Remram
AchronumPosted up Camden's part first, since that's the one I finished. I'll get to Dana's part tomorrow, most likely.
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Camden Montero
U.S. || Washington D.C. || March 2nd
Camden liked Oliver. He was brief, concise, and unusually curt, wasting no time between videos and sometimes not even bothering to ask for a response before moving to the next clip. He frequently interrupted Camden with rehearsed lines and seem to give consideration to neither the frills nor witticisms Camden threw into his responses. In fact, sometimes he didn't even write anything down after hearing Camden's response, which would have been fine if not for the fact that Camden was sure that some of his comments should have warranted at least some amount of amazement.
Okay, Camden hated Oliver and his stuck-up frown, his last-century glasses, and his suit that was a hideous shade of grey that definitely didn’t do anything to help the man’s pallid color, all of which came together in a bleached-looking presentation of a man who looked like he’d lived the past century in a bomb shelter and had only recently managed to find his way out. But that was all beside the point; Camden liked Oliver and would continue to tell himself so until he himself believed it because learning to like the interviewer would help him build rapport. So, of course, the only conclusion to draw from all of his targeted observations was that Oliver, however poorly-dressed, was, in fact, a man of great intellect—so much intellect, in fact, that earthly presentations were beneath him.
Not that I believe that for a second, Camden thought, a politely inquisitive look fixed firmly on his face as he took in a clip of a deer writing in a cloud of purple dust.
“The poor deer,” Camden said, shaking his head. “If only it'd seen that Oddish camouflaged among the ferns.”
Oliver, as always, said and wrote nothing. However, instead of switching the laptop to the next video, he closed it.
“That’s all then, Mr. Montero,” he said, his voice—unpleasantly nasally—echoing faintly in the small room. Camden nodded, making to rise from his seat, but Oliver interrupted him. “One more thing, though—”
“Holy—”
Camden let loose a string of expletives, stumbling back and nearly tripping over his chair as a large golden coffin rose out of the table in front of him, distorting the very air around it with swirling shadows that materialized into two ghostly arms.
Confagrigus, Camden recognized through his curses. It was another second before he cut himself off, remembering where he was and what he was doing. Righting his chair and calmly sitting down, he calmly met Oliver’s bespectacled eyes through the translucent ghost looming threateningly above him.
“You know, this would be more believable if you acted a bit surprised,” he said, figuring the game was up. The earlier interview was clearly just a ruse to relax him so the final test—the surprise appearance of a Pokemon—could play out properly.
No wonder he didn’t bother writing much down, Camden thought, grudgingly impressed.
Oliver adjusted his glasses. “Becoming a trainer would mean that you’ll regularly come face-to-face with Pokemon who will be much less benevolent than our friend here. What makes you think you can handle it?”
“I know what I want,” Camden said, “so it’s just a matter of getting it. I overestimate myself, but when I do, I make sure to live up to my original expectations. I improve my shortcomings and I make certain that I don’t fail a second time. I look towards the future—run and meet it halfway.”
“You’ll run out and meet him,” Oliver said, indicating the Confagrigus, “halfway?”
“With a dark-type Pokemon at my side, yes,” Camden said. “I’m confident, not suicidal.” He glanced at the Confagrigus again, eyes scanning over the detailing on the ghost-type’s sarcophagus shell.
Egyptian-looking, and though a bit tarnished, it’d be stunning after a good polishing, he thought.
In the background, Oliver had fallen silent, but Camden was too absorbed in the Confagrigus to mind. This was the first time he’d been so close to a Pokemon—a real, living Pokemon—and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to sit and let the sight sink in.
Only two hands on this one—hiding the other two in its coffin, perhaps? he wondered.
The Confagrigus, as if just noticing his eyes, grinned wider, baring its teeth. Camden grinned back.
“You should consider using all four hands next time,” he said pleasantly. “It’d make you look bigger.”
The Confagrigus blinked, then uttered forth a few low, dusty screeches that seemed more to fade than echo in the small room. It took Camden a moment to realize that the Cofagrigus had chuckled.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Montero,” Oliver interrupted, his pen quick on his notepad as the Cofagrigus slid back down through the table with one last, slow blink at Camden. “You’ll receive word of your results next month.”
“Thank you as well,” Camden said, a bit disappointed that the Pokemon had gone. He probably wouldn’t see another up close until long after results were announced in April.
As he walked out of the building, Camden was neither confident nor dejected; rather, his thoughts were swirling, and he grinned with giddy anticipation for what the future held.
A ghost-type with Will-O-Wisp or a dark-type with Dark Pulse? Which looks better? he wondered. Should I get both? Or a dual-type, for greater versatility?
April 11th, 20:46 Local Time || U.S. || Kensington, M.D.
The email’s arrival did not surprise Camden much, having awaited it since the first day of April, but he was a bit miffed when it finally arrived. Clearly, he wasn’t among the first trainers to be chosen, and though he wasn’t surprised since his testing experience hadn’t exactly instilled confidence in him, he was still a bit annoyed that he’d only just made the cut—likely falling, it seemed, around or below average at best.
Well, all that digging away at things like mugwort and buchu better pay off, he thought, sending back a quick response. They better not have encouraged me to memorize a bunch of plants for nothing.
He paused, glancing at the clock and sighing as he realized that he still had a few hours before he ought to sleep. Having decided on his independence, he’d chosen to stay in D.C.rather than going home, but the decision posed a few practical problems. Luckily, he’d been able to find a job at a corner flower shop in one of the suburbs around D.C., where a sympathetic widower was willing to let him live in the spare room in exchange for his help around the shop. His hours were on the longer side—eight in the morning to five in the afternoon, lunch breaks excluded—but Camden couldn’t complain. It was more than he could’ve asked for, and he was also frequently exposed to odd plants the owner brought in, which were usually throwaways from people who bought first and thought second about the work required. Most died quickly after they arrived, since people didn’t tend to realize that their plants were wasting away until it was too late, but those that recovered were moved into the owner’s private collection: a makeshift greenhouse on the balcony, where a small house of cooing pigeons lay, surrounded by a modest tropical garden.
The widower himself was a kind, lonely old man, who regularly attended various clubs around town—book, poetry, and chess included. On Sunday, he would join a group of retirees and bus to the city to tour the free museums. A rough calculation—once a month for twenty-seven years—told Camden that he’d been to the Smithsonian museums over three hundred times, yet the man still claimed they worth visiting.
“They change every few months, those museums,” he’d say, laughing. “We always have a little competition to see who finds the new exhibit first. I’m pretty sharp-eyed for my age, if I do say so myself.”
Camden himself had toured the exhibits multiple times throughout the last month, but more to procrastinate from his gruelling tasks of memorizing the difference between this and that fern than out of interest in the museums themselves. However, he had found himself impressed by some of the exhibits, mostly around the art and history museums; history seemed to whisper up from the oil paintings, and though there was no dust to be found on the historical artifacts on display, their well-worn edges spoke of times past.
Tonight, though, Camden found himself too put out to attempt to continue his studies. No way am I looking at any more cactus concoctions, he thought, stretching before pulling out his 3DS. Time for some more ‘research’ at the Contest Hall. I wonder when I’ll be allowed to actually catch my own Pokemon…
May 4th, 14:07 Local Time || Russia || Norilsk Airport
Blinking blearily, Camden rolled his suitcase over to where the others were—gathered at the side of the nearby cargo van—before moving to board the bus. The plane ride over had done a number on him; Camden been uncomfortable with heights for as long as could remember, and when the captain turned on the seatbelt light, citing some “slight turbulence,” in the skies, he knew it wasn’t going to be smooth sailing.
Never flying without Ambien again, he thought, rubbing his temples as he filed onto the bus. Once he was in, he sat down in a window seat near the front, pinching the bridge of his nose. Think happy thoughts: you’re going to get a Pokemon soon, and there’s no flying required for that. Both feet firmly on the ground all the way…
So much ground to cover with the time skip. Gonna try to paraphrase some but my post's still probably going to be obscenely long... Which just means more fun writing!
Ardanata “Dana” Stamos
Ever Grande City, Hoenn League Headquarters || January 1st
Dana returned her Swampert silently, her eyes focused on the building in the distance: Hoenn’s Pokemon League, where she’d struggled hard for her third championship title years ago. The building was still very much the same, save for perhaps a fresh coat of paint and some new additions to the garden.
What are a few thunderbolts to a Salamence who’s fought tag teams of Raichu? Dana thought, frowning as she scanned the horizon again. The entire day had been a mess of confusion, with the weather channels predicting anything from hail storms to hurricanes, yet the sky remained defiantly clear in spite of speculations. Flying, of course, had been banned for the day, and though Dana was sure that—somewhere in the world—there was definitely some rule-breaking going on, she also knew that as a champion, she would have to support the League’s decisions, no matter how ludicrous.
Making me Waterfall up here, she thought, her frown deepening for a moment before she let it drop completely. It should all blow over soon.
Briskly making for the League building, Dana glanced down to check her watch to ensure that she was on time. A clap of thunder from above interrupted her action, and a subsequent smattering of raindrops prompted her to call out her Venusaur, who pulled up a makeshift umbrella of leaves and vines that Dana ducked under, dusting water from her clothes. However, a wet gust of wind undid her work, pulling a curse from Dana as her Venusaur made to shield her.
Can the weather make up its mind already, she thought irritably. More thunder sounded, and just as Dana had started off for the League building again, the earthquake started. The ground shook, the sky trembled, and Dana clutched her Venusaur’s vines tightly, feeling her annoyance spike.
And then it was over. The earthquake had stopped, the rain had let up, and even the soppingly heavy clouds had cleared.
Hoenn, Dana thought, dispelling her annoyance with a sigh as she reached down to return her Venusaur. She stopped short, snapping back up to scan over her surroundings.
Where—
Where the Pokemon League previously stood, there was now a crystalline lake, stretching out into the distance. Reeds faded into pines from the lakeshore, and the waterfall Dana had ridden her Swampert up was now a misty forest of evergreens. At her side were a smattering of Pokemon, some hers and some not, and her Venusaur had vanished.
“Venusaur!” she called, making to return her Scizor and Clefable while keeping an eye on the newcomers. Ivysaur, Combusken, Marshtomp, Duskull—
“Arceus above,” she breathed, eyes widening. “Dusknoir?”
The Duskull drifted over, half-hovering, half-walking, and almost tripping over its own feet, almost as if it weren’t used to its own body.
Toronto, Ontario. Canada. || January 10th
Dana was—despite how much she hated to admit it—nervous. Her Pokemon, who were all gathered into the spacious hotel room provided for her courtesy of Professor Elm, provided little comfort seeing as they’d all been severely weakened, some even devolved. Here she was in a strange land surrounded by strange people who spoke another language and looked at her as if she were an alien—which, she supposed, she was.
In the few days after she’d arrived in “Ka-na-da,” which was apparently the land she now resided in, she’d been held at gunpoint multiple times, handcuffed through it all and separated from her Pokemon after she’d instructed them to stand down. The guns levelled at her had not scared her so much as her new reality: dead Pokeballs and Pokedexes, surrounded by weakened and devolved Pokemon and people with whom she shared no common tongue. That they lacked Pokemon was the only comforting part; although they initially took her other Pokemon from her, her Dusknoir—now Duskull—would stay by her side, hidden in her shadow, silently awaiting her word. Against her Duskull, the guns the natives of the land wielded had seemed rather nonconsequential, and she was assured of her safety despite being packed away into trucks and cells.
All the same, the appearance of Professor Elm, who ordered her uncuffed and delivered to a hotel room, was exceedingly comforting. The professor had few answers for her, and though he saw to it that she was reunited with her Pokemon and well cared for, Dana couldn’t shake her nervousness: where was she, and what had happened? Her nervousness quickly gave rise to annoyance, though, and she found herself constantly critiquing her “team”—a slew of Pokemon she’d withdrawn on a whim, confident that she could swap them out once she’d arrived at the League. The least she could have done was bring a flier. Having her Salamence or—if that was to be devolved upon arrival—her Xatu at her side would be much more reassuring than her current mismatched menagerie, if not for their ability to fly then for Xatu’s ability to teleport. Instead, she was left with a bunch of half-evolved, severely weakened Pokemon she had had no mind to use other than for their ability to scale waterfalls and shield her from the rain.
At the very least give me something to do—research, train, learn, she thought, turning back to the window through which she was observing the city. In this strange new world with so many unanswered questions, surely there something for her to do—some way for her to help the investigation effort to get the trainers back home, yet here she was, staring out the window.
Camden Montero
Washington D.C. U.S. || March 2nd
The plane ticket was, as Camden resolved, the last thing he’d ever use his parents’ money to pay for, which worked out fairly well since he later found out that he’d be reimbursed for travel expenses anyway. And to think that I was considering taking the bus, he thought as he filed into the testing center. He’d arrived early for testing—exceedingly so—not so much because he was confident as because he wanted to get the test over and done with.
One and a half months to study for a single exam pretty much guarantees passing for everyone, doesn’t it? Camden thought as he looked around at the test takers beside him. Bookish or athletic, excited or nervous, all sorts of trainer aspirants could be seen. Wonder what the test will be like.
The subsequent announcement gave Camden pause. Practical exams? he thought, intrigued by the idea. Would he be allowed to see Pokemon up close already? He predicted no trouble on the written portion, though; a month and a half’s study of all the Pokemon trivia he could dredge up was enough to have covered all the geography and ecology anyone wanted, and distinguishing animal and Pokemon was a simple matter of recognizing a Pokemon for a Pokemon. “Survival techniques” was the only one that gave him pause, but if it was a matter of Pokemon world foliage, then there was no problem at all.
They could have just announced that they were testing these things, Camden thought irritably as he received his written exam. How’re they hoping to get properly prepared candidates if they don’t even tell them how to prepare?
The start of the testing period was called, and Camden flew through the questions rapidly, noting down the questions that gave him pause so he could go back and deliberate them thoroughly after he’d finished the rest. As he’d predicted, the franchise-related trivia proved to be little problem for someone that could list off which berries were native to which regions, but he struggled more with the more native things.
Comfrey? Sounds familiar, but that’s about it, he thought, flicking his pencil in annoyance. Why do I even have to know its medicinal properties—isn’t civilization a bit past mashing up voodoo pastes?
Filling in his best answers—slightly-informed guesses, more like, mostly based on whether or not the plant sounded like something he’d seen before since everything that wasn’t poisonous would have somehow found its way onto some snobby restaurant’s menu—Camden scanned his answers through for any more notations before rising and turning his exam in. He’d never been one for deliberating over his gut instincts, especially not after the times when he’d changed his correct answer to the wrong one, giving into hesitation.
The next portion of the exam, as it was announced, was a physical one that seemed to draw on various parts of Camden’s life that he’d thought he could leave behind for good. Well playing lacrosse for four years should mean I’m faster than the average Joe, and—never thought I’d live to think this—Uncle Ted’s hunting trips might actually be of use, with his strange concepts of “what a man ought to know” and that nonsense. As long as there’s no butchering and gutting involved, that part should be fine as well Camden thought. As for identifying flora… Camden pulled a face. The flowers and woods, maybe, but definitely not bushes. Interior decorating is the farthest I went into poking around plants, how much help that’d be for exotics is questionable.
And so the exam went, with Camden keeping time from one station to the next but losing some time at every station as he tried to recall his Uncle’s booming voice. Thankfully, he made it through all the tasks without problem, though stalling a bit at each, but the clipboard-wielding examiner waiting for him at the end provided the real challenge.
“That one,” Camden panted, hands on his hips as he simultaneously caught his breath and bought himself time, “that one should be from some south Asian country, right?”
The examiner said nothing, merely noting something on his clipboard before showing Camden another picture.
“Poplar,” Camden said, recognizing the tree. Susceptible to insect attack, he thought, glancing at the examiner as he again, without a word, noted something down on his clipboard. Well, I’d say I’d get roughly half right. On a good day.
And so it went, Camden half-asking, half-answering the examiner’s questions until finally the clipboard-armed man was satisfied and Camden was allowed to proceed to lunch, during which he inhaled some food and waited patiently until the next part of the exam began.
Interviews, Camden thought, grinning. Finally, something in my corner of the field.
Ardanata Stamos
Camden Montero
Camden Montero
@Balthazar007 Okay, so Blazekin, for example, evolves at level 36 and would therefore be pushed down to a level 30 Combusken?
@Balthazar007Okay, sounds good. Have some more questions though:
1: are all trainers accounted for then? Can, say, a trainer be adventuring somewhere on earth and be "missing" or not accounted for, or not known whether or not he's there?
2: Can my trainer character own more than 6 Pokemon? Like is there a box system, or should the limit be 6 (say, because, the Pokemon not on their persons weren't transported over? But then can't someone simply withdraw the Pokemon on the other side? Or should all box Pokemon be transported over?)
3: What are the limits on the Pokemon Teams? It's just that the character I'm trying to make tends to treat Pokemon like tools and yada yada, so she usually has a few reserve Pokemon that she can swap out if she needs to (not to many, just for type coverage and whatnot). Would that be okay? But otherwise, are there standards for the Pokemon teams, or can they all be evolved and whatnot?
1: are all trainers accounted for then? Can, say, a trainer be adventuring somewhere on earth and be "missing" or not accounted for, or not known whether or not he's there?
2: Can my trainer character own more than 6 Pokemon? Like is there a box system, or should the limit be 6 (say, because, the Pokemon not on their persons weren't transported over? But then can't someone simply withdraw the Pokemon on the other side? Or should all box Pokemon be transported over?)
3: What are the limits on the Pokemon Teams? It's just that the character I'm trying to make tends to treat Pokemon like tools and yada yada, so she usually has a few reserve Pokemon that she can swap out if she needs to (not to many, just for type coverage and whatnot). Would that be okay? But otherwise, are there standards for the Pokemon teams, or can they all be evolved and whatnot?
@balthazar007 Question 1: has everyone from the Pokemon world been transported over? Or just some? Could, say, only part of my character's family have been transported over?
Question 2: What are prospects of returning the trainers who've been transported over? Are they stuck on Earth, or are they just helping to establish Earth's trainer system as their return is engineered?
Question 2: What are prospects of returning the trainers who've been transported over? Are they stuck on Earth, or are they just helping to establish Earth's trainer system as their return is engineered?
Aedre Charbonnet
— Mesalon Cave Complex —If the ghastly flames that—even without wind—flickered with life hadn’t said enough as to the cavern’s paranormal nature, Rachel’s subsequent panic certainly did. Her release of her Pokemon prompted Aedre’s hands to her own Pokeballs, and a few seconds later Aedre saw what the gym leader had instinctively sensed: eyes blinking out of the darkness. wild Ghost-type Pokemon.
Her breath caught in her throat, but she refused to let her fear show. Ghost-types were notorious for their whimsical nature that often turned on a dime, and anything that might change the nature of their interest, such as a sudden shift of emotion in the subject of their observation, may give them the final nudge they needed to finally spring into action.
The Gengar’s Shadow Ball, therefore, took Aedre completely by surprise, not so much because she’d forgotten about the spike-crowned ghost-type—how could anyone?—than because she was newly reminded of just how much of a threat, a danger, the Gengar posed.
Thank Arceus he’s on our side, Aedre thought, and not for the first time, as her gaze turned from the Gengar to his current trainer, then back to Rachel when the gym leader started speaking. Her words brought both comfort and another twinge of uncertainty: would the trainers continue braving the cavern despite the clear promise of dangers they’ve seen and have yet to see?
Her unasked questions, however, were quickly answered, though not without raising different ones. Lan—the gym leader of Mesalon, who, as Rachel reasoned, had to have known of the cavern’s existence—was the new mystery. His status as a gym leader coaxed trust from Aedre, but how much trust should she really have for the gym leader of a region she’d only recently arrived in, only just begun to see?
“Well, I don’t have too much experience myself, but I think keeping in mind that every ghost-type is different but that many are fairly temperamental is a start,” Aedre said when Amber asked about pointers on training ghost-types. “Past that, I think Rachel has about as much knowledge as me, being a gym leader...”
She trailed off, at a loss for words because really, how much advice had she, a fledgling trainer who only recently traded lab goggles for running shoes, to give?
There was a sudden motion in the background, and Aedre turned to catch a scarlet-eyed sarcophagus rising out of the darkness, its shadowy black arms snatching at the nearest trainer, Amber, without success.
“Amber!” Aedre shouted in alarm, eyes wide. What might have happened had the ghost-type Pokemon made contact with the researcher, Aedre didn’t want to know. She’d done her research on the subject since Honedge were notorious for doling out adverse effects if touched, and she knew that with malevolent ghost-types, making contact rarely yielded positive—or even neutral—outcomes.
Thankfully, with Rachel’s Tyranitar lending a very strong, very helpful hand, the trainers quickly made it out of the cave. Outside, they were met with, besides an enthusiastic flying football of a Pokemon, a familiar sight—one that Aedre, despite her limited time with the group, recognized.
“Hey!” Aedre said, grinning and waving at the familiar faces.
As the conversation progressed, it became blatantly clear that Amber and the new addition to the group, Vivianne, knew each other. Vivianne’s subsequent introduction answered some questions, but the heavy awkwardness between the two, despite the ongoing casual conversation between them, was tangible.
“Aedre, aspiring scientist as well,” Aedre said when Vivianne introduced herself. “Nice to meet you.”
The roar, followed by Oscar’s disappearance towards, stirred the group into motion after him. Upon spotting the swarm of Zubats, Aedre quickly released her own Pokemon, minus her Honedge.
“Thea, Charm. Little, Quick Attack them while they’re distracted,” Aedre said, her Pokemon nodding and charging into battle together.
Them tag-teaming a few Zubat should be no problem, Aedre thought, glancing around at the other trainers.
A Flash from Rachel’s Cradily sped the entire process along, and Amber and Vivianne arrived soon after to help. With the Zubat soon cleared out, Aedre’s Pokemon returned to her, Little perching on her shoulder after Aedre bent down and picked up Thea. The wild Kommo-o had succumbed to exhaustion and was being tended to, and nearby, Oscar was leaning over something on the far side of the cavern.
“Wow—is that?” Aedre asked, eyes widening at the sight of a small dragonling appearing from its hidden nest. Following its path with her eyes, Aedre saw Amber and Sophia crouched over the fallen Kommo-o. Amber merely looked worried, but Sophia looked almost stricken, her eyes wide and features tight.
“Everything alright?” Aedre asked, walking over, brows knitting as Sophia shook her head. “What—”
Her eyes snapped to the fallen Kommo-o as realization washed over her.
Oh, she thought, her grip tightening on Thea, who turned to stare at her trainer in confusion, her little arms reaching out for her trainer’s in concern. Oh.
Aedre nodded numbly as the conversation progressed, her eyes fixed on the fallen Kommo-o. Such was the nature of life, wasn’t it? She’d studied it, read it, learned it in articles and dissertations, yet the chilling solemness of the body there, on the floor, brought about a fresh bought of sorrow.
Is this what ghost-type Pokemon remember? she wondered. Or do they not even recall the moments of their death?
“What about the rest of her clutch?” Aedre asked, nodding at the hidden nest once discussion over the bravest Jangmo-o was over. “We probably shouldn’t move them, seeing as they’re probably scared enough as is, but we can’t just leave them here…”
@luckyblackcat @heckno12 @AbysmalDemon @Noxx @fer1323
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