EXPLORE

EXCURSION

“INDEED.”

a handshake stifles what humility fernando can spare at the other’s words. for verbal foreplay can only circle around so many times before the edging gets in the way of their priorities. after all, these grounds are unexplored and therefore dangerous. prepare for the worst and expect the unexpected.

“we shall.”

hoenn’s staple, a SALAMENCE, careens its elongated neck over the chasm’s edge. while not as reckless nor as sharp as freya morningstar, fernando’s chance at dragon riding is swift and without restraint. the pokemon takes a few steps before plunging into the open sky, descending in a nosedive to expedite their surveying.

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Gwyar Wledig

Ki4n4Hqv

WHAT PRIDE HATH WROUGHT

mission

BLOOD SPLATTERS ALL OVER ITS KILL. sharp teeth tear through supple flesh. the pokemon’s skin may seem smooth but it folds like jelly when sliced by teeth and claws alike. a PSYCHIC power tries to push the aggressor away but the barrier cannot seem to form. so, the pokemon relies on its secondary escape method.

the constant outrage and thrashing puts the pokemon within its physical sphere. like a defensive white cell, the mewtwo congeals, looking to swallow the garchomp whole with its Z-MOVE, RETURN TO BABEL.

mewtwo absorbs the dna of a weakened pokemon. this move ignores basic typing, abilities, and moves.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Michael Navidson

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

“I—”

he starts but never finishes the thought. how many things had he wanted to tell her? to confess in the twilight of regrets dreams and wistful memories? stories he had whispered to Eva Morales under the secrecy of sleep keeps his moral poverty at bay.

he had this chance, once before. when a lift of his finger could reawaken the eternal slept. but self restraint let her rest, peacefully. available, but at arm’s length under the full understanding that to call for her would do irreparable damage to his psyche.

something he had ironed and folded a million time, in her name.

“the year of dragon is one that ushers in great prosperity.”

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Elisabeth Fiorelli

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

“HM.”

another pauses creates a mental timer for the boiling water. a coarse hiss escapes when he pours, eventually settling into a pair of porcelain cups. jasmine pouches float at first but they sink by the time he sets them down. a single eye watches the murky earthen tones pool as the water becomes increasingly unclear.

“…”

he stands at the other end of the table. joining her but not quite sitting.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Elisabeth Fiorelli

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

“AH.”

a pause slips under the duress of a kettle’s whistle. steam shoots through the nozzle until he moves it to an unlit stove top.

“i mean, do you take it plain.”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Elisabeth Fiorelli

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

“I CAN TELL THEM APART NOW,” he confides. “the ones that aren’t meant for consumption.”

which is about as detailed as he can get. for identifying between them is still an impossible task. they look exactly the same to him. subtle details that most can differentiate under scrutiny, has always been his weak point. a lesson she had tried to drill into him by sending him off into petalburg woods many times before.

again, something he had only learned after he had needed to. out of necessity, and out of abandonment.

“plain, no?”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Elisabeth Fiorelli

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

A BLACK KETTLE RESTS AGAINST AN UNTOUCHED STOVE TOP. flames billow at the turn of a knob, sparking several times, before the flame start to roast at its underside. blue and red clash against its metal surface but it takes time for it to heat. the water inside it remains calm as it cooks, well aware and unbothered.

his selection is well stocked and untouched, as per the course for a home that used but never lived in. a hand reaches out for the tea she prefers but he hesitates before he can reach for the packet. something fresh, dried and jarred from a harvest, had always been her preference.

something he had not prepared himself since before coming back to hoenn.

right.

he knows the answer in his head but lingering self awareness plucks at his consciousness. what he knows and what is real are two different things. the biting words she left him with serve as a reminder that she is not her, despite what his eyes and ears tell him.

“jasmine?”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Elisabeth Fiorelli

PRISMATIC PENITENTIARY[break]SIGN-UPS

LOCK IN

CHARACTER: FERNANDO SILPH[break]
WHICH WARD?: UGLY[break]
PREFERRED CELLMATE(S): Elisabeth Fiorelli[break]
PKMN TEAM (6 MAX): [break]

GLALIE
ZYGARDE
HEATRAN
NAGANADEL
SALAMENCE
SILVALLY

WHY WAS YOUR CHARACTER SORTED INTO THEIR WARD? (OPTIONAL):

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

THE THICK FABRIC OF HIS COAT is shed onto a nearby chair. what life remains, sleuths through the kitchen, infinitely smaller than before as his figure seems to shrink into itself. his own reservation makes him seem more fit for a specter–one she has yet to tame–than another companion.

in many ways, he is the cait alfric to her fernando silph. but he does not pang her with guilt or nag with whispers of the dead. he only has one question that flickers to life under a ticking stove top.

“should i make some tea?”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Elisabeth Fiorelli

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

HIS FINGERS LATCH ON FOR DEAR LIFE. like a child reaching for their mother, his grip finds its heculean strength from need. only when the air is pushed out from between them, until palm touches palm, does he relax.

fernando does not answer her. nor does he look at her. he diverts his stare onto the path ahead of him, surveying past what the murky skies hide in their purple and grey.

he shepherds her away as promised. away from the streets of slateport, so that the city may rest easy and empty. he brings her to a place she has known.

his cozy abode.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Elisabeth Fiorelli

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

ANGER BOILS. like steam, it rises to the surface, an expression as malleable as metal and equally conductive to the heat of the occasion. no matter what her voice may sound like, or what she may appear as–even the nuisance in how she speaks–the words do not match the character she portrays.

it infuriates him. drives him crazy. like a devout reader ingesting a bastardized rendition of their favorite character, he’s not sure whether it is pain or hate that fuels him. regardless of what it is, it forces him to break character too.

makes him an open book.

an arm reaches out. as if to grab her by force. to make her comply as she had so haughtily goaded him to. but it stops short, unable to commit to such a travesty. held back as his eye travels down the skin-deep scars tracing down her forearm.

it extends, palm up, fingers stretch wide open.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Elisabeth Fiorelli

FAULTLINE

POST RT

“YOU HAVE NO CHOICE,” he says matter-of-factly. like an observation of fact rather than one of force.

“because you are so binary, herrera.”

predictable. malleable. exactly what he needs considering the volatility of his past prospects. and the best part is he’s already done all the work himself. for what does fernando have to say before others come to him with spittle foaming at their mouth while barking matias’ name?

“so immolate for me, as you always wanted to.”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
MATIAS SILPH

LUMINOUS

SLEEPLESS IN SLATEPORT

“GO HOME,” he says with rising inflection. both a warning and a chance to defuse this from becoming an escalated matter. for whatever odds she may hold, results are never certain. not until exercised.

“i can spare a modicum of misfortune and decline.”

the same cannot be said for her. even in the event she would eclipse him, he would sacrifice himself all over again. because she deserves the most. for what he couldn’t give to her before.

for what she wouldn’t accept back then.

“go home so i can rest peacefully knowing slateport streets are empty.”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
Elisabeth Fiorelli