the crown prince
masculine
twenty-eight
may 20
hammerlocke, galar
heterosexual
archaeologist
aqua/ex-admin
born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes
TAG WITH @oslo
Remiel Calcifet
implications of abandonment [m]
POSTED ON Dec 22, 2019 20:25:41 GMT
the trees can't grow without the sun in their eyes; and we can't live if we're too afraid to die Hoenn had succumbed to a sudden snowfall that blanketed the region in places where it never had before. The phenomena itself was strange and filled with mystery. Remy had attempted to investigate it himself, but many of the routes and pathways were blocked by rangers and league trainers alike. If you didn't have authorization, you couldn't get through... at least, not without the risk of drawing the wrong kind of attention to yourself. As a foreigner, he'd managed to keep himself off the radar so far. And he wouldn't throw away his caution so easily. As fate would have it, however, there was a need for experienced trainers who could help with the rescue efforts of wild Pokémon. A small herd of Pokémon from Route 113, mostly consisting of clumsy Spinda, had gathered at the top of the mountain pass on Route 111. The weather conditions had worsened and it appeared that they were at an impasse without trainer assistance. Though mostly curious about the weather up there, Remiel reasoned it would prove to be quite the challenge guiding the herd down the mountain pass on his way back as well. So he signed up.
| | | The festive lights decorating Fallarbor Town were far behind him now... and there seemed to be no civilization for miles. This was the farthest he'd gone. There was a vast snow clearing preceding the mountain pass on Route 111, flanked by rocky ledges and snow-covered pines on both sides. Remiel had never been here before, and was scrawling notes and drawings in his journal as the last of the Pokémon gathered in the herd ahead of him. Unfortunately, the snow gently falling from the sky seemed to insist on soaking itself into the pages of his journal as well. He sighed and, eventually, snapped the journal shut. After putting it away in his brown leather bag, the young man threw on the furry hood of his insulated Bouffalant wool parka and rubbed the dark brown gloves on his hands together. He was ready to go. As he looked to see whether the last of the herd had gathered, however, he saw somebody approaching. Was that actually... Reagan? He reached to balance his glasses on the bridge of his nose, before realizing he was wearing his contacts today. After trudging closer to her with his black snow boots, however, he confirmed his suspicion. And he didn't know what to say.
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