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!"
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Once upon a time, Roland was given a choice. He was a young Kirlia. Navy and his brother raised him together. They offered him a choice. Would he rather be a Gardevoir, an elegant creature who danced I the backlines, or a knight charging the front?[break][break] Roland was and always will be a warrior. It’s what he was good at from the time he was a Ralts. His mind calculates the ebbs and flows of a battlefield. In the midst of all this chaos, he feels peace. Content. Zen. A dazzling hypnotic rainbow flashed before his eyes.[break][break] Calming.[break][break] Peaceful.[break][break] A gambit that would on four of the other Pokemon on Navy’s team. The great wyrm Vortigern’s heart beat with rage. He wants nothing more than to fight. Cassius would fall to the dazzling patterns for a calm fighter is no fit fighter, or so the Machamp believes. Ironsides would just see it as an opportunity to give up. Junior would spy a butterfly in the patterns and chase them.[break][break] Roland is always calm. Battle gives him euphoria. He dances around the barrier. Attacking it from all sides. Slashing it again and again. He wishes that he could simply communicate a telepathic message to the beetle. Tell her to take her master and run. Alas, he chose the martial path. The might of a Gardevoir’s mind would not be his.[break][break] Every path a man takes in life requires a sacrifice. The same can be said for Pokemon. He is content with the path he has chosen. That acceptance lets him see the dancing patterns for what they are. A distraction.[break][break] And he persists in striking the barrier, even as his ears bleed. Even as the light threatens to blind him if he is not careful. His scythe blades rush to find purchase. Just enough to knock the bug out. A skilled warrior can disable without killing. He is not the dragon.[break][break] The dragon is the one standing over the masked man. Slamming his fist down onto someone that has nothing to do with his problem. He looks at the man with unmistakable rage in the beaten metal of his eyes. His knuckles bleed after the third hit. This is but the opening salvo in the long day that is to follow and he is already injuring himself for this fight.[break][break] It’s the principle, really. It’s the repetition. Navy hates the Rockets, but somewhere deep in his heart of hearts, he thinks they have a point. For a thorn like this to persist like they do, cropping up time and time again, the League truly must be incompetent. There’s a flaw in the system somewhere.[break][break] “Hell no it won’t!” He agrees with the man as his fist thumps against his forearms. Navy has no formal martial arts training. Everything he knows about brawling, he learned on the streets. As his dragon is the creature of the wilds, so too is he born from the urban jungle. A beast great as any Rocket to ever hold that title, with a beast’s anger in his eyes.[break][break] “But. It. Sure. Feels. Good.” It’s all the frustration he’s felt all these months. Hating himself for trying to find salvation in the bottom of the barrel. Cursing himself for letting bridges burn. Letting Kohryu die like that. Letting Gabe die like that.[break][break] If he’d just been there at Sootopolis, this full of piss and vinegar, maybe his brother would be alive.[break][break] So, he strikes. He rages against a man whose story has nothing to do with his own. A man at the wrong place at the wrong time when a rift pulled this dragon from the truck that acted as his cage.
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