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Old February 15th, 2013, 12:09 PM
Cutlerine
Gone. May or may not return.
 
Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: The Misspelled Cyrpt
Age: 20
Gender:
Nature: Impish
> Try inviting it inside and striking up a conversation.

You're pretty sure you need human lips to converse, and this thing doesn't seem to have any – or, if it does, it keeps them in a little bag and takes them out to play with in its spare time. No, conversation seems to be pretty low down on its list of priorities – far below 'eating your face', for instance.

Oh god oh god it's trying to eat your face—

> Quite an interesting fic you got here.

You are left in a position of some considerable torment as the Narrator takes the time to thank one of the voices in your head for its kind words. Man, that guy just hasn't been on your side since he slung a monster at your front door.

> If it attacks, as scary monsters are wont to do, sass it with a Buffy-esque one-liner and then kick it in the face.

It's a little difficult to think of sassy one-liners when fangs stinking of creosote are descending towards your face, but you do your best, knowing that you are a Pokémon Trainer and you have a duty to be awesome.

“Looks like the boot is on the other face!” you yell, and attempt to follow this up with a scissor kick to the head. Unfortunately, the Formerly-Unseen-But-Now-All-Too-Visible Thing interprets this as an offering of lunch, and seizes your foot in its mouth, hauling you off your feet.

As reeking saliva soaks into your trouser leg, you and pants-wetting terror have a brief mental tussle.

Pants-wetting terror is the victor.

Thrashing wildly, you manage to free your foot (though not your shoe) and scramble back through the doorway, slamming the door behind you and jamming the chair under the handle. You climb to your feet, breathing heavily, and check your foot; it doesn't seem too badly injured – you can probably run on it, anyway. Only now do you remember that you're a Trainer, not a warrior. You may be badass, but you do tend to rely on your own monsters to defeat other monsters for you.

You shift your gaze back to the door, a sense of mounting panic growing within you.

Something terrible is happening, of that you have no doubt, and you have nothing to defend yourself with.

There's a snarling hiss from outside and a sudden impact shakes the door from its hinges. Bits of wood fly away from it like knives and the door sprouts a jagged claw that swiftly begins tearing at the panels. You're even less certain than before that conversing with the thing is a good idea, but you're damn sure now that it wants to come in, and since its Horrid Slashing appears to be super effective against Door, it looks like it's going to do so within the next five minutes.

Beep beep. Beep beep.

It looks like your Pokédex fell out of your pocket and opened up when the Formerly-Unseen-But-Now-All-Too-Visible Thing pulled you over by the foot. It's lit up and beeping, which means it's registered something, but right now there's no time to look at it; you scoop it up, stuff it back into your pocket and make it your personal mission to get as far away from the door and the monster outside as possible.

There is a television here.

There is a refrigerator here.

There is a sink here.

There is table with three chairs here.

There is a makeshift barricade here.

For information about A Grand Day Out, a bizarre short story in video game form, click here.

Last edited by Cutlerine; February 15th, 2013 at 12:15 PM.