HoMac
they/them
26
December 29
Lavender Town, Kanto
Pansexual
Strugglebus
Cadet
TAG WITH @howl
howl mccoy
hey look ma i made it [m]
POSTED ON Jun 16, 2022 16:25:57 GMT
[attr="class","dorado2"] Howl’s feet had gone numb but that was the price they paid for public transportation-- just them, and Sequera next to them, bumping along on a shitty old bus seat, legs crossed beneath them to take up less room. Their Greninja leaned forward in some version of a meditative silence, but Howl was twitchy. Years of living under the Rockets Kantonian Regime would do that to you. On the opposite end of the spectrum, their iced coffee was now a bland, luke-warm amalgam of peppermint, white chocolate, and water, proof of the constant, ever-pressing heat; waves of humid stickiness trying to feel open the bus windows like prying fingers, fighting against the raging AC units stuck at the front and back of the bus. Hoenn was beautiful. Hoenn was moist. As the bus pulled into the Lilycove station and their location crackled across the airwaves, Howl sat up and winced at the tingles flooding down their legs to their feet. They stumbled for the doors, lifting their ghostly-feeling limbs with some difficulty, and only making it down the stairs thanks to Sequera’s assistance. The bus peeled away from the stop with a squeal of breaks and a heavy burst of exhaust, and then Howl and Sequera were alone in the blasting Lilycove sun. “This region,” Howl said, shading their eyes against the celestial orb in question, “is far too bright.” Sequera swiped Howl’s phone from their pocket and navigated to the maps app-- with some difficulty, given she had sticky, webbed hands. Once the path for Ranger HQ was set, the mechanical voice guiding them along, the two set off. Ranger HQ, much to its credit, looked older than the other buildings lining the strip-- but that didn’t stop tourists from pausing out front to snap pictures and read the plaques buried deep in the cement of the staircase. Howl dodged around them and climbed the stairs, pushing through the door into the blessed aircon. “Oh, mother of mercies,” they said, voice a heathenistic whisper, “I love you, modern technology.” Before the front desk lady could give them a weird look for talking to themselves, they stepped up to her station and dug out their ID. And, because they’d run into this issue during their emancipation, their immigration, and when signing up for their Ranger position, they said, “I’m here to see Commander Anderson.” A beat. “Howard McCoy,” they added, the murdered name a bitter taste in their throat. [attr="class","dorado3"] [attr="class","dorado4"] [attr="class","dorado6"]in the garden of evil i'm gonna be the greatest in a golden cathedral, i'll be praying for the faithless [attr="class","bycrane"]made by crane |
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