blat. blat. blat. this isn't a driveby, no. this is a swarm of remoraid using your growing stalks as target practice. firing streams of pressurized water, your plants are in danger of snapping in half.

how will you defend your garden against the firing squad?! you're from a female frontline, aren't you?

post by june 7th to fend them off!

Bailey Cooper

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[break]

Bailey Cooper thought back to the start, trying to chart her destination from here to there, as her trowel split through the soil. Hoenn dirt sunk beneath her nails with each driving motion, separating topsoil from the nutrients that dwelt underneath. The smell of earth had always been a comfort.[break][break]

Reminded her of home—of Lavaridge. The rushing sounds of the ocean were an unfamiliar backdrop to the sight of red, towering rocks that had once surrounded her as a child. [break][break]

She had never been a reflective person—always tried to stay in the moment, just because it was too tiresome to give a shit about every little thing, every little loss, or every little mistake. That mindset kept her sane. It kept her alive... but in the silence of the farm, it was hard to deafen her thoughts as they gradually pooled into her mind.[break][break]

She heard the sound of crashing waves as if it was the sound of a hyper beam; the same beam that had almost obliterated her in the ruins of Mossdeep.[break][break]

An open cooler was to her side, filled with chilled, amber glass bottles. Six, sticking up from half-melted ice, clicking against each other beneath the heat of the sun. She would crack one open when she was done de-weeding and tending to the berry plots. This small farm had become her escape, her getaway, as the young Sergeant tried to recover from her ordeal.[break][break]

It was a place to be vulnerable. It was evident by the small sandcastle that rested on the beach, holding back the tide just as her old friend had done—the one she had lost.[break][break]

She had never lost a pokemon. It stung, just like another loss that festered and scraped at the back of her skull. [break][break]

A cold beer would ease its persistence from her mind.[break][break]

The heat made her strip away her white t-shirt, exposing the stripes of her bathing suit that resided underneath. “Fuck, I'm going to overheat,” and that excuse allowed her hand to drift to one of the cold beers.[break][break]

And then water struck her hand, batting it away with its pressured burst. “Ow! Ow! What the—?!” Her hand stung, but there would be no lasting damage... her eyes narrowed, turning to face the cliff's edge that this farm was perched upon.[break][break]

Remoraid. She could see the silver shine of their scales.[break][break]

“Electra,” and her Alolan Raichu was deployed from her pokeball. “Use Thunder Shock.”[break][break]

The attack was tossed into the waters, aiming to drive away the persistent fish.[break][break]

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Bailey Cooper

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The Salac Berries were ready.[break][break]

Bailey Cooper took her time, gently plucking each berry from their respective tree. The fruits were ripe, but the branches and the stock of the trees were brittle; decayed. It was the reason why Salac Berries were valued—as a wild species, they were not often sustainable.[break][break]

One crop yield was all they could offer.[break][break]

The berries were thrown into the small wicket basket by her feet—her hands were gloved just to keep the spikes from piercing the skin.[break][break]

“Anyway, yeah sure... I don't mind letting your Venusaur chill out here for awhile. It'd be good for the crops,” and she glanced over her shoulder to the original landowner. An older man who had been more than eager to sell the land for cheap. His head of white hair was impossible to miss.[break][break]

For some reason, his smile always unnerved her.[break][break]

“Have a good afternoon.” Neighbors had to be cordial—he also owned the lot of land adjacent to her. The two spare the small talk and wrap up their goodbyes...and she glanced to the napping Venusaur, noting that the grass-type had seen her fair share of fights.[break][break]

It was just her paranoia, she rationalized, as she prepared to plant her next batch of berries.

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THE WAR ISN'T OVER. the garden is rudely awakened at daybreak by a sudden attack on the girl's front-line.[break][break]

on the shore, octillery line their bodies in a startling formation reminiscent to that of a militia. their turret mouths, in disciplined order, shift their aim from beach apparel to the gardens. it's d-day. fire away.[break][break]

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She awoke to the sound of seed bombs bombarding the beach.[break][break]

Bailey Cooper, the ever vigilant solider, was snapped from her dreams as she jerked and slid out from her bed; a cacophony of crashing as an empty bottle of gin falls out of bed with her, bouncing against soft carpet before rolling for the door. Somewhere, in this mess, she can hear the cries of Chubs as his blankets are stolen.[break][break]

“F-FFFUCK! I'M UP! I'M Up! What's happening?! SHIT, SHIT!”[break][break]

In a half conscious haze, the Sergeant would forget that Rocket was defeated. She would forget that there was no encroaching ultra beast—she ran through the ranch house, bare feet trekking across the hardwood floor, passing her hoards of pokemon as they rested outside of their capsule; those too large for the house peering in through the windows to wonder why their trainer was so eager to bounce out of bed.[break][break]

“We got a fight! Move it! Go go go!” Like a drill sergeant calling to their resting cadets.[break][break]

Some follow, some groan and go back to sleep.[break][break]

An oversized t-shirt with coffee stains. Sweatpants that had seen years of abuse. Yes, this was her battle uniform as she kicked open the front door to spy the enemy at her shores.[break][break]

And then immediately back into the house as they pelted her with their pin-point precision; octazooka. [break][break]

The door would be slammed shut just to cut of the bombardment, her hair soaked to its very bone like an early morning shower. “Fucking remoraids are back,” and her eyes would be wide as her pokemon stared at her in confusion.[break][break]

“And they fucking evolved.”[break][break]

Would she stand here and let these pillagers assault her coast? Would these foreign invaders prevail?[break][break]

No. Bailey Cooper would wipe the water from her face, and when she came back to the door, a beach umbrella was held like a battering ram. Some pokemon stand behind her, at the ready.[break][break]

“Charge!” They'd rush the enemies on the beach, her umbrella functioning as a shield to divert the water blasts—a battalion close behind her. Kapow would leap over her leading form to fall down upon the army of eight-limbed foes like a bombshell. Tink would rain Air Slash down from the sky with long, sweeping dives.[break][break]

Somehow, in this mess, she found herself laughing almost hysterically as her pokemon join her in the fray, beating back the hoard of wild pokemon in the most stupendous, unbelievable manner possible. Craters are made in the sand, bursting up as if struck from mortar.[break][break]

They take one of the enemies captive—she threw a pokeball capsule to make it official as she collapsed, chest heaving but her smile beaming.[break][break]

“Holy shit,” and she'd fall back to the sands, opting to celebrate her victory by stretching out her limbs like a starmie and feel the warmth of the sand seep into her bones.

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THE WARFARE GOES MEDIEVAL when a doublade nears the garden. maybe it has heard of the legendary battles that have occurred on this front. guns and tanks have failed to breach the stronghold, but maybe a traditional approach would fare better. with rapid slices, the doublade rushes forth, aiming to shred the berry trees into ribbons.[break][break]

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"Screw off, ghost sword," and Bailey Cooper raised her shovel against the medieval Pokemon asking to get brained.[break][break]

These berries were too damn expensive for a ghost to get away with ruining them. If this thing wanted a war, it would get it.

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the doublade flees from the brandished shovel, but not before damaging one of the trees. for the steely consequence, one occa berry tree must be harvested on 9/20 instead.[break][break]

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She could see lines in the mirror.[break][break]

Thin, pale streams that pulled faintly beneath the eyes; against the crease of her brow. Age blessed her face like the crinkling of paper. Though they were insignificant grooves, she knew that with time these marks would grow deeper—following the passage, like walking a trail and watching the nature recede the further it was tread; it was the taming of a smooth landscape.[break][break]

Thirty years from now, she wondered how deep they would fold.[break][break]

She could try to hide it—makeup, skin-care products, moisturizer.[break][break]

“I'm gonna dry up any day now,” because it felt like time was spinning too fast; but, the thought does not scare her. Better old age than a hyper beam. Better old age than a shot to the gut. Better old age than being burnt to a crisp.[break][break]

Bailey Cooper pulled at the skin beneath her eye, stretching out the insignificant lines until they were even harder to see.[break][break]

“Will you still love me if I aged like curdled milk?” The question was followed by a head tilt, and she could feel the uneven bristle of her bangs against her marred forehead as she gazed at the lovable ball on her bathroom counter.[break][break]

Chubs clapped his flippers.[break][break]

“Of course you would,” and she kissed him atop his perfect, round head.[break][break]

Night graced the expanse of the farm, where the plots laid empty and the air was cold from the winter's chill. That would have to change; but, for now, Bailey Cooper was content with the silence.

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