Michael Navidson
He/Him
33
October 13th
Slateport
Heterosexual
Elite 4.
Sheriff
In the warrior's code, there's no surrender. Though his body says stop, his spirit cries, "NEVER!"
Night Moves
POSTED ON Apr 2, 2023 1:37:52 GMT
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Saturday night descends on a city that insists sleep is for the weak. Spring is here. As far as the public knows, there is no impending disaster threatening to destroy Hoenn. For many of Hoenn’s denizens, life is good. It’s just another weekend. Paychecks have rolled into bank accounts. People have the night off. It’s time to party.[break][break]
Michael Navidson’s never been the sort of man who goes in for parties. His heart’s in the right place, he enjoys being out of the house, but his mind has always been business oriented. With a kid brother to feed, there wasn’t any time to party with all his friends who went on to be college students or big time Pokemon trainers. He’s a man chronically unequipped to have fun.[break][break]
Yet still, he knows he has to try.[break][break]
Looking at himself in the mirror, he sees the dark bags under his eyes. The pale tint of his skin. Ever since Mt. Pyre, he’s lost himself. Some part of him died with his little brother’s Gyarados. At least his clothes are clean and the lights are still on. There’s something approaching hope.[break][break]
“Pull yourself together, Navy.” He says to the man in the mirror. “Come on. If you’re gonna drink, at least don’t drink alone.” Pause. There’s hatred in his voice when he speaks again.[break][break]
“You’re better than dad.”[break][break]
He pulls on his jacket and steps out into the cool air of the evening. Spring’s here, but Slateport’s still a port town. A cool breeze comes in from the sea, even down here in the depths of the city. A quiet shiver runs down his spine, like the city trying to whisper a message he can’t quite hear.[break][break]
When he sets out, he doesn’t know where he’s going. Not to one of the fancy bars he imagines he’d find Melody and her other high class friends at. Not a nightclub, where he can’t hear himself think. Street by street, the city gets just a little dirtier as he walks. At last, he stands outside of a door.[break][break]
Ritual. Navy’s heard about this place. Been in the neighborhood a couple of times pursuing leads on cases. It’s a place where bad business can go down. It’d be better for him to go elsewhere.[break][break]
Yet he feels compelled to go inside. He steps into an old, comfortable looking bar. This place has weathered the years with admirable, enviable grace. He sits down at the bar. His eyes aren’t focused. Any experienced bartender would be able to tell at a glance his eyes were distant, rather than drunk.[break][break]
“Beer, whatever you have on tap. A tall mug of the stuff.” He puts down a few pokedollars to go with the order, never making eye contact. His voice hints at how bad he wants to force that poison down into his body, as if it can kill the storm of grief brewing inside.
[break][break]
+ ooc notes
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