and a folding table along with a stained yoga mat. All and all, it reeked of the stinky poverty lifestyle that had infected the region long ago, and hasn't been changed since.
Drawing Shishu's attention to him once again, Orange Kid begun to speak to the three that had gathered outside the lab. Apparently, they were supposed to scribble down their name and some facts about them. Shishu couldn't write, but thankfully, Orange Kid had decided a drawing would be fine as well. Before Shishu could step forward to the plate, however, someone else had beat her to it—a dark-skinned teenager, whom Shishu chose to dub "Mohawk Boy."
Taking the pencil from Orange Kid, Mohawk Boy began to write some words down on the piece of paper. To Shishu, nothing appeared readable, rather, it appeared as a bunch of scribble marks. Out of all Mohawk Boy wrote down, the only thing that Shishu could make out was the mushroom he drew. The stem was there, along with the speckled top, like the mushrooms that sprouted off the back of a Paras. Maybe Mohawk Boy had something to do with mushrooms?
With the other teenager not taking the initiative, Shishu decided it was her turn. Taking the pencil in her hand, Shishu found herself unsure of what to write, or rather draw, in her case. Eventually coming to a conclusion, Shishu doodled a sloppy drawing of herself and some puffy cloud-like trees that were supposed to represent the overgrowth outside the town. Deciding that it was enough to "introduce" herself for whatever Bathrobe Man and Orange Kid wanted, Shishu handed the pencil to the last remaining teenager in the room.
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6 days ago
Seth
Seth looked around at the Lab. Or, at least that's what the professor called it. His attention turned to the paper that was given to him. He didn't quite pay attention to what was being said. Something about writing something down about yourself?
Looking at what the other two had written, he instead saw a couple of pictures instead. A mushroom and some traits, or at least, that's what he thought they were, while the other was a picture of... themself? And cartoony looking trees surrounded her. Was he supposed to draw something? He could've sworn there was something else he was supposed to do. He scratched his head in confusion.
Picking up the pencil, he pondered on what to write. He could go the low road and just draw a dickbutt or something. He'd write out something more elaborate, but he didn't exactly have a lot of time. Eventually he ended up drawing a picture of a knight in armor from one of his favorite games. Next to it he wrote "A lover of adventure and fantasy, trying to see the good in everyone"
He put down the pencil and looked at everybody else. Hopefully that was enough, he didn't want to leave a bad first impression.
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10 mos ago
Hector´s eyes went up and down the clipboard several times while attempting to extract something positive from everyone´s writing. These scouts are… creative! And they´re also… enthusiastic! His diehard optimism wasn´t going to let itself crumble so easily it seemed. The boy wearing a beanie seemed nice, at least.
He then turned to the young man sporting a Mohawk and scolded him. Professor Charcoal was enthusiastically telling the youth over the time he set a tropius on fire, but Hector tried to speak to him regardless, using his best attempt at mustering a "formal" voice.
“Our coalition doesn´t approve of drug use, scout. I will warn you to be wary of your behavior when visiting other towns.” His index finger pointed directly at the fun drawing of a mushroom and tapped it a few times for effect. “And be wary with your pokemon in general. This territory has a pretty lax policy regarding their treatment of animals, but the rest of the land doesn´t.” he said, narrowing his eyes at a zigzagoon nibbling his shoelaces. “Fire types, ghost types, any creature too big and intimidating should ideally be kept hidden while in other areas, due to the fear and ignorance many have of pokemon. If toxicity starts taking its toll on you, consume two refresh tablets and give your body a few minutes to absorb them properly. If someone invites you to huff parasect say no and report it to the authorities.” Hector concluded his speech and began pulling out supplies from a large bag on the floor. The bathrobed professor stepped forward in his place.
“Now it´s time.” he chortled. “Which one of you scoundrels are picking their pokemon first?” He glared with one eye at each and every one of them, another gesture he had practiced tirelessly in front of a mirror. He hoped they´d realize just how good he was at this, but he hoped even more that they didn´t so that he could get even angrier. It was clear that he intended to pair the moment up with a tense silence to ramp up their fear, but the pair of zigzagoon from earlier showed no signs of stopping their, uh, wrestling, and things got awkward fast. Professor Charcoal limped his decaying body over to where Hector had placed several pokeballs on the floor. It was uneven, so they rolled around lazily, settling down only after Hector had steadied them against a rope chew toy.
The coalition he worked for mixed pokemon bred in private farms along with donations and pokemon rescued from harm, so they were a mixed bag in the physical and mental sense. The animals would most likely be underweight, sporting the occasional health related quirk and having much duller colors than their counterparts outside of Kasparc.
No matter how many times Hector did this, it never stopped being a nerve-racking experience. He was now ready to write down any important details over the pokemon they´d soon pick to follow them on their journey. They have more experience around pokemon compared to the other areas, so this should be straightforward. A new start, it seemed, was about to come. Like the zigzagoon.
He then turned to the young man sporting a Mohawk and scolded him. Professor Charcoal was enthusiastically telling the youth over the time he set a tropius on fire, but Hector tried to speak to him regardless, using his best attempt at mustering a "formal" voice.
“Our coalition doesn´t approve of drug use, scout. I will warn you to be wary of your behavior when visiting other towns.” His index finger pointed directly at the fun drawing of a mushroom and tapped it a few times for effect. “And be wary with your pokemon in general. This territory has a pretty lax policy regarding their treatment of animals, but the rest of the land doesn´t.” he said, narrowing his eyes at a zigzagoon nibbling his shoelaces. “Fire types, ghost types, any creature too big and intimidating should ideally be kept hidden while in other areas, due to the fear and ignorance many have of pokemon. If toxicity starts taking its toll on you, consume two refresh tablets and give your body a few minutes to absorb them properly. If someone invites you to huff parasect say no and report it to the authorities.” Hector concluded his speech and began pulling out supplies from a large bag on the floor. The bathrobed professor stepped forward in his place.
“Now it´s time.” he chortled. “Which one of you scoundrels are picking their pokemon first?” He glared with one eye at each and every one of them, another gesture he had practiced tirelessly in front of a mirror. He hoped they´d realize just how good he was at this, but he hoped even more that they didn´t so that he could get even angrier. It was clear that he intended to pair the moment up with a tense silence to ramp up their fear, but the pair of zigzagoon from earlier showed no signs of stopping their, uh, wrestling, and things got awkward fast. Professor Charcoal limped his decaying body over to where Hector had placed several pokeballs on the floor. It was uneven, so they rolled around lazily, settling down only after Hector had steadied them against a rope chew toy.
The coalition he worked for mixed pokemon bred in private farms along with donations and pokemon rescued from harm, so they were a mixed bag in the physical and mental sense. The animals would most likely be underweight, sporting the occasional health related quirk and having much duller colors than their counterparts outside of Kasparc.
No matter how many times Hector did this, it never stopped being a nerve-racking experience. He was now ready to write down any important details over the pokemon they´d soon pick to follow them on their journey. They have more experience around pokemon compared to the other areas, so this should be straightforward. A new start, it seemed, was about to come. Like the zigzagoon.
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“It’s... medicinal. I have a condition.” Harland lied. “I fell into some Muk when I was younger, and I’ve been having liver and kidney issues ever since. And sometimes my eyes bleed, or my bones glow.”
The second part was somewhat less untrue, but the only issue he’d had after the Muk pit incident was the occasional recollection of the smell.
After a brief moment of considering making a run for it, Harland instead approached and picked up one of the haphazardly arranged pokéballs at random - deciding that the buzzkill would have nothing concrete to charge him with. He was only joking (wink wink) after all.
Sparing a glance over to the enthusiastic couple in the corner, Harland wondered if this might all have been Charcoal’s ploy to offload some of his Zigzagoon.
Nodding at the sour-faced professor casually, Harland fumbled with his ball for a moment before releasing the crearure contained within.
“What is that?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.
The pokémon that stood before him was predominantly a sort of faded yellow color, with a fairly wide round head, exposed teeth, and a somewhat vacant expression. A single red scale sprouted from it’s head, and it seemed to be holding up a baggy pair of yellow pants. Harland immediately felt a sense of kinship with it, as he too had struggled with his taste in baggy clothes before he found a belt for his pants.
The second part was somewhat less untrue, but the only issue he’d had after the Muk pit incident was the occasional recollection of the smell.
After a brief moment of considering making a run for it, Harland instead approached and picked up one of the haphazardly arranged pokéballs at random - deciding that the buzzkill would have nothing concrete to charge him with. He was only joking (wink wink) after all.
Sparing a glance over to the enthusiastic couple in the corner, Harland wondered if this might all have been Charcoal’s ploy to offload some of his Zigzagoon.
Nodding at the sour-faced professor casually, Harland fumbled with his ball for a moment before releasing the crearure contained within.
“What is that?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.
The pokémon that stood before him was predominantly a sort of faded yellow color, with a fairly wide round head, exposed teeth, and a somewhat vacant expression. A single red scale sprouted from it’s head, and it seemed to be holding up a baggy pair of yellow pants. Harland immediately felt a sense of kinship with it, as he too had struggled with his taste in baggy clothes before he found a belt for his pants.
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Slopadelphia, Kasparc
SHROOMISH, THE MUSHROOM POKEMON.
SHROOMISH, THE MUSHROOM POKEMON.
Shishu stood in silence as she listened to Orange Kid rant about drug use and how certain Pokemon should be ideally kept hidden. She didn't know much regarding drugs and their usage, but Shishu stood confused as Orange Kid spoke of Pokemon. Were city folk that different when compared to Shishu? The girl had tackled mutants before, while "civilized" people hid in their homes because they were scared of certain Pokemon depending on their type, size or appearance.
Shrugging to herself, Shishu watched Mohawk Boy step forward and claim his Pokemon. The Pokeball was technology Shishu had never seen before, and her eyes lit up with curiosity as Mohawk Boy fumbled around with the sphere, even more so when a bright beam exploded forth, revealing a creature with baggy pant-like skin.
“What is that?” Mohawk Boy asked Bathrobe Man and Orange Kid. Shishu shared the same concerns as Mohawk Boy, having never seen such a Pokemon before. Pokemon that weren't mutated were a rare sight, after all.
Before either of them could answer, however, Shishu knelt downwards, picking up one of the Pokeballs for herself. Fiddling with the sphere, Shishu eventually found out how to activate it after a moment of trouble, releasing whatever Pokemon resided inside. A small creature appeared from the Pokeball, in the shape of a tiny bulb mushroom with a thick uni brow and an almost permanent angry stare like someone pissed in their morning Cheerios.
Shishu stared at the Pokemon. The Shroomish stared back.
Shrugging to herself, Shishu watched Mohawk Boy step forward and claim his Pokemon. The Pokeball was technology Shishu had never seen before, and her eyes lit up with curiosity as Mohawk Boy fumbled around with the sphere, even more so when a bright beam exploded forth, revealing a creature with baggy pant-like skin.
“What is that?” Mohawk Boy asked Bathrobe Man and Orange Kid. Shishu shared the same concerns as Mohawk Boy, having never seen such a Pokemon before. Pokemon that weren't mutated were a rare sight, after all.
Before either of them could answer, however, Shishu knelt downwards, picking up one of the Pokeballs for herself. Fiddling with the sphere, Shishu eventually found out how to activate it after a moment of trouble, releasing whatever Pokemon resided inside. A small creature appeared from the Pokeball, in the shape of a tiny bulb mushroom with a thick uni brow and an almost permanent angry stare like someone pissed in their morning Cheerios.
Shishu stared at the Pokemon. The Shroomish stared back.
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Lord Orgasmo Professional Disappointment since 1999
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6 days ago
Seth
Seth watched as the other two picked their pokemon. He thought they looked pretty cool, or at the very least matched the trainers in some way. Scraggy had baggy... pants? Skin? Like his trainer, and the Shroomish was a grass type, matching the very... natural feeling of the other.
But what would he get? And would it suit him? Only one way to find out. He closed his eyes and stuck out his hand and grabbed the first pokeball he touched. He sent out the pokemon and opened his eyes.
"Oh hell to the yes."
Before him stood a Scyther, a very powerful pokemon from what he knew. Whether it was just a stroke of luck or fate itself, this was going to be his partner. He looked up and down at the Scyther. It seemed to be in relatively good shape. Its "Claws" looked a little dull, but that was to be expected. Other than that, he was in great shape.
He noticed the Scyther looking back at him, curiously. He seemed relieved, yet slightly annoyed. Was he relieved to finally be leaving? Was he annoyed that Seth picked him? Seth didn't know. But what he did know, was that his adventure just got a whole lot better.
Then Seth thought of how it matched him. Well, he wasn't quite a Mantis scythe wielding monster. Perhaps it could be his catalyst for being a reckless adventurer or something. Yeah that's it! Its gotta be. Or maybe... there's a side to this Scyther he doesn't know yet?
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GM
HokumPocus RATS WE'RE THE RATS WE ARE THE RATS
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10 mos ago
Hector was... astonished. Every now and then there would come a scout that would beg for the most dangerous pokemon available. Sometimes they'd pick based entirely on cuteness. It was common for them to show up with a barrage of questions regarding all of their possible companions. What do they eat? How do they evolve? Which one can set things on fire? These young men and women, on the other hand, had settled on their first choice. No questions or conflict. Professor Charcoal hobbled out of the room in disappointment.
The trio of pokemon were just as casual as their trainers. The scraggy had a vacant expression on its face, the shroomish stared at its owner in silence, and the scyther? It was a little livelier than the others, yet Hector couldn't really tell what it was thinking. He withdrew a heavy black rectangle from his bag and held it with an unnecessarily careful grip.
The grip was unnecessary because it was an infamous Unovan electronic journal, a virtually indestructible device that could withstand anything and everything man, nature and even god himself threw at it. In his travels around Kasparc Hector had seen the device used as a frisbee, a blunt weapon, a frying pan, a skateboard, a cutting board, a game board, a regular board and a device to torrent shitty anime, among several other equally questionable uses. He slid the journal's switch to ON with a loud clack to begin demonstrating its proper functions.
"This is an electronic journal that will help you out during your adventures. Its main purpose is to show you a map that will update as you explore around the country. It also comes with a pokedex, although whether you consider that useful nowadays is up to you. There's regular scientific entries, but entries written by scouts like you can show up occasionally." He approached the scraggy and raised the tablet after selecting a few options through a touchscreen, eager to ease the scout´s doubts and show off the technology. It made a loud beeping noise, like something out of an old video game. The whirring noises coming from the journal intensified, drowned out by a low quality electronic voice. "Scraggy, the shedding pokemon. It stretches its saggy skin up to its neck to protect itself. The saggier their skin, the more respect they garner."
Hector closed the pokedex application with a few taps. "Well, that's the gist of it. You shouldn´t install any weird modifications, or things might happen." Hector was supposed to ask the scouts over who wanted to carry the journal throughout their travels. He glanced at the trio in front of him, remembered what each had written on the verification paper, and quietly handed it to the blond.
"You six are now free to roam. And before you ask, graduation happens after collecting five signatures from territory leaders." On the folding table were three piles of supplies. Typical camping supplies, with a couple of outliers whose uses would probably be covered somewhere in the journal. Two pokeballs sat in each pile, gray little unova contraptions that healed their contents over time.
♫ Slop Radio - Title Screen
To the west: Eyescraper, an urban mecca full of every crime imaginable. Anything and everything available for the right price. To the east: New Pork, the headquarters for an organization trying to turn the doomed fate of a country around. The trip would be longer, but the signature from there would no doubt be easier. And of course, Slopadelphia had its very own government in need of help if they wished to stay. All of these strange places located on Kasparc, a land where the opposing ideologies of filth and purity wage war against one another. What will you do now, adventurer?
Slopadelphia, Kasparc
WHERE DO WE GO?
WHERE DO WE GO?
Shishu and the Shroomish continued to stare at each other in silence before Orange Kid spoke once more.
Apparently, the device Orange Kid had in his hand was an "electronic journal," which was something Shishu had never heard of. It was said to help them explore the region, with built-in functions such as a map or a Pokedex. To give an example, Orange Kid stepped forward in direction of the Scraggy, and tapped away at the screen.
"Scraggy, the shedding Pokemon. It stretches its saggy skin up to its neck to protect itself. The saggier their skin, the more respect they garner." The machine announced in a robotic voice to those that were standing in the labatory. Admittedly, Shishu found herself intrigued by such an application, but she would likely have no idea how to work it, just like the majority of technology around. It seemed Orange Kid knew her plight as well, handing the electronic device to Beanie Guy, as Shishu dubbed the blonde, but ultimately she didn't mind the decision.
It was then that Orange Kid gave them the go ahead to roam wherever they want, as long as they received five signatures from so-called "territory leaders." Nearby, there were three piles of supplies, obviously meant for each one of them. While Shishu probably had no idea how to use any of it, she still took it with her, gathering each component carefully in the easiest way to carry all of it.
Of course, there was still the issue of where to go after this. Turning her gaze towards the two other teenagers, Shishu, along with her Shroomish, awaited for them to make a decision, knowing that any way they went would likely be fine with her.
Apparently, the device Orange Kid had in his hand was an "electronic journal," which was something Shishu had never heard of. It was said to help them explore the region, with built-in functions such as a map or a Pokedex. To give an example, Orange Kid stepped forward in direction of the Scraggy, and tapped away at the screen.
"Scraggy, the shedding Pokemon. It stretches its saggy skin up to its neck to protect itself. The saggier their skin, the more respect they garner." The machine announced in a robotic voice to those that were standing in the labatory. Admittedly, Shishu found herself intrigued by such an application, but she would likely have no idea how to work it, just like the majority of technology around. It seemed Orange Kid knew her plight as well, handing the electronic device to Beanie Guy, as Shishu dubbed the blonde, but ultimately she didn't mind the decision.
It was then that Orange Kid gave them the go ahead to roam wherever they want, as long as they received five signatures from so-called "territory leaders." Nearby, there were three piles of supplies, obviously meant for each one of them. While Shishu probably had no idea how to use any of it, she still took it with her, gathering each component carefully in the easiest way to carry all of it.
Of course, there was still the issue of where to go after this. Turning her gaze towards the two other teenagers, Shishu, along with her Shroomish, awaited for them to make a decision, knowing that any way they went would likely be fine with her.
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Lord Orgasmo Professional Disappointment since 1999
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6 days ago
Seth
Seth reached out for the "Electronic Journal" and held it in both hands. Apparently this was also a pokedex, so maybe it could do other stuff? He looked to his Scyther and returned it to its pokéball. It'd probably end up doing something it shouldn't. He also need a nickname for it. Like "Ace", or maybe "Blade". Nah, to edgy. He'll think of something later.
He opened the Journal and pulled up the map. Where to go first? Should they just explore, or head to a city or town? He though of what he would do if this were an rpg game. He'd usually go to the next town to buy better equipment and potions. The starting town usually didn't have much, so he decided to trust his instinct.
"Right. Since we're just starting out, we should probably head to the nearest place. That would be...Houstank. Then again, we could just head wherever.
What do you guys want to do?"
So, the perfect plan for him would be to head to Houstank, then to New Pork. By then they would need to head likely to Eyescraper, or the could risk exploring the wasteland. With a city so close, they could retreat if things went south. But on the way to Eyescraper, one direct trip would likely be to much, so they'd probably have to stop back here again, and then go from there. Lastly would be to Drain.
Unfortunately, the world is full of chance and anarchy, and with the filth as it is now, it's only worse. So it was likely that this play wasn't going to go very well, but Seth hopes they could follow at least some sort of structured plan.
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SonofJET Creation Addict
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6 yrs ago
"Whatever, man. Houstank works for me." Harland said, nodding as he appraised and continued to look over his new companion.
It might be able to smuggle a lot of stuff in all that extra skin. Might've just got a good holder. He thought.
"What up, Scraggy?" He said, nodding in appropriate "cool bro" fashion. The creature didn't seem quite up to Harland's standards in terms of chill, as it continued to stare at him, unblinking.
"Right, we'll work on that." He said, pressing the button on his pokeball and withdrawing Scraggy into it. With a curious look, he stepped over to the provided supplies, grabbed a set that seemed like it'd be useful, and started to work on equipping himself as casually as possible, so that he wouldn't look like some dorky hiker or something.
Harland wasn't too keen on the idea of immediately setting out and working up a sweat, but his own plans would only stagnate if he opted to hang around any longer. There would likely be bountiful opportunity for him in Houstank, as well as any of the other cities and towns they came across. People had needs everywhere, after all.
"Any idea what kind of pokemon we can expect to run into on the way there, if that is where we're headed? Or what kind of condition they might be in?" Harland asked the beanie-wearing guy. He seemed to have his shit together, and Harland was quick to settle into a decidedly non-leading position in their budding little group's hierarchy.
It might be able to smuggle a lot of stuff in all that extra skin. Might've just got a good holder. He thought.
"What up, Scraggy?" He said, nodding in appropriate "cool bro" fashion. The creature didn't seem quite up to Harland's standards in terms of chill, as it continued to stare at him, unblinking.
"Right, we'll work on that." He said, pressing the button on his pokeball and withdrawing Scraggy into it. With a curious look, he stepped over to the provided supplies, grabbed a set that seemed like it'd be useful, and started to work on equipping himself as casually as possible, so that he wouldn't look like some dorky hiker or something.
Harland wasn't too keen on the idea of immediately setting out and working up a sweat, but his own plans would only stagnate if he opted to hang around any longer. There would likely be bountiful opportunity for him in Houstank, as well as any of the other cities and towns they came across. People had needs everywhere, after all.
"Any idea what kind of pokemon we can expect to run into on the way there, if that is where we're headed? Or what kind of condition they might be in?" Harland asked the beanie-wearing guy. He seemed to have his shit together, and Harland was quick to settle into a decidedly non-leading position in their budding little group's hierarchy.
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GM
HokumPocus RATS WE'RE THE RATS WE ARE THE RATS
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10 mos ago
“Ah… right… Houstank! Houstank…” Hector´s once neat surroundings became a flurry of off-white paper as he struggled to find what he wanted. He picked a very colorful and slim brochure from a pile and unfolded it with pride.
“Alright!” shouted Hector as he began to read the pamphlet out loud with honor, wanting to pick out the most exciting bits to hype them up before handing it to them. “Greetings visitor and welcome to Houstank the world´s only industrial septic tank turned city…” His eyes were jittery with both nervousness and trying to find anything positive.
“...bask in the humid and wonderful temperatures that our amazing city has to offer and enjoy your favorite meat platters without asking any questions as to their source and…”
“…voted on by readers of Kalosian Tourism Weekly as Kasparc´s sixth most pleasant place to get stabbed in… uhm…”
Despite its questionable reputation, Houstank had been frequently described by locals as Slopadelphia's better, more stable sibling. It was a step above the more rustic territories that surrounded it and the residents claimed that the humidity was good for your skin provided you popped the occasional refresh tablet to keep toxicity at bay. Close to the city were various junkyards infamous for housing several of Kasparc's numerous gangs that were just starting out and didn't have enough money to terrorize New Pork.
Despite being several years older than the trio, Hector suddenly appeared to look much smaller and meeker. “Well, no matter what this pamphlet says I'm confident that your journey will be safe and sound as long as you follow the rules.” Hector turned to the side, brochure held in a death grip.
“And as long as you avoid… them.”
The final word of his sentence had an edge to it. A warning tinged with fear. Hector´s face hardened and recovered whatever roughness it had lost in the past few hours of bickering with teenagers and the elderly. “It´s not on your map, but near that city is a bad, bad place that you should stay away from. No one trusts each other enough to give a good report on how it looks like or what´s in there, but if during your travels you see anything too clean, run.”
"...And as for the pokemon that you'll encounter, Houstank has an abundance of poison types. There are steel types too in the junkyards, but you shouldn't go there at all!" The warning was meant for the whole group, but he stared at Harland and only Harland out of anticipating his reckless behavior.
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