[attr="class","frlastconttop"]

[attr="class","frlastcontmid"]



What the fuck was he saying? The roar of the sandstorm cut through his words, to where she was only able to hear every other word.[break][break]

Beautiful? Bailey Cooper could only glance down at herself, wrapped in an oversize mascot costume, and wondered what beauty could be derived from this ridiculous costume. Was he one of those guys that liked doing the nasty in costumes? “dude what the fuck,” she would mutter to herself, knowing that her voice was captured in the helmet encircling her head, not understanding the meaning behind his words.[break][break]

The change in shape was not slick—both bailey and her krookodile blinked, synchronized even if they were unable to see one another. The briefest flickering of a shadow growing in shape would not be lost on them.[break][break]

They knew when a swap-out was being telegraphed, even if someone was doing their damnedest to hide it. That came from years of experience. Years of battle. Even if her Krookodile had been consumed by an unyielding desire to battle, that did not mean that he battled without wit—that would have gone against his typing.[break][break]

spirit break came with its purple glow.[break][break]

Some pokemon were taught to dodge, weave, and evade oncoming attacks. Not this one.[break][break]

The attack would make contact—krookodile standing in place as the fist was driven against him. Its effectiveness came as an afterthought, a discomfort that had to be accepted if this battle was going to be satisfying. Up close, the distortion of the Krookodile would become apparent; the scars that ran like acid burns up his arms; the enhanced red of the skin; the smell that hung on his breath like a poison.[break][break]

But the punch had not sunk into the Krookodile's stomach[break][break]

A clawed grasp had wrapped around the closed fist—an inhumane force that had kept it from landing somewhere more effective. Black, thick ichor oozed from one broken and split claw, but that does not draw the Shadow Pokemon's attention.[break][break]

No, his foe would have all of that. A grin would manifest as his hand would tighten its grip, just to keep the fellow dark-type from trying to wretch away.[break][break]



With a speed that might have been surprising, Krookodile would use the forward momentum of his foe to his advantage—his leg jutting out as he ripped the grasped arm upward, trying to wretch the grimmsnarl from the ground and make it lose balance.[break][break]

And then a pivot, as the ground-type would shift his own weight and spin. With a strength that went beyond what was characteristic of his species, the Krookodile would attempt to toss his opponent straight out from the sandstorm, and straight against the cold, concrete walls of the battle arena.[break][break]

payback was always a bitch.[break][break]

If successful, Bailey would find herself throwing herself out of the way of the opponent's pokemon, cussing out of reflex. “Gator! Fucking watch it!” and she would mentally kick herself for speaking after all the effort that had gone into remaining stoic.

[attr="class","frlastconttag2"]