The P O K E M O N Hunger Games [Revived] (SU + OOC + Rated M)
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July 11th, 2012 (4:42 PM).
-being tossed on the pavement-
Why do YOU want to know? Õ__Ô
In the snowy mountaintops of District 10
Zhengzhou stands at about 5'11", nearly towering over other Mienshao of her kind. Through processes unknown, her body slowly began to adapt and became much more dexterous and nimble. Her chest, having caved in and structurized itself further up her torso, now breaths short and rapid, but smooth. This new apparatus enables her to make extremely long strides and attack for hours without breaks. The loose skin and fur that form the whips on her arms have grown long and sleek, allowing for further reach and dead-on effectiveness in-battle.
As for her legs, she has trained herself to stand upright and posterous, unlike the sloppy weasel-like stance found in the weaker, lesser versions of Mienshao kind. Her knees and calves, while small and brittle in appearance, can deliver powerful and destructive blows. The power concentrated from her core and focused into the joints of her legs grant her the strength to separate chunks of earth from ground, and break apart rock from boulders as well.
Zhengzhou is blunt and short, speaking only when spoken to, and keeping conversation as little as she can manage when she does. When she's not speaking, her mind always looks at peace. Thinking, scheming. There is no surefire way of determining just what really is going on in the mind of the elusive Fighting-Type Pokemon.
She is exceptionally cunning, using her nimble movements and disciplined eyes to decipher opponents and their motions, all without batting an eyelash to blink in between. Using her inner sense of focus, she meditates to recollect and assess any inner conflicts she may be facing. This form of being tends to relieve her of much built-up angst and anxiety, what little she may feel of it, that is.
While always ever so calm, this does not betray her ability to keep a close guard at all times, and to always watch out for her surroundings. However, while she does try her hardest to maintain her composure and mannerisms whilst in unknown territory, her distant sense of direction almost always seems to fail her. She can never cease to feel like the "odd woman out" when things begin to change and she's not used to any new happenings. That physical flaw on her part is what prompted Zhengzhou to find solice in training alone atop the chilled hilltops of Twist Mountain.
Zhengzhou's learned to accept it. The Hunger Games, the loss of love and respect she used to have from a loving Trainer ... all of it, she's come to accept. None of which came easily; it almost took her nearly 5 long years to have finally meditated enough to suppress her pains and forgive any and all responsible for her Trainer's death.
While under the care of another human, Zhengzhou was treated fairly. She was allowed her peaceful hours alone with her meditation, she'd been granted her regiment of training that could only have been regulated under the watchful eyes of someone who would only want to look out for her.
It didn't take long for Giovanni to spread his cold dictatorial influence across the world. Reaching out so far that not even the organizations filled into their own regions were powerful enough to stop their facade. It'd been too late to stop them ... once they came to Unova. Zhengzhou regretfully cannot remember the name of her late Trainer, which she'd already established long ago was only for the best; she had suppressed it all.
No longer could she remember the demeanor her Trainer may have used, their face, voice, eye color. Not even so much as a breath of Zhengzhou's master came through the psychological barriers she'd built around them. The pain of remembering such a time would only make her weaker, more vulnerable. That's something she couldn't stand for.
If it's one thing Zhengzhou would remember, it was that she would get her chance to fight. Do what her Trainer never got the chance to finish. She at least knew that the dying wish of someone who had fought so hard to protect something so special to them couldn't be to see it all go in vain. She didn't even need to hear their voice to know that.
When word reached her eyes of the next Pokemon Hunger Games, during one of her routine reconnaissance runs, she readily jumped up in representation of her district. People gave her confused and all the more frightened glares. Was she crazy? Had a death wish? Was someone she knew in the Games this year?
No. Her reason was her own, she didn't need the recognition of the lowly Pignite that bawled her thanks for taking her place. Why would you thank her? She merely prolonged the inevitable. Sure, she saved you this year. But what happens to you in the next when word gets back that you were the original sacrifice? Would they just let that all go and find a replacement? Not very likely.
Despite that, Zhengzhou trained and practiced day and night for the event, even going as far as two fuse sleep with meditation, as to make proper use of every waking moment to its entirety.
She knew she was ready to go in, and her opponents needed to watch out.
It was late afternoon one Sunday morning. Ladamer has been awake for what seemed like days now, yet it had only been six or seven hours to count. Whatever it was about today that made everything appear to move so slowly, he didn't like it. Probably a means of sorcery, no doubt. the young elf thought to himself, the words stooling around in his head as he tried to place happenings with fact. Still, despite all that'd been happening so far today, or the lack thereof rather, Ladamer found himself stuck alone in the study of Raelan Palace. There he sat, just himself a candlelight and an old Bredonian encyclopedia. Why he'd ever bothered to grab such a horrid and distasteful piece of literature, he'll never hope to reason. Still, with nothing better to do, why not have a little history lesson all to himself? Ladamer knew all to well why he'd chosen this book, however. And from the way the pages so effortlessly flew open towards the back of the hardcover, so did the book itself. Staring back at him, in tints of yellow paper and worn black ink, was his great-grandfather. Leviase Traener Vanhaussen. Militia leader and the greatest warhero of Lamapourean kind. The title fit that man better the glistening iron armor he had owned, which you could tell looked simply magnificent-even in the low-light and worn pages he was being admired under. "You were quite the man amongst men, grandfather ..." Ladamer said to himself as his fingers traced the penmanship of his late relatives posthumous naming. Why was this slowly becoming his favorite thing to do? Why was heading down to a local eatery and rambling through stories of old with his kinsmen such a wonderous and calming pastime for the young elf? Well, being the heir to an empire of loyal and loving Lamapourean kind definitely counted as a reason, and hearing about the man behind it all was the tiebreaker for another. Ladamer had heard the story about a thousand times. Had it been through the nasally passage of a human, it definitely would've had some misconceptions and many more lies than truth; something Ladamer would have definitely repayed with great punishment. If anybody, the story would've had to been told through the pride of a Lamapourean. Hearing it then, you'd have every last detail painted so perfectly in your mind, there'd be no need for any sort of reanactment or charade; although that would most certainly be an amusing touch. Ladamer gave a small muffled laugh at the thought. He'd have even allowed a human the privilege of mocking his grandfather then. I am Leviase Traener Vanhaussen, rightful aide to Raelusian Throne! In my hand is the face of true oppression! Look on with awe as I remove it from this land by the flames brewed by his injustices! Thinking of how it might have looked and sounded, what was once a small chuckle grew into an enormous chortling fit. Ladamer began laughing so hard his gasps for breath seemed like pleads of life from anyone merely listening in. Which was probably what started his guards on the outside into commotion. After slamming the library doors open, two gaurds came rushing in, swords and bows respectfully armed and in the ready. The room was silent, each and every corner of it. Surely what the guards heard weren't the makings of an attack on their Lamapourean vanguard? What would King Calason do should he hear of this? He'd have their heads on staves for it, worse yet fo the whole capital to observe in shock. They'd have to face their punishment, though. Ladamer was missing, and all the guards could hope for in the end was that Calason showed mercy on their--"...May I assist you two, gentleman?" a voice called as they'd emerged from behind a long bookcase. "L-Lord Vanhaussen!" the first of the two armoured humans called out in relief. Showing no sign of understanding, Ladamer simply tilted his head in confusion as the guards both removed their head visors to observe the King's Aide. "...Yes? Was something ailing you, my friends?" he asked after a moment. "We...we thought we heard screams ... Sounded as if someone was in pain..." the second man explained. Ladamer, while not conveying it, had much disdain towards the two daunting figures in front of him. My laughter is similar to pained screams? Ladamer thought concealing his scowl with zeal. He moved his arms into the outside sleeves of his ceremonial robe and headed towards the door, gesturing his companions out of it. "Well I assure you there's nothing of the sort going on in here, gentlemen. Now, if you have no further business..." The guards passed each other confused looks at Ladamer's calm tone, but without any other word, exited the room and heard the door click shut behind them. Ladamer simply walked back over to his grandfather's visage, and sat back down in front of it. My laughter doesn't sound like dying does it?...
Joined Jun 2012
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