Standing at 5’5”, fairly short all things considered, Mr Kennedy wears his hair fairly long and wild, often seeming to be a halo framing his head than anything else, and normally bears a scruff of a mustache. Seagreen eyes seem to observe everything behind a pair of spectacles, Muggle made. He prefers to wear trousers and collared shirts, normally with suspenders. A cup of hot tea seems perpetual in Mr Kennedy’s hands.
Age: 30 Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff Professor of: Potions Biography:
Miles Kennedy, born in Hong Kong to a pair of non-magical civil servants, would quickly find himself in England at age three. Among the more creative kids at his age, Miles possessed an imagination that far outstripped many others at his age - as well as a propensity for that imagination to make itself known in the real world. His parents chalked the issues here and there up to either bad luck, or chance, or a half dozen other ready excuses. Nevertheless, strange little things would happen here or there up to when he turned about eleven and a letter came in the mail. It spoke of scholarships and a new school and the talents of their son, all these good things, and soon enough Miles was off attending Hogwarts.
He proved apt at all the things he found interesting, poor at those he didn't. Potions grew to be a favorite for Miles, as well as Charms, while the young student's Divination and Transfiguration grades would be middling at best. Care for Magical Beasts was a strange one for Miles, making the boy miss his cat while absolutely hating the arm’s length nature of the course to the various creatures. He had a small enough group of friends while lacking for enemies, a common enough problem for Hufflepuffs. Miles would become notable enough as an unofficial tutor for Potions, often breaking curfew rules into the night as he went over the various problematic portions of different recipes. During the summers, Miles returned home to London, enjoying the great joys of the family cat, Noodle, while also becoming well and truly immersed in the Muggle world of life. He would also begin experimenting, however quietly, with Potions at home. His father took the interest and contemplation as his son loving chemistry, which in some ways it was, and took to buying several books on the matter as well as various glasswares to facilitate the new interest. Miles took it all in stride, finding all the various principles and methods useful enough to begin bringing the tomes to Hogwarts and using some of the instruments in Potions. Such would earn him the ire of the upper crust Slytherins, sure, but would also net near perfect grades for the young student. Miles figured that would be a good enough tradeoff, all things considered. He would also finally get his own pet, a patchwork cat rescued from a shelter named Lickspittle. When he finally graduated however, there were few job postings available for an aspiring student of potions to take and, for a brief time, and Miles lived at home while trying to find what to do.
He would disappear from the wizarding world for something of a decade, taking no jobs with the Ministry, any schools, or any wizard company. Rumors abound that Kennedy was in Afghanistan, Iraq, and even Syria with a Muggle group Doctors Without Borders, largely propagated by a number of Muggle-born students who have found similar names in that group's volunteer ranks and similar faces in various photos. What is known is that Miles Kennedy returned to England fairly recently, taking up a posting in the Ministry as an aid to Aurors before finding himself sent to Hogwarts.
Favorite Hogwarts Memory:
Mr Kennedy’s favorite memory would be his brewing of a potion of Liquid Luck as a Second Year, a task deemed by the Potions Master then to be nigh impossible, while solely using Muggle-made glassware and instrumentation. Done in the middle of the Hufflepuff Common Room, it absolutely baffled the more elitist students and proved a constant talking point for the students and, eventually, the living paintings. As such, the story almost gained a life of its own through the various retellings.
Wand Core: Thestral Tail Hair Wand Wood: Alder Wand Length: 6” Wand Owners: John Locke, Ira Davis, John Muller, Patricia Hewer
I admit, been looking at this thread every now and again. Not sure what exactly I'd ever be playing though, since for the most part the crew seems fairly well-rounded and capable with no clear role to be filled.
Independent, inspective, and supremely confident in his own abilities, Zan-weset followed the moniker that no god is over him but him. He rejects the mysticism and crude descriptions of light and dark, holy and unholy, seeking instead complete knowledge. Heresy, to him, is merely a moniker used by a religion to declare that which threatens the religion. Against this, Zan-weset probes the many facets of the universe slowly and carefully, taking only great risks when the opportunity to do so is clear and the threat is minimized.
Towards base mortal humanity, Zan-weset has gradually become numb at worst, at best seeing them as potential tools to an end in helping to reach new artifacts or pieces of knowledge. After all, such beings seem to come and go like the leaves of a tree, and he has learned to not get overly attached to such. To those longer lived races, Zan-weset is inherently wary to commence anything approaching friendships, though does have scholarly ties to a few communities in the deep ocean.
Fairytale
Born once in ancient Numer, to the east of the lands in existence today, Zan-weset lived a fairly normal life as a rising star among the nobility. As humanity heaved to and fro, the age of heroes bringing prosperity and ruin seemingly at random, Numer thrived and Zan-weset studied the magics of the soul and all that lay within. He came under the eye of one of the Pharoh's Magisters, that court of seers, masters in their art, and soon enough was under the tutelage of that man. Growing in knowledge and expertise, it would not be long before Zan-weset's experiments came close to that of the black arts, the arts of death. Seeking to prolong life against disease and falter was a noble goal, true, yet the student sought to do so through means disapproved of by the Magister. While he was reprimanded and punished, Zan-weset continued his experiments in secret, believing that there was a gem of possibility hidden among the superstition and caution.
In time, Zan-weset rose to be a Magister himself. His studies had never fully slowed, not in the face of scrutiny when it was suspected that the tombs were robbed, not in the face of exhaustion when his examinations and tests took up most of the day from dawn to dusk, and with the newfound time as a Magister Zan-weset set about truly discovering the mysteries of the soul and all which was kept within. There were seldom times that such a Magister as he was called upon by the Pharaoh and, in this spare time, the scholar went about researching a method to prolong life without pause. A plague had begun sweeping through Numer, striking hearty men dead in days, and against this was Zan-weset set. It afflicted but their distant settlements, true, yet could march to the capital. The healers had grown frantic against the plague's relentless pace as the Magister found himself sleeping less and less, spending more time in his study than ever.
When he came upon the method, the system, there was but one way to test it. Zan-weset conducted the ritual against himself, a gesture of magic which but accelerated the plague that then assailed the capital. Magic grew frenzied and spurned, grew uncontrolled by all save those few masters, and as the population of the capital screamed Zan-weset watched as the flesh sloughed from his bones. The ritual worked, and life was prolonged, yet the capital of Numer had nearly none left to save.
Zan-weset, last Magister of Numer, spent the following centuries compiling the knowledge kept hidden by every other Magister who laid dead. The city grew to be a tomb itself as he poured over their notes, their information, their secrets. He wished a method to resurrect the population as a whole, yet the conditions of the plague and his own ritual complicated the usual healing methods. As time passed and the scale of the problem was realized, Zan-weset shifted his goal: If he could not restore Numer as a whole, then he could restore the finest minds of the country, the Circle of Magisters. The issue still drove his research to last for centuries instead of decades, and in the end it was only through the combination of that original ritual with the traditional magics that the Magister found a method that could, hopefully, work.
The ritual's completion attracted a dragon, and while the other Magisters shook their undead sleep away the dragon approached the city. A grand battle commenced, and though the Magisters held knowledge they were slowed by the brush of death in mind and body; despite the attempts of Zan-weset, the others fell one by one to the dragon's claws and fire. As it continued, finally the man who was the last Magister before was so again, and on the steps of the Royal Palace he fought against it. There was nothing else left for him to save, there, and that fact broke against Zan-weset like the storm. The earth cracked and boiled, sand turning to glass shards, and from it the Magister drew great spires to skewer the beast. And yet, the dragon refused death. Zan-weset boiled it from the inside, rendering the beast screaming, yet the dragon refused death. He drew against a different method, working to rip the soul from the dragon the same way as before he had delivered strength to the souls of the other Magisters. The process was long, painful, complicated as Zan-weset siphoned it away, imbuing himself with its power. As a whole, the issue lasted years. By the end of it the capital of Numer was a ruin, broken with the long-rotted carcass of a dragon impaled upon great spines of glass from the sands, and Zan-weset took his residence at the tower of Magisters.
He studied magic in all its branches. He studied magic to find a way to restore Numer to its rightful glory as a jewel of the eastern world. He studied magic to obliterate the meddlesome dragons which he knew would stand in his way. As time passed, he studied magic to study magic. The reasons would slowly fall away with the glacial realization that the way things had fallen were, perhaps, the way they were meant to be. Numer was being swallowed by the desert, and as ages passed Zan-weset could but look out and see only the tops of the highest buildings of the city. There was nothing for him to save, not anymore, and all the people worth saving could not be saved. Even if he had succeeded in that ritual, spending eons with the other Magisters did not sound as enticing as Zan-weset originally thought. When he finally departed from Numer after a millennia of contemplations and reflections, not by the tower of Magisters remained. He marched west, out of the desert and sand storms.
Zan-weset settled in the lands which would come to be known as Mildian, continuing his research and experimentation, only occasionally moonlighting as a defender of the local lands from creatures, bandits, and other distractions. Through this, he would garner a type of mythology about him, a symbolism, a following in a twisted manner. Villagers would repay his protection with offerings to the foot of his abode, small as it was, and the more superstitious burned offerings at altars. Zan-weset paid them little total mind; after all, he removed the monsters because they were distractions, not because they were threats. In time, some villages grew to be cities, others did not, and militias, town guards were formed. The reason for his interventions removed, Zan-weset grew ever more reclusive, though the cult that once prayed to him grew ever more fervent. When Mildian was taken by Alvarez in those ancient days, that same cult made butchered ritual after butchered ritual, attempting to invoke Zan-weset to help them in throwing off the invader. They merely drew attention to themselves, hunted down slowly as traitors at best, heretics at worst, though would prove to succeed in rousing the lich from his studies. Finding the lands suddenly altogether too crowded, Zan-weset decided that it was time to yet again move.
Under the cover of altogether far too many illusionary spells, he moved south to the coast in an out of the way cove. There, expeditions into the deep sea would begin to be launched on occasion, both to test theories on magic and to examine how magic infused life at such extreme locations. It was by no means safe, but Zan-weset was confident enough that that it could be done. Even as cities grew about his enclave in the close distance and ships began to frequently ply the ocean, he still succeeded in remaining hidden to their prying eyes. He would begin making contact with the oceanic civilizations, though, a strange and curious tourist to their cities that had remained untouched by mortal man. So interesting was this, in fact, that Zan-weset spent much time among the various groups on the deep ocean floor, exchanging knowledge for their own curious sorts of magic. Altogether these proved adept at styles that never would have been practical in Numer, methods never possible in Mildian, and Zan-weset learned much.
Eventually, though, the age of heroes came to a close and the great wars between humanity, demons, and angels began. Zan-weset felt a call to this, though by no means was he interested in the moral implications of the conflict and the gods. To him, it was obvious which was strongest, and obvious too that no god held control over the course of his journey but himself. No, Zan-weset was interested in the souls lost - and possibly gained - that he could study. Quickly as could be, Zan-weset joined the conflict and began collecting what souls he could, any souls he could, to observe and perhaps eventually absorb them. When it was altogether over, he would disappear again in his enclave on the Alvarez coast, studying what he had obtained over the course of the conflict. As Zan-weset performed such heretical profanities, however, a nagging curiosity grew in his mind, a question of how magic had grown, developed in other parts of the world. It was not something altogether easily answered from the confines of a room, and perhaps that fact made it all the more alluring to the lich who had found himself growing more and more threadbare in his studies. He has begun to retrace old steps that had been followed but decades prior, encountered issues that had been solved centuries before, found but dead ends where he was certain, and had been certain before, that illumination could be gained if the issue was approached from differently just so. It had grown altogether tiresome. After a few decades at work extracting the secrets of an angel's soul, Zan-weset departed the continent entirely.
He spent decades traveling, learning the various systems and beliefs under the guise of a wanderer, a vagabond. Some systems were discarded, others inspected, and a rare few accepted, yet still Zan-weset traveled Ishgar. In time, he would settle in northern Fiore to study the lands destroyed to that country's east, lands otherwise deemed useless, lands otherwise deemed impossible to traverse. Nameless labyrinths were found and delved by Zan-weset, drawing up curiosities predating the great war, though these rare opportunities ran dry after a few decades.
It was then that the nation came under assault from devils - a supposed test by Sin. Zan-weset was drawn to it like a moth to flame, curious what the devils had brought, curious if they had any artifacts he desired, and somewhat annoyed by their pervasive nature and desire to be absolutely everywhere. He had been involved in such hunting since that very beginning, though had continued largely to reject the various religious applications to the whole endeavor.
His joining of Fenix Tear came following the dissolution of another group, Rotesvaerd, after they delved into a devil inhabited labyrinth to uncover a number of artifacts and stolen holy weapons. Zan-weset's reasoning for such has been generally simple: the young guilds are eager to prove themselves and he has no wish to go with mortals who value themselves so highly.
Grimoire
Affinity Abyss Origin Third Design Mana | Spiria | Root Magic Forge of Souls
The soul is holy to many, appetizing to few, and precious to all who bear them, yet to Zan-weset the soul is merely another article of study when curious, tinder for magic when not. His magic is interwoven with the souls of those consumed by it, bearing marks of draconic, devil, and even angelic power to those who might be capable of seeing such complexity.
Mana
Cast Lightning
Generating bolts of lightning from his fingers, Zan-weset can throw these one might throw javelins. When applied directly to another, or at a close range, he can create a prolonged burst of lightning against them. This can also be utilized to heat objects.
Disguise Self
A transformative spell targeted only at the caster, this spell affects the appearance, clothes, and even the reaction of the transformed appearance to outwards events such as wind or, even, the appearance of blood should the caster be injured. Such false blood splatters or clothing tears disappear some minute after, appearing to almost fizzle from existence. The caster cannot, however, drastically alter their size.
Dispel
Used against offensive spells Zan-weset knows, Dispel employs an equal amount of Mana or Cursed Energy, whichever runs counter to that of the spell he is targeting, to nullify its effects with sheer brute force. Obvious, obnoxious, wasteful, and reliant on the time taken to observe and realize the enemy spell employed, it is by no means perfect.
Healing
The use of mana to heal another’s exterior wounds was something taught early on in Zan-weset's career and, indeed, something that has stuck well with him. The time such takes to be applied depends heavily on the complexity of the wound and the caster's knowledge of that wound's complexity, with exterior cuts simple, broken bones more difficult, and interior wounds exceptionally tiresome.
Manipulate Earth
A common method for Magisters of Numer, this spell is broad in its application allowing for the caster to form new shapes with earth, harden or soften the material, and generally control it so long as they remain in contact with the material being controlled. Material cannot be created through this, causing voids should a shape be uplifted, and once material leaves the earth such as by being thrown the caster loses control over it.
Sense Life
A sensing of mana, this passive spell gives direction to the largest concentrations of mana within several hundred feet. The spell can be overwhelmed by a greater collection of mana in closer ranges, however, and becomes incapable of giving direction. It does not allow for a precise distinction between individuals for the greater store of mana.
Sandstorm
Developing a sandstorm about the caster through small pieces of debris, this spell is separate from that of earth manipulation by virtue of the debris having a permanent, unalterable course of motion and scale. In effect anchored about the caster and following them, the sandstorm measures some twenty feet in radius and is spherical. Objects move about the caster at approximately 200 mph at the periphery, increasing in speed as one moves to the caster.
Rules of the Arena
An application of law which holds origins in Numer, this spell restricts Spatial magic within a radius of a hundred feet around the caster. Those who apply Spatial magic from outside the spell to get into the radius of the spell simply shift to the outer periphery of the effect, shifting no further, while those applying Spatial magic from within the effect find that it does not work at all. The spell can have an effect on Chronomatic magics as well, though if applied in such a way it merely dampens the effects and loses its control over Spatial magic.
Curse
Eyes of Numer
As a leftover from Numer's glory years, this spell is largely unrefined and underutilized by any who deigns to know it. Cursing a target with this spell causes them to, after a test of willpower between the caster and the target, reveal verbally a secret they actively keep hidden throughout their normal life. It can only be used once against a target. Utilizing this spell also releases a substantial amount of cursed magic from the caster.
Spiria
Restore the Flesh
Molding the soul of another to encourage outward healing, mending of inward injuries, and alleviating traumas is a difficult but not impossible task. Such an attempt requires the caster to be familiar with the injury sustained with the exception of solely physical injuries, though does require strong degrees of concentration
Mold Inner Self
Through careful manipulation of the soul’s form, Zan-weset can bring about a number of subtle changes to an individual. These changes may be a degree of memory loss and, if even more carefully done, memory implantation, may be a degree of Talent degradation or improvement, or may be the slight, careful implantation of the energies which one generation may sprout as Root.
Root
Proud Son of Numer
Capable of raising corpses and commanding them to perform his bidding, the amount of independence and capability such a raised corpse is heavily dependent on the amount of time Zan-weset takes with the individual corpse. Corpses raised in batches can follow simple commands, though are notably sluggish and fight simply, though ones which are raised singly, over the course of perhaps thirty minutes, may follow orders with only slightly less competence than if they were alive.
Motionless Cast
Zan-weset has learned the methods of casting spells without necessarily performing gestures, complex or no, instead creating his effect through the infusion of magical capacity and words - which by all means is most often not in the most common of tongues.
Numerian Poetry
An art long, long dead, Zan-weset can often be found muttering, at times toneless and at times flawless, ancient Numerian poetry. The actual nature of these poems varies, though few would ever be able to tell, and often has a swing-song cadence to its style.
Degradation of the Body
Zan-weset's body, while faltering in age and rot by slower degrees than a natural corpse, nevertheless has been kept preserved across the millennia through less than natural means. He must expend magic to keep the rot and failures at bay, to keep himself ambulatory.
Degradation of the Mind
Three thousand and four hundred years is a great many memories and none of the Magisters of Numer could ever hope to retain such without significant aid. Zan-weset is no different, struggling with memories beyond the century in such details as location, interactions with mortals, and has taken to producing an exceptional amount of notes in ancient Numerian. More exciting memories are easy for him to recall, however, regardless of when they took place.
Enemies encircle Me
Mortal magics, albeit in the greatest number and the greatest skill, can still bring harm and even death to Zan-weset should he not take caution. His ritual has only preserved the soul which he carries and death is ever eager to embrace him.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Oh heck. Isla stared as the smoke began to billow out from the blanket. It was pretty heavy, sure, but wasn’t enough with all the motion to be kept down. She could see the little figure moving up along one length of the blanket, trying to make its way out, and just sort of moved. Breathe in, move, pick up the two corners furthest from the direction the little guy was moving, and throw it up over. A billow of green-hue smoke came out with the motion, Isla taking a few steps back to cover her face and eyes from it.
“Dancing! Dig and pile!” She jabbed her finger at where the Budew was moving off to, the little Eevee taking her meaning. He started to dig, faced away from the blanket and smoke to pile on dug behind him, onto the edge of the blanket to weigh it down.
Isla heaved off her bag, watching for what direction the Budew was planning on going instead to weigh that down. What the end plan was…she really wasn’t sure. Of course, running off at this point wasn’t it - she’d have lost her blanket, and for what? Although…it’d need to get washed, sure, but Isla’s mind wasn’t on that. Bundle down the Budew enough for Swiper to get back on his feet, maybe? Yeah, that sounded like it worked. Oh, heck.
Isla used Blanket! Dancing used Sand Attack! Swiper is Paralyzed!
Isla sneezed again at the yellow-tinted powder, the burst of which could only be described really as a move, and immediately enough Swiper started to whine. He twitched a little, sure, but…none of those little movements and gestures that Isla had come to understand as normal. None of the little sniffs and curious ears. Not even a paw's motion. Her eyes widened at it, the realization of it fully coming. Paralyzed.
“Why you little-”
How dare this little, little guy take advantage of her charity? How dare this little Budew decide that it was his job to take what was offered and give back in fighting her? Not even Swiper had been that tricksy! Not even Swiper had been that deceitful! Isla's tone certainly wasn't gentle about the whole of it. The Budew had decided it wanted to fight, to make that first attack, and Isla felt her blood hot like it hadn't ever really been before.
She snapped out taut words, a whip to them as the duffelbag slammed on the ground with dust gathering about its base.
“Dancing! Hold them down!”
He charged on it, closing the distance fast between them while low, low, all while Isla quickly dragged out her blanket from the bag. It was big enough for a person, weighted enough for a good sleep, and entirely too massive for a Budew. Like a net, Isla cast the thing over the little bulb Pokémon just before Dancing got there.
Isla used Blanket! Dancing used Helping Hand! Swiper is Paralyzed!
Well, look at that. Isla hadn’t fully expected the method to work, not as well as it had, and she was pleased as could be with herself that it had worked. The Budew seemed to be relaxing, at least as much as could be expected, moving forward a little bit, opening up and maybe getting just a little bit bigger. Well…the girl didn’t really know, not entirely, how the whole Budew thing worked, but she was still pretty pleased that the Pokémon was relaxing and walking up and all the rest. Surely it wasn’t interested in attacking or anything.
Isla flicked more water to the bulb Pokémon, smiling a bit. Well, smiling until she felt that tickle in her nose. They were flowering! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Why hadn’t she considered that a flower opening might involve some other things. She felt that tickle in her nose, kept breathing pretty deeply despite the impulse to hold her breath or anything of that sort, and let out a “choo” as Isla’s head whipped forward, free arm swinging forward to shield it.
Deeply breathing out, the girl opened her eyes again, making sure that she had kept it quiet enough despite the absolutely violent head motion, making sure she hadn’t scared the little Budew away. Despite the Pokémon having a heck of an effect on the air, Isla still wanted to make friends with them. She hadn’t seen the little guys before, not on the Sevii Islands, and they were pretty interesting.
Lou hadn’t been waiting at the airport long, exactly, nor had he arrived right on the dot. Working as a runner makes one develop certain habits, certain aspects of the self, and one of these was not exactly a degree of punctuality, but also not exactly a degree of extreme laxness. The latter would waste too much time, would create too long a vulnerable frame which was especially dangerous with some of the types he had been forced to deal with. They would hunt him if given a chance, and waiting too long at one place or another would be deadly enough. The former would be too predictable, dangerous for the same reason. No, he’d been at the airport for roughly twenty minutes beforehand, had attracted some few looks by passers-by who kept their eyes open instead of on the next flight, but generally speaking the priest hadn’t been accosted too much.
The bus - and the team - arrived. One man Lou knew and had worked with before, Whetstone, while the others he did not and had not. The most notable among them a Troll, then an Ork, an Elf, and a pair of humans rounded out the list. It was, put easily, the standard Shadowrunner group, replete with a drone hovering about the Elf. He knew their names, though, or at least that.
"Chercheur? What’s the good word in Lisbon? You're been our man on the ground...for I don't know...some time...Any sweet data you have to share with the rest of us?"
The question had played about Lou’s head for some time. Ms Tower had disappeared quite completely, and the street level sources he had grown to rely upon for local issues had struggled in providing any answers at all. In fact, they had provided none, and the priest had been hesitant about working with the more legitimate organizations; they had been hired for a reason, after all, and discretion was just as valuable as success to such people. Six years was colder than any case Lou had worked before, though, and leads had proved insubstantial at best. Before he had a chance to speak, however, the Elf began; her smile was one that he’d seen before in the red light districts, same with the tone.
"Ooo, man of the cloth. This girl likes the hard-to-get types. Or is this priest the confessional type, because, hoo, have I got some sins to get off my chest."
He let the silence fill it for just a moment, turning his head to look the woman up and down. Sighing, deflating almost as his mouth went wry, Lou let out his thoughts from the pause. “A tease, how…boring.”
Turning back to Wildfire, the human who’d first spoken, he shook his head. “No word from my usual sources. Forgotten Greens and Vultures don’t talk to outsiders, not unless they receive substantial favors, and the favors either want aren’t the sort that are done quickly or easily…not without drawing fire from the other.”
Isla didn’t really get the response she expected about the articles found at the grove, sure, and stared down at the Pokédex for a good few moments considering it. It was probably put there for a reason. Yeah, sure that was true enough but it might also have been a clue as to what had exactly happened at the shrine. Was the state of it the reason for…whatever it had been with Celebi? Had Yasu considered some other route since then of finding the Pokémon? Had she given up entirely about it? For that matter, why had she wanted to find Celebi in the first place? There had been so many questions that Isla just didn’t have the answers to, and really she didn’t expect the priestess to be open on sharing. Yasu didn’t seem to be the sharing sort, on the whole of the problem. It really hadn’t helped.
Swiper, though, had finally figured out what exactly he wanted. Picking up the carving gingerly with his mouth, the Nickit looked up expectantly at Isla, tail slowly wagging away at the excitement of his find. After all, whoever had put the carving there clearly didn’t value it all that much, considering they hadn’t brought it with them, and he would be a far better owner than them. Isla looked down, frowning. “You can’t bring that with you.”
A cock of the head. Well, why not? After all, it was his now, he’d picked it up and that was just how the world worked. The tail paused, too, stopped in its tracks by the sudden rejection as Swiper tried to figure out why he couldn’t just…bring it along. The tone was there, too, as Isla sighed. She needed to figure out how the heck to have the Pokémon just…not do that, but also he was a Nickit. Just saying it’s wrong wouldn’t altogether work. There needed to be another way…maybe she had it. Maybe.
“You can’t bring that. Look at it, you’re already putting teeth marks into the wood. It’ll get ruined. And besides, whenever we’ll sit down to eat, you’ll have to put it down and it’ll get even more ruined.” The accusation made Swiper put it down pretty quickly, looking it over for the alleged damage. There was a little bit here and there, the wood not being entirely as solid as it had once been before, but surely that would be alright. But then…he’d held it up for how long? How long did he intend to keep it? Maybe…
“It looks better here. It should be here, whoever left it meant to put it here.” Well, that was just plainly wrong. To make a point of it, Swiper stared at the destroyed entrance, practically pointing at it with his nose, before passing over the various burn marks and other damages. Isla took his point, crouching down ever so as he considered the issue at hand: damaging it. Taking a few steps forward, the Nickit nudged at Isla’s bag before looking up. Maybe she could hold onto it? Maybe?
“Well, I can’t take it. I don’t want it. If you want it, you’ll have to take it.” Darn. Maybe she was right. Swiper huffed out in annoyance before pointedly walking out from the shrine entrance.
And right to the Budew. He stopped, still as can be, staring at the other Pokémon as it had emerged from the bushes just some little ways away. Isla, while she was still breathing a sigh of relief at the fact that she’d avoided…stealing something from a shrine, of all things, had followed close behind, pausing to stare as well. The little guy - or girl - was truly little, barely coming up to Isla’s knee, and had just noticed her, Swiper, and Dancing just some little ways away. Dancing had kept about the fringes of the site, searching here and there, but had stopped as the rustling in the bush came.
Huh. Well, what the heck did a Grass type like, she wondered internally, considering it. Good dirt wasn’t something she could magic up, and surely they had as much sun as they wanted, but…hmmm…there was another thing. They seemed happy enough, all told, but maybe the little Budew wanted some water? Maybe? It was as good a guess as any. Isla sat down her bag slowly, careful to not make too many sudden moves, as Swiper looked up with his head cocked. No not that pouch…no not that one…where were the bottles…ah, the girl nodded in satisfaction, taking one out. “Mineral grade” hadn’t meant all that much when Isla had bought them, considering that had been the only grade the store had sold, but maybe it might mean more with the little Budew. Now…how in the heck to give it to them?
“Hi,” she said, trying to at least somewhat fill the awkward air that had developed as she’d searched. Unscrewing the cap and kneeling down next to her bag, Isla just sort of…whipped the bottle as though she was blessing the Budew. Maybe that was it? The girl really didn’t know.
Location: Dorms, Hawks Common Room, Eirei Hills, Shibuya, Tokyo Prefecture Mentions: N/A
"Well that's fast. The Indra Mudra Handseal sure is handy, oh I'm sorry...I do Hindu Yoga, do you do Yoga? Omg, it kicked in late, you're Jun...the Jun...I'm a bitch fan I mean big fan...you just slayed the Sports Fest!"
Jun stared for a moment, swallowing at the sudden and pretty strange greeting. The girl that stood before her, with the white hair and choker and everything of that sort, seemed pretty…out of it? Pretty awkward or strange? Granted, that seemed to be people at Eirei in general it turned out, but on the whole they seemed weird, but close by. This girl, she seemed really out of it. Then again, though, there were a lot of things that could cause that sort of deal but it didn’t seem quirk related per say. It seemed to be person related for her.
“Hi, ah…thanks. No, I don’t normally do yoga.” She paused, considering why. What a weird way for the day to have gone, all things considered, from a crazy class leader to an absolute nonsense of a teacher and, of all things, a test out of the blue. Apparently she’d passed, true, but Jun didn’t really feel like she had. That seemed to be the more important thing to her. She hadn’t seen the problem for what it was, just…thought the teacher wasn’t being moral and moved against him. The right choice for the wrong reasons, maybe. In any case, though, that was all besides the point. From crazy class leaders to yoga…why? Jun wasn’t altogether sure. It had never really come up, she thought, never really been there as an option. She’d just…worked out.
Maybe yoga would be alright.
“And thanks, the sports festival was…really a good challenge. I’ve never had to run around like that for so long. Busy, busy.” Jun realized that she’d not really…introduced herself, nor the other girl in return. Who was she…she leaned ever so back, eyes scanning over the door for any sort of names. Darn, nothing. She didn’t really want to just outright for the girl’s name, on one hand, but also still felt like she needed one for politeness’s sake.
“Good to meet you…” Jun walked further in, letting the door close as she leaned in, arm outstretched for a handshake while the statement ended as though a question, on the rise, for a name.
Swiper was, per the usual Nickit nature, exceptionally happy with his find. After all, it was something no one else had, at least not that he knew, and it looked interesting enough. A pause to look over what exactly it was confirmed that much, a framed image with a face cut away, as well as a wooden tablet, a carving of a Pokémon he didn’t entirely recognize. A pause and a pace around; he couldn’t take both, that was for certain, and so it came down to which exactly Swiper did want to take. One or the other, one or the other…smell them, wipe a paw against the surface, the Nickit hemmed and hawed enough that Isla had grown curious at his delay.
She entered warily enough, even as Yasu grew quieter and quieter in the distance, kneeling down to look over the finds. Well, interesting. an exhale, just a bit, as she drew out here Pokédex…it had sounded like Camila had also run back with Yasu, probably to keep her company in case the Heracross came back around. Ah. She paused, device in hand, considering exactly what had just happened while feeling her heart quickly drop. They’d left her alone, off from the main trail, while strangely aggressive Pokémon were willing to willy-nilly attack out of nowhere.
Well, thanks a lot I guess. A deep breath out, deep breath. Yeah, sure, it’d be fine. She’d run from Pokémon before. Yeah, it’d be fine. Yeah.
Isla tapped away at the device, messaging Camila. It should have service out in the forest, shouldn’t it? The Professor hadn’t mentioned the Dex messing up too much outside, in the wild, and besides that they weren’t really out in the wild that far…it should work. She’d said it wouldn’t connect if they were deep underground, Isla remembered that much. Swiper, meanwhile, was still contemplating which exactly would be his prize, moving about left and right.
>> Ask Yasu if a photo of family w/ little girl’s face cut out means anything. Also, prayer tablet with Celebi carving. <<
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