are made of these~
Timothy, or, as he had fashioned himself one afternoon in a flight of fancy, "Mothball", panted as he scrambled up the steep streets. Inevitably, he stubbed a toe against a losse bit of pavement and fell, scraping the palm of his hand and his already-bandaged left kneecap. He sighed, wiped his hand against his shirt a little, and retrieved a bandaid from his rucksack. He just thanked whoever was watching out for him that he didn't manage to break his glasses. Again. Scrapes, he could handle. Glasses were expensive and didn't heal.
It wasn't that there weren't other ways to reach Professor Vayne's lab. There were plenty of convenient forms of transport in the city, what with LATIOS being around to make life easier. It was just that Mothball knew he would probably end up accidentally giving somebody a black eye, or catching the wrong train or whatever, and end up getting there late. And he really, really didn’t want to be late. Besides, he thought he could use some exercise.
It definitely didn’t have anything to do with the fact that his sister was taking the train to go to her oh-so-prestigious job at LATIOS.
When he finally arrived in one of the main streets of the top tier, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. It really was beautiful up here. The view was magnificent, and the buildings were all so stately. He reached an arm up to run his hand through his hair and somehow ended up whacking someone in the arm.
"Sorry!" he said, cringing away from the person only to walk into somebody else. “Sorry,” he repeated, smiling nervously at the man who simply shot him an irritated look and left. The streets were more crowded than he was used to, which didn’t bode well for him. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and walked forward.
He promptly tripped over somebody’s shoe and cracked his head against the pole of a streetlamp.
"Sorry," he said automatically, and then winced in embarrassment when he realised he was talking to an inanimate object again. In an attempt to make himself seem like less of an idiot, he looked at his watch before starting in alarm. He really had to go, because if there was just one thing he didn’t want to be late for, it was this. It was a chance to get his very own Pokemon!
Mothball had absolutely no idea why the Professor invited him for this project. He was still waiting for someone to tell him the whole thing was a prank, or a misunderstanding.
Or that the invitation was really meant for his sister.
That would be okay. Certainly more understandable than him actually getting the chance to go on an adventure and do wonderful, brilliant things with his life. But, well. If there was even just one chance that this was real...
"Right," he said to himself and barged forward into the crowd. A moment later, a thump could be heard, followed by a muffled shout of "sorry".
To his surprise, he arrived at the lab a little early and with only one new bruise. His forehead was bleeding a little, but he failed to really notice. He fidgeted a little, feeling rather lost. Maybe it was rude to be early? He’d never actually been early anywhere before, so he wouldn’t know.
He looked for a doorbell or something, stumbling a little but righting himself. Man, he hated his growth spurt. He wasn’t half this bad before puberty hit and he shot up like one of the high-rise buildings that were everywhere in this part of the city.
He adjusted his glasses and decided to maybe wait for other people to show up first. He settled himself in a spot near the entrance of the lab, but far enough away that he didn’t look as though he was waiting on the doorstep like a desperate puppy. Even though, really, he was.