Scotti
He/Him
19
January 23
Wyndon
Bisexual
Cake Decorator
Cadet
I might not feel pain, but I can still bleed.
TAG WITH @biscotti
Biscotti Kingsley
[Skirmish] Scotti v Diana
POSTED ON Sept 21, 2024 16:44:35 GMT
[attr="class","blbqimg"] [attr="class","bisc"]Vanilla was missing. His stupid memes and texts hadn’t garnered so much as a simple read. And he knew his sister. Which meant he knew exactly where she’d probably been headed: Petalburg. The pipsqueak had more courage in her little finger than he did in his entire body. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure where she put that stuff. All that bravado meant there was zero chance she hadn’t tried to help. He gave it three days before he started to panic. ‘Please don’t make me come down there.’ This message is sent with a bit of sarcasm. After a few hours, he sent it again. ‘Please don’t make me come out there.’Sure, they called the cops, since she was a minor. But there were thousands of people missing out here. Dozens of people struggling to contact loved ones. That meant they were on their own. And he might be a bad big brother, but he couldn't just leave her here. He had to protect her. Laying his bike against a tree, Biscotti took a shaky breath. He reached into the bag around the back. He slipped a ruby hat over his head. It was a perfect match to his red polo. A pair of khakis finished off the ensemble. Though there was no visible Pokemon, he wasn’t alone. It just felt like brandishing a Pokemon was a BAD idea. With a capital B, and A, and D. His light brown eyes were currently heterochromatic. Why neither of them were purple, he’d never figured out. “Let’s go, Bubbe.” He grinned awkwardly as he balanced the pizza box on his arm. A feminine, elderly cackle told him his ghoul was ready to go. And, well, he hoped somebody wanted a pizza. Because he was in the pain gang right now, and he really didn’t want to experience any. After a few moments, he reached what seemed like a guardpost. Swallowing his words, he tried to get up the courage to speak. “Uh—” So far, so good. “I’ve got a delivery for, um—” The boy stared at the receipt for a moment, trying to recall the made-up name. But his nervous sweats had melted the receipt, dappling his palms with black. In the end, he settled for a defeated, almost wisplike: “Pizza?”
[attr="class","bisc"] [newclass=.bisc b] color: #DF4F52; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: .5px; [/newclass][newclass=.bisc i] color: #DF4F52; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: .5px; [/newclass]
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