Dr. Doug
He/Him
20 (40)
March 3
Viridian City, Kanto
It just works
AQUA, Combat Medic
Bug Catcher
5' 11" (181 cm) / 180 lbs (82 kg) height
5' 11" (181 cm) / 180 lbs (82 kg) height
You're being healed. Please do not resist.
TAG WITH @bugcatcherdoug
John Sullivan
PRISMATIC PENITENTIARY
POSTED ON Apr 10, 2024 20:50:56 GMT
PRISMATIC PENITENTIARY
ft. a whole lotta noodle arms, dummies and uggies.
 He stared at the mangled, decapitated corpse left in the Warden's wake with a burning, unblinking gaze, searing the sight into his frontal cortex.
It was difficult for gore to get a reaction out of him at this point— he had seen what people's and pokemon's innards looked like countless times by now.
The callous ending of life, however, never failed to get a rise out of him; where the floor beneath him anything less than solid cement, he would've crushed it under his grip. As it were, all he accomplished was injuring his nails.
The price for disobedience was steep— and the loss of a life, specially in circumstances like these, was tragic.
But he could take solace in the fact that their captors were foolish enough to actually believe intimidation tactics would work on Hoennians.
The bird. 3 wards. Chamber of desires. Never-rot. His digit dragged over his chain as he rose from his place against the wall, approaching the Megalopolan guard standing before the bars before looking down at what he offered.
Mochi. He thought as he stared at the sweet. Toxic Chain. Bird. Three Wards. Three... Statue.
Right— he had seen those statues. A dog, a monkey, and a bird.
Three wards. Dog. Monkey. Bird. Weakling. Dummy. Ugl—
"The hel— I am at least an eight!" He suddenly snapped as he snatched his mochi, snarling at the guards.
The f*cking nerve of these aliens; their taste was so shit they ate people, who the heck were they to call him ugly?
He chomped onto his mochi without hesitation, grumpily chowing it all down and chucking it down the hatch. It tasted pretty good, despite the... color, texture... everything else, really.
Whatever, it went down easy at least.
Watching his chain get attached to the bars, a thought briefly popped into his head as he took everything so far into consideration.
We could easily detain Rocket avatars with this thing.
He vanished the thought as soon as it came, though. This really wasn't the time to consider the uses the damn thing could have. He had more important things to keep track of.
The plan remained the same— shut up, keep your head down and play along while the warden was watching. Nothing had changed, which made him glad he hadn't let his mind wander too far yet.
Keeping track of time in a place like the one they found themselves in was difficult, usually intentionally so.
So he had been trying to do that ever since he woke up. Emphasis on trying, anyway.
He was a soldier— the discipline beat into him by the drill sergeants could be pretty useful on occasion.
His body tended to wake up within a specific time window. Somewhere between 6 to 8 hours after he went to bed. The more tired he was, the closer to 8.
He hadn't quite made it to bed the day before, but he more or less knew the time around which he had fallen unconscious. So he had what he considered a reasonable idea of how much time had passed between him falling asleep in front of his apartment's door and waking up in a jail cell.
Which made it much easier to try and draft the jail's schedule as the day went along...
It wouldn't bear fruits until at least a day or two passed, though. He would have to keep deep focus until then.
Perhaps ironically though, only time would tell if the effort was worthwhile.
For now... They had a mind numbingly boring task ahead of them. Actually sort of good for him; keeping track of the passing time was easier if he wasn't dedicating too much brainpower to something else.
Only problem was that his brain tended to try and wander to other... places.
She's fine. She's definitely fine. Stop thinking about ither. Don't get distracted. Just... focus on your work.
Get it done quickly.
Maybe if the fucking bird would stop messing with his freakin' rocks.
"Nghgtrghggrrr...!" He took in a deep breath as he got his rocks slapped out of his hand by the passing warden, the damn bird not even stopping to appreciate its handy work.
There was a large cut running along his palm now. After watching him deftly avoid prickling himself on the damn rocks for the past hour, the freaking bird had apparently had enough and gotten it done itself.
Dick.
He was more pissed at the thing's smug attitude, though. The sound of his grinding teeth alone seemed to be enough to make it preen.
Just another reason to calm down and quiet himself.
The crystal had some of his blood on it now. Fantastic.
With an irritable grunt, he brought it against his top and began to rub once again.
They had been at this for while. Where they expected to stay there until all crystals had been sorted?
His gaze rose from his hands, looking near himself briefly. How was his cellmate holding up?
Miserably. The answer was miserably.
There was something awfully, frightfully familiar about the sad, miserable silhouette his cellmate cut. Shoulders hunched, occasional choked sobs, small frame...
His hand moved on reflex to catch the crystal they dropped, snatching it mid bounce between index and thumb.
"Careful." He muttered lowly, rolling the crystal in his hand before clicking his tongue.
There was blood on it.
"Damn it."
Getting injuries, even small ones, in a place like this was dangerous. Infections were abound in prison.
His gaze rose to the other's hand as he began scuttling closer, bringing the crystal to the inside of his thick uniform... before he began cutting into it, ripping a small strip of fabric.
"Let me see the injury." He doctor-ordered, reaching for their wrist, digits wrapping around i—
Huh.
His hand squeezed gently at the wrist, fingers dragging over... suspiciously familiar blemishes.
Gripping more firmly, the doctor turned his gaze down and stared, rolling her arm around to look at the scars.
The very familiar scar.
Oh no.
His head slowly craned up to look at his 'cellmate', the eyes behind his mask growing wider, and wider...
No no no no no.
Even as he screamed inside his head, his hands worked, fastening the strip of fabric around the girl's hand, sealing her cut. He finished it off with as neat a bow as he could, patting her hand gently, cupping it between both of his own, before slowly letting his hands slide off hers.
She is not safe she is not safe she is not safe she is not safe—
She was right here, with him.
And that knowledge only filled him with dread.
_to9oelM
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"She's more of a Museum expert, but... she does specialize in ancient pokemon." He said, before tipping his hat to her, winking. "And no prob, Ms. Andrea. Say Hi to Ms. Yuina for me, won't cha?"
Yeah, well, Doug wanted their capture back, so they would have to fork her over. 
"They're only weak to three!" He said, pouting. Well, she wasn't entirely wrong. "Well, they are resisted by seven other types, I guess."
He reached over, ruffling her hair.
Petalburg Woods, the stomping grounds of Hoenn's bugcatching community, were in a mighty disarray. 
