[T] A Rocket's Diary [IC]
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March 7th, 2013 (4:43 PM).
“Yuppers. There are way too many big words,” he muttered to himself.
Juanito Gordito (or “Ernest” as he's affectionately called) woke up, realizing he has slobbered on his pillow. He barely remembered returning to the headquarters, let alone getting to his bed and falling asleep. The past few days had been somewhat hectic for him, and many events were becoming a messy blur, like a finger-painting supposed to resemble his life.
His wake-up call was a simple statement- one that was probably supposed to mean something to him. It didn't. Every day is just another day, so why would an announcement change that?
"Phase One of the E8 Project commences today. Please proceed according to plan."
Why was everything in phases? Why didn't they just get their work done all at once? It would seem quicker that way, whatever they were trying to accomplish.
Yuppers, today was Phase One. That meant he could get himself a Pokémon- something that's eluded him his entire life. That meant more responsibility; and that meant more work. That's exactly what he needed- more work. Not as if he didn't have enough of it to do already. Preserving your life is a 24 hour job, after all.
Ernest sat up in his bed and did his morning exercises- slowly stroking his mustache and flexing a few times in front of the mirror. Then he put on his favorite red suspenders and slipped his tiny little uniform over them.
Seriously, those things were made for some sort of stick person. It was already hard enough to get belts on, let alone his pants. Some of his belly has to hang out, but it's better than hiring a tailor and use up his meager paycheck.
After brushing his greasy black hair back with an economically-efficient comb (his fingernails), he exited the room and walked around, looking for the right room.
It took him a while, but he eventually found something that looked right. Slowly opening the door, he found several people in there already, holding some Poké Balls. Gaining some confidence, he strode in, jiggling as he walked.
Ernest saw that there were a few Pokémon left, and each of them were labeled in a rather makeshift manner. If he cared which one he received, he could find himself a reliable partner, possibly a permanent ally.
Who cares? He grabbed the first one that caught his eye and sat down without even looking at the label or who he sat next to. Life was better if there was a surprise waiting for him.
Joined Mar 2013
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