Post by breloom on May 17, 2009 20:33:49 GMT -5
Mhm. Welcome to Magma Utility Belt, a fic I'm deciding to post here that I have not quite finished (or, indeed, gotten past the first chapter) yet. The newer chapters could take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks to write, so... bear with me.
A dark and stormy night?
No, not quite, but the late hours of Lilycove City were certainly somewhere up there on a scale of one to ten.
It was eleven o’clock at night, and the only sounds coming from the nearly-deserted streets of Lilycove was the rain pounding down on roughly everything. By no means was this a freak rainstorm that was anything particularly troubling; it was just heavy rainfall. There was nothing out-of-the-ordinary about heavy rainfall in this part of Hoenn.
Nor was there anything out of the ordinary about the singular form that marched silently, dutifully, through the dark streets.
This singular form had a name; this name was Stellan Ritger. He was marching, stiffly, like he had a real purpose for being here that was higher than a mere (very wet) nighttime walk. Not bothering to huddle over or even attempt to shield his face from the rain save for the cloth protection of a red hoodie, the man seemed to give off an air that he owned the place.
Which, judging by the aforementioned red hoodie that quite clearly sported Team Magma insignia, he technically did.
Stellan was dressed in the attire of your garden-variety Magma Grunt: this included the strange, insignia-stamped hoodie with the horns on the hood. The hoodie was, as with all Magma Grunts, cut halfway down on the arms (where there was only bare skin under it) and the torso, to be replaced with a sleeveless charcoal-gray shirt. Keeping the same gray color scheme, the outfit passes by a standard-issue Magma Utility Belt and on to a pair of baggy pants. These pants stop short as well, to display red boots that are black on the bottom.
If glanced at extremely quickly by someone who knew about Japanese trends, he might have been pegged as a Ganguro-in-progress. Sticking out from beneath the hood of his be-horn-acled hoodie was blond locks of hair that varied greatly in length. Indeed, Stellan found it necessary to brush this out of his face on numerous occasions. His skin was quite tanned, as well; but unlike most people, it was genuinely natural.
Moving right along, it was quite clear from the conditions surrounding Stellan that no living creature, human or Pokemon, would want to be trotting along beside him. His Numel would fizzle out in an instant; ditto with Marcus, the Houndour he had caught right before moving out of Johto to the lovely region of Hoenn. Thus, the Grunt was forced to do his mandatory patrol of the dark city all by his lonesome.
Right now, his thoughts were focused on one and only one thing: the Wailmer that would surely be waiting for him at the beach, more than happy to ferry him back to the base and out of this Mewforsaken rain. With this pleasant thought to will him along, Stellan progressed without any incidents through the dark city. It had to be midnight by now; unless they were forced to, whom in their right mind would be out at this hour?
Finally, the nineteen-year-old Grunt’s bottle green eyes fell upon the beach. Relieved, Stellan made the first sound that had come out of his mouth since the start of patrol: a deep sigh of relief…
…that came to a screeching halt and died halfway out of his mouth.
There was a lump sitting on the beach. It was too big to be trash; and besides, trash wouldn’t be in an extremely human pose, washed up on the beach and smearing the sand.
Stellan’s gray boots pounded against the deep pockets of dirt and rock as he made his frantic way towards the body. The Wailmer could wait – what if this guy was dead? Team Magma were the general recipients of the ‘bad guy’ label around these parts, and it wouldn’t take much imagination to think of one of them murdering an innocent person (in the citizens’ eyes, anyway).
This body had to be moved.
Finally, after kicking out of the way various items of trash (like some guy’s shirt and a giant metal pipe that landed deep in a sand dune) the tanned man reached his target. From this distance, it was easy to tell that he was, indeed, alive – unconscious, but alive. The person – was it a man or a woman? – was lying facedown on the ground, sopping wet and looking as if the tide had beached him like a Wailord.
The person was wearing a black hoodie like Stellan’s own. Stellan had a red, horned poncho-hoodie that didn’t go down all the way; the other person had a solid-colored charcoal gray one with the hood pulled up over his face.
There seemed to be a slight disruption in the natural shape of the hood; it was almost like there was some sort of antennae that he was hiding under it. But the rest of the person looked human, and Stellan wasn’t one for science fiction. The gray hooded jacket looked to be the most interesting thing the guy was wearing; under that were black pants and leather boots.
Stellan figured that it would be easier to simply drag the person to the Wailmer and let that be the end of it. Alas, his conscience would not allow it, and grudgingly Stellan set to work bringing the guy (for it was, indeed, a man) back to consciousness. He began by sinking to his knees and lightly poking the hooded figure. The person didn’t react. Stellan prodded him again, with more force this time.
He might as well have been prodding a rock.
Finally, Stellan gave up with the poking and decided to shake the guy’s body. He put his gloved hands on the other guy’s back and began rocking it, gracelessly, back and forth. Nothing happened except the body in a slightly different position.
It suddenly occurred to Stellan that he hadn’t checked the man for any hidden items yet. For all he knew, this guy could be storing a blunt weapon anywhere on his person. Stellan crawled nearer to the man’s head on his knees, and reached out black-gloved hands to pull back the hood. But as soon as he had wrapped his fingers around the fabric, the guy moved as if a jolt of electricity had passed through his body.
Almost immediately, the man was to his feet before Stellan could react.
As Stellan took a standing pose again, the man made quite sure that his hood was pulled far over his face – so far, in fact, that the top half of his face was thrown into shadow – and then looked right at Stellan. The Magma Grunt noticed with a jolt that somehow, the man’s eyes were not affected by the shadow of the pulled-forward hood like the rest of his face was.
The other man opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped. A jolt seemed to course through his body. Without warning or explanation, he began looking around wildly.
Not seeming to find what he wanted in the immediate area, the man tore off down the coastline.
“Hey!” Stellan yelled as he followed. “What’s the deal? What do you need?” There was no response, and so the duo kept chasing each other for a good five minutes or so. The other guy was stopping every few seconds to whip his head around wildly, and then started running off again. Stellan could barely keep up, but he continued to yell.
“You! You, guy in hoodie! What’s the deal?” Stellan yelled in between gasps for breath, so loud that it echoed off of the rock walls that trailed along the coast on the side nearer to land.
This recent action seemed to halt the man. He stopped again. Instead of whipping his head around wildly, he glanced around more slowly. Eventually making a 360-degree turn, the man glanced back behind him – right at Stellan. Then his eyes widened, and he was off barreling through the dunes again.
On a crash course for the blond-haired Grunt.
Pushing him out of the way with one arm, Stellan was on the ground face-up in a matter of seconds. Without pausing, even for a second, to glance backwards to see if he was alright, the guy did not stop until he finally came to a halt again.
By this time Stellan was on his feet and nearing the target. As he stopped a few feet away, he called again. “Hey!”
Instead of a response, the man sank to his knees and started digging. As Stellan approached, he noticed that the other man didn’t seem to be aware of anything else that was happening; he let Stellan approach without even a sideward glance. Frowning slightly, Stellan listened for a few minutes to his frantic breathing and finally realized that noise was actually coming out of his mouth.
“Come on… come on... come on… where? Where did it fall?”
Just as Stellan was about to ask what on Arceus’ green earth he was talking about, everything stopped. The murmuring stopped. The digging stopped. The only noise was both of them, panting like dogs.
Finally, after wiping his sand-coated hands on his pants, the man reached down into the hole he had produced within the mound of sand they had passed earlier. What he came out with made Stellan’s mouth fall open.
Lodged in the dune was a long, thick metal pipe that he had regarded as trash earlier on.
“Thank Mew,” the man murmured. He suddenly became aware that someone was staring, slack-jawed, behind him and craned his head to face Stellan.
“Hello,” he said calmly.
Stellan just blinked, not quite believing that this could actually happen despite the fact that it kind of was.
Magma Utility Belt
[ chapter one ]
[ chapter one ]
A dark and stormy night?
No, not quite, but the late hours of Lilycove City were certainly somewhere up there on a scale of one to ten.
It was eleven o’clock at night, and the only sounds coming from the nearly-deserted streets of Lilycove was the rain pounding down on roughly everything. By no means was this a freak rainstorm that was anything particularly troubling; it was just heavy rainfall. There was nothing out-of-the-ordinary about heavy rainfall in this part of Hoenn.
Nor was there anything out of the ordinary about the singular form that marched silently, dutifully, through the dark streets.
This singular form had a name; this name was Stellan Ritger. He was marching, stiffly, like he had a real purpose for being here that was higher than a mere (very wet) nighttime walk. Not bothering to huddle over or even attempt to shield his face from the rain save for the cloth protection of a red hoodie, the man seemed to give off an air that he owned the place.
Which, judging by the aforementioned red hoodie that quite clearly sported Team Magma insignia, he technically did.
Stellan was dressed in the attire of your garden-variety Magma Grunt: this included the strange, insignia-stamped hoodie with the horns on the hood. The hoodie was, as with all Magma Grunts, cut halfway down on the arms (where there was only bare skin under it) and the torso, to be replaced with a sleeveless charcoal-gray shirt. Keeping the same gray color scheme, the outfit passes by a standard-issue Magma Utility Belt and on to a pair of baggy pants. These pants stop short as well, to display red boots that are black on the bottom.
If glanced at extremely quickly by someone who knew about Japanese trends, he might have been pegged as a Ganguro-in-progress. Sticking out from beneath the hood of his be-horn-acled hoodie was blond locks of hair that varied greatly in length. Indeed, Stellan found it necessary to brush this out of his face on numerous occasions. His skin was quite tanned, as well; but unlike most people, it was genuinely natural.
Moving right along, it was quite clear from the conditions surrounding Stellan that no living creature, human or Pokemon, would want to be trotting along beside him. His Numel would fizzle out in an instant; ditto with Marcus, the Houndour he had caught right before moving out of Johto to the lovely region of Hoenn. Thus, the Grunt was forced to do his mandatory patrol of the dark city all by his lonesome.
Right now, his thoughts were focused on one and only one thing: the Wailmer that would surely be waiting for him at the beach, more than happy to ferry him back to the base and out of this Mewforsaken rain. With this pleasant thought to will him along, Stellan progressed without any incidents through the dark city. It had to be midnight by now; unless they were forced to, whom in their right mind would be out at this hour?
Finally, the nineteen-year-old Grunt’s bottle green eyes fell upon the beach. Relieved, Stellan made the first sound that had come out of his mouth since the start of patrol: a deep sigh of relief…
…that came to a screeching halt and died halfway out of his mouth.
There was a lump sitting on the beach. It was too big to be trash; and besides, trash wouldn’t be in an extremely human pose, washed up on the beach and smearing the sand.
Stellan’s gray boots pounded against the deep pockets of dirt and rock as he made his frantic way towards the body. The Wailmer could wait – what if this guy was dead? Team Magma were the general recipients of the ‘bad guy’ label around these parts, and it wouldn’t take much imagination to think of one of them murdering an innocent person (in the citizens’ eyes, anyway).
This body had to be moved.
Finally, after kicking out of the way various items of trash (like some guy’s shirt and a giant metal pipe that landed deep in a sand dune) the tanned man reached his target. From this distance, it was easy to tell that he was, indeed, alive – unconscious, but alive. The person – was it a man or a woman? – was lying facedown on the ground, sopping wet and looking as if the tide had beached him like a Wailord.
The person was wearing a black hoodie like Stellan’s own. Stellan had a red, horned poncho-hoodie that didn’t go down all the way; the other person had a solid-colored charcoal gray one with the hood pulled up over his face.
There seemed to be a slight disruption in the natural shape of the hood; it was almost like there was some sort of antennae that he was hiding under it. But the rest of the person looked human, and Stellan wasn’t one for science fiction. The gray hooded jacket looked to be the most interesting thing the guy was wearing; under that were black pants and leather boots.
Stellan figured that it would be easier to simply drag the person to the Wailmer and let that be the end of it. Alas, his conscience would not allow it, and grudgingly Stellan set to work bringing the guy (for it was, indeed, a man) back to consciousness. He began by sinking to his knees and lightly poking the hooded figure. The person didn’t react. Stellan prodded him again, with more force this time.
He might as well have been prodding a rock.
Finally, Stellan gave up with the poking and decided to shake the guy’s body. He put his gloved hands on the other guy’s back and began rocking it, gracelessly, back and forth. Nothing happened except the body in a slightly different position.
It suddenly occurred to Stellan that he hadn’t checked the man for any hidden items yet. For all he knew, this guy could be storing a blunt weapon anywhere on his person. Stellan crawled nearer to the man’s head on his knees, and reached out black-gloved hands to pull back the hood. But as soon as he had wrapped his fingers around the fabric, the guy moved as if a jolt of electricity had passed through his body.
Almost immediately, the man was to his feet before Stellan could react.
As Stellan took a standing pose again, the man made quite sure that his hood was pulled far over his face – so far, in fact, that the top half of his face was thrown into shadow – and then looked right at Stellan. The Magma Grunt noticed with a jolt that somehow, the man’s eyes were not affected by the shadow of the pulled-forward hood like the rest of his face was.
The other man opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped. A jolt seemed to course through his body. Without warning or explanation, he began looking around wildly.
Not seeming to find what he wanted in the immediate area, the man tore off down the coastline.
“Hey!” Stellan yelled as he followed. “What’s the deal? What do you need?” There was no response, and so the duo kept chasing each other for a good five minutes or so. The other guy was stopping every few seconds to whip his head around wildly, and then started running off again. Stellan could barely keep up, but he continued to yell.
“You! You, guy in hoodie! What’s the deal?” Stellan yelled in between gasps for breath, so loud that it echoed off of the rock walls that trailed along the coast on the side nearer to land.
This recent action seemed to halt the man. He stopped again. Instead of whipping his head around wildly, he glanced around more slowly. Eventually making a 360-degree turn, the man glanced back behind him – right at Stellan. Then his eyes widened, and he was off barreling through the dunes again.
On a crash course for the blond-haired Grunt.
Pushing him out of the way with one arm, Stellan was on the ground face-up in a matter of seconds. Without pausing, even for a second, to glance backwards to see if he was alright, the guy did not stop until he finally came to a halt again.
By this time Stellan was on his feet and nearing the target. As he stopped a few feet away, he called again. “Hey!”
Instead of a response, the man sank to his knees and started digging. As Stellan approached, he noticed that the other man didn’t seem to be aware of anything else that was happening; he let Stellan approach without even a sideward glance. Frowning slightly, Stellan listened for a few minutes to his frantic breathing and finally realized that noise was actually coming out of his mouth.
“Come on… come on... come on… where? Where did it fall?”
Just as Stellan was about to ask what on Arceus’ green earth he was talking about, everything stopped. The murmuring stopped. The digging stopped. The only noise was both of them, panting like dogs.
Finally, after wiping his sand-coated hands on his pants, the man reached down into the hole he had produced within the mound of sand they had passed earlier. What he came out with made Stellan’s mouth fall open.
Lodged in the dune was a long, thick metal pipe that he had regarded as trash earlier on.
“Thank Mew,” the man murmured. He suddenly became aware that someone was staring, slack-jawed, behind him and craned his head to face Stellan.
“Hello,” he said calmly.
Stellan just blinked, not quite believing that this could actually happen despite the fact that it kind of was.
