Schuldig (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aufsassig) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
route_10652014-04-24 10:58 am
aufsassig) wrote in route_10652014-04-24 10:58 am
Entry tags:
She said I don't mind, if you don't mind
Who: Schuldig (aufsassig) and anyone who stops by!
Where: Around on Route 34 and Goldenrod City
When: Thursday, April 24
Summary: The lack of mental chatter in the city is starting to get to Schuldig, so he goes looking for someplace a little noisier — and finds it in the tall grass.
Rating: G to PG?
Log:
[It's been the better part of a week now, and Schuldig's telepathy is still on the fritz (although not on the Fritz, which he would argue is precisely the existing problem if he were the sort to make stupid puns, which he's not — usually), and that bothers him. In his experience, the only times a psychic has ever been cut off from their abilities is when there's someone out there actively blocking them from it, and it's bad enough an implication that there's someone out there cutting him off at all; worse still, he doesn't actually know who's doing it, which makes resolving that little complication a hell of a lot more difficult.
What he's been surprised to find, though, is that it still works fine around the animals. It's too quiet in the base with all the people floating around like enigmas to him, and the few animals he's run across in there have all had a sort of unsettling undercurrent in their thoughts — love the team, support the team, fight for the team, all glory to the team. The degree to which he can sense it tends to vary based on the animal, but it's always there, even in his own organization-given rascals.
There used to be an old saying around school, about never trusting a gun that someone else handed you. He assumes the same probably goes for — what did they call them? Pokemon. That's not to say the gun isn't useful, or that you ought to throw it away instead of making your life a little easier (and someone else's a little shorter) with it. You just...never forget where it came from, that's all.
That means a team of his own. One he makes himself, not one he's given. Crawford would approve of that, right?
And that's how he'd discovered that it's actually quite a soothing place to be, out in the tall grass on Route 34; there's a brace of trees on one side and the faint rushing of the ocean on the other, but amidst the rustling of the tall blades in the afternoon breezes, there's a bright clamor of minds all chattering away. The noise makes the world feel a little less empty and dead, and even when they encroach in on his thoughts, it's never hard to distinguish between himself and some dopey beaver rustling around for twigs. It's telepathic white noise, filled with simple desires and instinctive aims, and it's soothing. Bless that overhead sun; he'll stay out here all day.
...He's also got his Team-given Abra out, and in between his busy schedule of sunning himself and reading magazines he probably stole from inside the Base, he's lazily pitting her against whatever wild Pokemon might happen to drift their way — or whatever wild Pokemon he decides to compel to drift her way, because the little darling needs the practice, and you don't get stronger without effort and a healthy dose of anxiety and terror inflicted by your superiors.
And that's where you'll find Schuldig today — either soaking up the sun out on the Route as his budding collection of Psychic-types gradually grows, or wandering around through the city in the late afternoon, looking altogether pleased with himself (and fortunately not sunburned) as he surveys the wares in the windows of the shops in town and strongly considers buying himself an ice cream on his way back to the barracks.]
aufsassig) and anyone who stops by!Where: Around on Route 34 and Goldenrod City
When: Thursday, April 24
Summary: The lack of mental chatter in the city is starting to get to Schuldig, so he goes looking for someplace a little noisier — and finds it in the tall grass.
Rating: G to PG?
Log:
[It's been the better part of a week now, and Schuldig's telepathy is still on the fritz (although not on the Fritz, which he would argue is precisely the existing problem if he were the sort to make stupid puns, which he's not — usually), and that bothers him. In his experience, the only times a psychic has ever been cut off from their abilities is when there's someone out there actively blocking them from it, and it's bad enough an implication that there's someone out there cutting him off at all; worse still, he doesn't actually know who's doing it, which makes resolving that little complication a hell of a lot more difficult.
What he's been surprised to find, though, is that it still works fine around the animals. It's too quiet in the base with all the people floating around like enigmas to him, and the few animals he's run across in there have all had a sort of unsettling undercurrent in their thoughts — love the team, support the team, fight for the team, all glory to the team. The degree to which he can sense it tends to vary based on the animal, but it's always there, even in his own organization-given rascals.
There used to be an old saying around school, about never trusting a gun that someone else handed you. He assumes the same probably goes for — what did they call them? Pokemon. That's not to say the gun isn't useful, or that you ought to throw it away instead of making your life a little easier (and someone else's a little shorter) with it. You just...never forget where it came from, that's all.
That means a team of his own. One he makes himself, not one he's given. Crawford would approve of that, right?
And that's how he'd discovered that it's actually quite a soothing place to be, out in the tall grass on Route 34; there's a brace of trees on one side and the faint rushing of the ocean on the other, but amidst the rustling of the tall blades in the afternoon breezes, there's a bright clamor of minds all chattering away. The noise makes the world feel a little less empty and dead, and even when they encroach in on his thoughts, it's never hard to distinguish between himself and some dopey beaver rustling around for twigs. It's telepathic white noise, filled with simple desires and instinctive aims, and it's soothing. Bless that overhead sun; he'll stay out here all day.
...He's also got his Team-given Abra out, and in between his busy schedule of sunning himself and reading magazines he probably stole from inside the Base, he's lazily pitting her against whatever wild Pokemon might happen to drift their way — or whatever wild Pokemon he decides to compel to drift her way, because the little darling needs the practice, and you don't get stronger without effort and a healthy dose of anxiety and terror inflicted by your superiors.
And that's where you'll find Schuldig today — either soaking up the sun out on the Route as his budding collection of Psychic-types gradually grows, or wandering around through the city in the late afternoon, looking altogether pleased with himself (and fortunately not sunburned) as he surveys the wares in the windows of the shops in town and strongly considers buying himself an ice cream on his way back to the barracks.]