[PKMN FULL] Cornered On The Market! [T](IC)

[Greiger]

Druag With a hint of Gabriel

Druag took another slow sip of his drink and felt someone patting his back.

He looked down at Gabriel with his one eye as the latter said "Hey, Druag, you okay there? You look a bit out of it. You aren't sick, are you?" Druag blinked slowly and took another sip, not answering the question and not immediately realizing who he was looking at.

Druag's eye sprang open and he spun in place, slamming his cup onto the counter and facing the Weavile with a mixed expression of terror and rage. Gabriel naturally jerked back at the sudden noise and now that the dragon was facing him he could see that it was a reaaaaally bad idea in stirring him from… whatever trance he had been in.

And then Druag calmed down when he remembered where he was. He wilted and rubbed his chest. His leg hurt. He picked his cup back up and drank some more before taking a deep breath. Too tired from his mental trial moments ago on memory lane to be angry and too ashamed of his conversation with Blair to feel any right in confronting Gabriel for her sake, he turned back toward the counter and spoke dismally into his cup. "What do you care? I won't fall over dead in front of the customers, so you have nothing to worry about."

Gabriel's didn't relax his body one bit as he let out the deep breath he had sucked in. "... No, just wanted to make sure that you were ready, that was all." He slowly said, "Not saying that you aren't, but just making… sure." An awkward silence persisted as Gabriel squirmed, "... Um… so you are ready. Just checking."

Druag paused in mid-sip and put his cup down on the counter, turning his head to look at the Weavile more critically, the lopsided quality of his one-eyed gaze at once as unsettling as it was incongruous. Gabriel had never struck him as the timid sort. Especially not a little bit ago when he was talking to Blair. "Are you sure you're ready?" Draug said, now.

"O-Of course." Gabriel accidentally stammered out, "I mean," He let out a soft cough, "Of course. Just, you know, making sure you were here with us. You seemed to be lost in your thoughts. Not that I should know those thoughts or such."

Druag sighed and refilled his cup from the pitcher. Although the vessel had proven to have a truly admirable capacity, it was under half-full now at Druag's constant nursing of it. He swirled the black juice, watching the liquid swish about. Druag, you miserable dolt, who do you think you are? Not only do you come in here and find out that Blair's probably had it just as bad as you in the most tactless manner you could, but now you're scaring this guy half to death! You were ready to tear him in half twice already today, don't you think he noticed?

Druag looked at Gabriel again, but with a dull eye, now. You think you have it bad Druag, who knows what these others have been through? Think you have a right to complain? Druag obstinately thought that he did have that right, and to prove it to himself he said, "Tell me about yourself, Mr. Gabriel." His fingers drummed on the head of his cane.

Gabriel paled a bit, not quite sure on what to say. Was this guy trying to figure out where he lived? Or what his schedule like? The Weavile took in a deep gulp of air, "Well… I'm a Weavile. And… er, I moved here about a month ago or so." He shrugged, "What… do you want to know?"

Druag smacked his lips on the aftertaste of the Black Aprijuice. Turned out it took about forty small sips to remind your tongue of just how nasty it was. "I came here about a year ago, myself," Druag said, the cold liquid pooling in his insides and doing wonders at calming his temperament. "Where were you hatched?"

"Er…" Gabriel frowned, "I don't know." He admitted. "My father never really told me."

Druag nodded easily, eye fixed on the far wall now as he settled into a proper platitudinous posture. "Mm. I never met my father. Mated my mother and disappeared before I ever hatched." He finished off his cup and despite his better judgement poured himself another. "You close with your father?"

"Not at the moment." Gabriel stated, "We were close when I was little. He taught me everything I know. But now he's… preoccupied. And we haven't really talked in the past five years."

Druag stopped in the motion of moving his cup to his lips and set it back on the counter, instead. Ah, there it is! Familial discord! Just like you, Druag! Or, you know, something like that. You stupid buffoon. Druag leaned on the counter with his elbows, letting his cane dance about in his hand. "You have any other family you're close to, Mr. Gabriel?"

Gabriel slowly shook his head, "I had no brothers or sisters. My mother is dead. My father is the only connection I had, but that went south." He crossed his arms, "Why do you ask?"

Druag took a deep breath. Why had he asked? "Most of my family's dead. Well, my parents had been taken by humans way long ago but, you know, that's pretty much the same thing. My uncle died of a tumor after that and then my aunt died after she couldn't take living without him." Druag took a long, slow drink from his cup as he resolved to omit one of his late relations. "My only living relative is my cousin. And he's usually in Johto with his wife and kid, so I'll probably never see him again." He looked at Gabriel out of the corner of his eye, now. "Who all's left in your life? You know, to help you through the day?"

Gabriel smirked at that query, "Friends." He stated. "For one, a friend named Cici. She traveled here with me. She's just… off doing her own thing at the moment." He explained. "My family remains locked up in a jail many cities away from here. It is not something I like to talk about."

Druag nodded and drained his cup. He put it down instead of refilling it immediately. "The only person who I ever mattered to is buried about northeast of here, out in that forest with all the caves in it. When I came here I didn't have a Cici, just a parade of nobodies to whom I was also a nobody." Druag slumped forward onto the counter, his arms splayed out haphazardly and his cane teetering over onto the floor as he exhaled hard. "They're right, I don't belong here … How do you get through every day, Mr. Gabriel, when nothing ever goes right?" He straightened back up, abruptly, and fell on his rump when he couldn't find his cane. He sat there on the floor as he pulled his cane onto his lap. "Can you tell me about Cici?" Druag asked suddenly.

Gabriel smiled a bit and sat down as he began to feel sentimental, "... She's a ghost, sort of like Castiel." He began, "But she's… she's able to get with you on a personal level. Sort of like watching out for you. She listens to what you say and just generally is fun to be around. Though I met a wise mon a while back. He said when things go bad you take a deep breath in and you just relax. I'm not good at taking his advice though."

Druag's tail flopped the ground lazily as he leaned his head back and spoke at the ceiling. "I heard a lot of wise things when I was young, too, but I never listened to them until it was too late." Druag inhaled deeply and then exhaled with a sort of deep moan in the back of his throat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Ms. Cici sounds like a great person," Druag said, turning to Gabriel. "Like a really great person." He clapped one of his hands over his eye and made the sound again, but deeper and longer.

He snapped to attention and started getting to his feet. What are you doing, you crying mongrel? You suppose getting yourself chilled in front of your coworkers is any way to start the day? The excess cold fluids Druag had allowed himself had lowered his temperature significantly, and he was beginning to get tipsy. "My apologies, Mr. Gabriel," Druag bumbled as he got to his feet, "I don't know what's come over me." The big Dragon turned and started hobbling for the restroom.

"Um… no problem?" Gabriel stated as he watched Draug hobble off. "Um, want me to get your cane? Or something? I'll just be mozzing around when you get out, we can continue then, if you want."

At that, Druag realized he had indeed forgotten his cane: he was scrabbling across the floor with his arms and good leg like some crippled crocodilian. Druag stood up on his legs to try and recover himself and immediately regretted it when his leg reminded him why he needed a cane to begin with. "Hrmph!" he grunted as he clutched his thigh and teetered over with a thud against the ground.

Gabriel grabbed the cane and walked over, holding it out to Druag, "Need some help?" He asked. "Everyone needs help. A crew needs to stick together."

Druag looked up at the Weavile. Scavenger, interloper, trespasser, thief. Do it, Druag, take his hand and show the world how low you've fallen! Do it! Druag swallowed dryly and managed to get himself to his feet without Gabriel's assistance, although he did still take the cane. "I'm fine, I'm fine." Druag looked at Gabriel awkwardly. Maybe it was the chill in his stomach. Maybe it was the ire of his monologue. But for some reason, Druag couldn't remember why he had been angry with Gabriel earlier. He took Gabriel's offered hand in a handshake, instead. "Thank you for the chat, Mr. Gabriel, we'll have to do it again some time."

Gabriel shook it back, "Likewise." He stated.

 

[dud190]

Location: "Managed to stay off the ceiling."
Status: "Guess I gotta do actual work now that I'm here."
Additional Info: "I should learn people's names sometime soon."
[/COLOR]​

​

Benicle the Ninjask​

​

Benicle didn't expect to have to listen to a story. All he asked was how this business started up, and he got this whole monologue about how Amaryllis came to Jubilee. When Amaryllis had started talking, he listened, and listened, and listened, and listened, and listened, and listened some more, and listened some more. He couldn't handle it much longer! Finally, the raft story ended, and Benicle silently breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed all would be calm after that but then the Chimecho that seemed to not like him for some reason made an outrageous statement regarding the bugs invthe room. It ticked off Benicle and certainly didnt help their relations. Benicle was about ready to ram into that Chimecho when Amaryllis scolded the Chimecho, whom Benicle found out was named Rina.
"Hmph. Serves Rina right." Benicle murmurred to himself. Amaryllis then walked to the managers door, and also shouted out something aling the lines ofdoing store chores and playing dress-up with Spora. A quick glance around the room, and Benicle discovered that Spora was the Parasect, as the pokemon was walking towards Amaryllis. Amaryllis mentioned helping the pokemon too. While it would be cool for bugs to unite, Benicle never was into fashion a whole lot.
Benicle all of a sudden found himself doing nothing, just flying in place. To cure his awkwardness, he decided to apply himself to his job. He was a worker after all, may as well work. So Benicle scanned the ground near where everyone ate, and picked up little bits of food that dropped and put them back on the plate, making the ground look a little nicer. He then gathered the napkins and anything else in the vicinity that needed to be thrown away, and took them to the waste bin. He slid all the scraps of food off the plates, stacked the plates onto the table(To be put away later), and threw all the napkins away. Once it was full, Benicle grabbed the waste bin with his claws, and made a Substitute of himself to help grab the bin. The load lightened considerably with the help of himself, and together they lifted the bin over the counter and flew it towards the front door, and outside. Once out the doors they looked at Spirited Away for a split-second before turning to the right, flying a few yards, then turning right again, headed towards the back alley where the trash bin was. Together they set the waste bin down, grabbed the bag of trash from the waste bin, and hauled it into the trash can. Happy at his accomplishment, Benicle and the substitute grabbed the bin and started flying back. However, something out of the corner of his eye.
"Stop!" Benicle said to his substitute. It had no effect on the substitute, but since Benicle was slowing down the substitute slowed down too and they set the bin down again. Looking on the wall near the trash can, he saw... Vomit? It looked like vomit like he'd never seen before, like jello. He took a smell up close to confirm it was vomit, and it was, scooting back and gagging. Thankfully, it seemed that the smell didnt project to the front of the store, or he would've smelled it there. Benicle also did not want to clean it up, because that sort of thing is very disgusting. So, he pulled his substitute back towards the trash bin, and together, they pushed the trash can to cover the mess. Now if someone were to come down this alley area, they wouldn't know where the smell came from. Satisfied, Benicle and the substitute grabbed the waste bin by the claws and flew it back inside, setting it back down where he took it. Benicle then sliced his substitute with Fury Cutter and it dissapeared.
​

[/QUOTE]

 

[Junier]

'You would like to see it again, my application?'

Here's the deets:
⇠ ㉓ ⇢
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Location: Forget-Me-Not; the project area.
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Mentions:
Samuel, Barnacle
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Held Item(s): N/A (but she needs that basket)
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Status: ALLERGIC REACTION! +Hysteria -Ability to Breathe
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⬈

+2 Favor

Rina the Chimecho ~ Forget Me Not

as of 7:25 AM:​

-------Rina regretted everything. She regretted the time she struck her cousin Stephen with a wooden spoon when he gave the poffin batter a premature lick. She regretted the tone she'd used with her aunt, she regretted when she sneaked chewing gum during the week of fasting, she regretted skipping prayer to The Alien one school night because she was too tired. She regretted every instance in her young life when she had practiced indecency to spare herself from the Realm, to spare herself from the sanction placed against her that required she so carelessly eat egg white.

-------It wouldn't kill her but, already, it felt like death. She felt a stifling sensation deep in her throat reminding her of the time she swallowed an entire jar of peanut butter as a Chingling; yet another one of her past transgressions. Rina felt herself growing warm. At a confounding rate she went from cold glass to molten steel. Was this how an Electrode felt moments before it exploded?

-------In franker terms, Rina felt like Black Sludge, but regardless of this, she stayed aware. She caught Barnacle prickling at her callous shout-out. There, at least, was something to be proud of. She sniffed and made a clear effort to disregard him as he buzzed off with the garbage, muttering. A plate filled with food tumbled subtly into the waste bin as the Ninjask and his clone passed on.

-------The Chimecho knew she had to remain stoic though her body screamed for relief as it grew hotter and hotter. She did appear abnormally pale when she turned to a familiar Bidoof that had sprung up with excitement towards her.

-------"Samuel, I know not what you mean." She attempted an Amaryllis-esque equanimity. "I do not… want to… take 'these bugs' downwards…? I do not… 'down'?"

-------It was short lived. She could not help it, the act was futile. She could not keep it up, she could not breathe! Rina could. Not. Breathe!

-------The Chimecho shot up, gasping heavily, like a Magikarp flung onshore. She was as white as a sheet ghost now and her face was more animated than it had ever been before. Her yellow eyes boggled and her mouth stretched to lengths that were almost impossibly comical as she strained and strained and yearned for any air at all. Her throat was entirely swollen, utterly clogged. The tiny pores covering her vitreous form offered minuscule relief, and it was very temporary relief at that, for Rina knew that in a minute's time, they too would jam up and she would promptly pass on, left to the mercy of the lordship Alien and he would then expose her to his Realm that blew mortal minds, both figuratively and literally.

-------There was hope before her inevitable detonation. As her throat swelled, so did her mind. Rina recalled last night: she in the living room, her father at the entrance to the kitchen. She swiped a couch pillow with her tail and sent it careening towards him. The Haunter launched a disembodied hand and caught it.

-------"Rina, please! Enough of this! I went out of my way to write a prep list for you; the least you can do is curb that viciousness of yours and lend an ear!"

-------"NO! Firstly, I have not ears! Many times I have told you that I am not needing your 'prep' and many times you ignore me and like Chingling you treat me!"

-------"Rina, darling, I'm telling you!" Gaspar's eyes were pleading now. He fully anticipated her second throw but allowed this pillow to strike him in the face. It was a feeble attempt to garner sympathy that Rina read and was hardly amused by. "I don't want you to forget! Again, the list—!"

-------"I am not needing your stupid list!"

-------"It's for your benefit! I made it for you!"

-------"I am not needing it!" She was in Uproar now, tossing and twisting but most prominently screaming stridently, hollering in such a way that her raucous voice vibrated throughout the living room. The image of a grinning Gallade model on the television was interjected with sporadic bursts of furry lines and static. A clock and a framed family photo slid off the wall and a hanging flowerpot tilted dangerously, spilling dirt onto the carpet. "I am not needing it!"

-------Her father was trying to vainly to shout over her ruckus now, the "prep list" gripped in one claw as he read off of it. "Your math practice textbook because you'll be there for a while! Some spare change, some Lum berries for a snack, your medicine!

-------"You need your medicine, Rina!" Gaspar screamed this through cupped hands. The rest of his "star advice" was lost in her commotion. It was reluctance that early morning that Rina groped around in the bathroom cabinet, minutes before leaving the house, pulled out that all-natural cure-all. She took nothing else from her father's necessities catalog, especially not Lum Berries of all things holy. Careful not to drape her amaranth-tipped tail over the face of Little Timothy who was sleeping curled up on the floor again, she shifted silently down into the kitchen and stuffed her medication down past all her knickknacks at the very bottom of her little goodies basket.

-------As if stricken by a powerful revelation, Rina screamed: "BASKET!" It sounded nearly indistinguishable at first, like a cross between the moan of the dead and a Grimer building a Toxic loogie in the back of its throat. She tries again and again, it sounding clearly every instant. "BASKET! BASKET!" The Chimecho knew she sounded like a fervent, choking toddler but there was no use. She did not know where to gesture, if it were possible for her with her tail and stubs for arms to even do so coherently. Rina thusly found another predicament: where was BASKET? Where was the wicker carrier whose bottom-most content was essential for preserving her youthful life?

 

[Fen-Fen]

After entering the office of her boss, she was immediately taking in all of the cool sights that Castiel's cluttered room, ranging from the Spell Cards she spied on an electric lamp, some exotic looking tribal masks in the corners, some jars with all sorts of things in them and other sorts of eccentric things that Blair wished she had. Following Castiel to his desk, Blair was asked to take a seat on the stool.

After Blair struggled a bit to get on the stool due to her short height, she took a seat while Castiel got Errol situated. Apparently, he was gonna help out in some way with the process, though Blair was quite unsure of how to do that. When Castiel asked, "These cardboard boxes beside me have some materials in here that are sure to make you up to fit our stand. Question is, what kind of look do you want to go for? We'll start from there."

Pondering the response for a few moments, she replied as her face lit up at an idea, "Ooh! How about I get to dress up like with some, long flowing cloth and bracelets-er, would you be able to find some that fit-and some bonnet, ya know, to add an air of mystique or something." She was talking excitedly, making her enthusiasm apparent as a remnant from her previous excitement with the magic trick that she showed the store.

 

[Who's Kiyo?]

" Honestly, how boring do you have to be that your favorite color is blue? "

​

♢ Cicaro the Eleventh ♢
- Shiny Furret -- - Level 23
- Forget-Me-Not Employee (+1)
-----
Today's Achievements

Remained a closeted kleptomaniac!

Will get married and make self a great widow one day!

Sharing with your brother is caring for your brother!

Could probably steal a wheelchair for similar reasons!

​

-------- " And refused to eat anything not sprinkled with granola. "

----------The Furret's eyes shimmered when Amaryllis pointed in the direction of some boxes and permitted him to rifle through their contents. He had been itching to get into something the moment he noticed the padlocks on her desk drawers, and while he was certain that his boss was cleverer than to allow her employees near any of her dirty laundry, there was still a chance that an embarrassing article of clothing from her youth resided within those cardboard walls. " T'ank ya kindly, " the ferret said in a faux accent, tipping the brim of an imaginary hat.
----------It wasn't hard to find what he had initially asked for: a box labeled "For Winter Days ~" in unnecessarily ornate script had a crochet wrap made of thick, white yarn right near the top. The pieces proved durable in the face of Cicaro's tests to tear it, and satisfied with his find, the Furret draped it on himself and gave one to the tasseled ends a playful tug. It wasn't going to be enough to make Spora look like she meditated every half hour and refused to eat anything not sprinkled with granola, but it was a start; a base with which to hang the real costume: countless beautiful, over-designed, and pretentious bits of jewelry.
----------There was no doubt in Cicaro's mind that Amaryllis would be an aficionado of such trifles. But it was a question of where … surely she wouldn't leave them to get tangled together in the depths of an unforgiving box; she caricatured herself with more class than that. As such, it was likely that they were kept in an fancy, inherited chest somewhere, one with twenty compartments and lined with yellowing paper on the inside; found hidden within a dresser, or beside a mirror, or in a -
----------Cupboard. Glints of various special items peeked out from behind the cracked door, suggesting that it harbored interesting and personal baubles. A plausible residence for a shiny necklace or two … among other things, he surmised. Cicaro's impulses preceded his thoughts, and before he could blink, his daring feet yanked him to the shelves. His hands fought back their craving long enough for the Furret to hesitate and make sure that his boss was preoccupied before digging through the tchotchkes.

- Remained a closeted kleptomaniac!​

----------A minute of prodding didn't pull out anything truly scandalous, however: mainly weary paintbrushes and sculpting tools aching to be used to their full potential and tough clay blocks wrapped up in plastic. Cicaro gave a light, critical grunt at the cupboard before resigning himself to searching for things that were useful to the beauty project; picking up a basket of crafting supplies and skulking his fingers through it to see if he could find any sprays or glues they might be able to improvise with, maybe make something akin to henna tattoos on Spora's body.
----------As if on cue, right when his hand grabbed a cylindrical object and brought his hopes to the conclusion that he found a bottle of paint, the Parasect noted: " If you're planning on using any make-up, or anything with moisture in it, don't; won't end up well for anyone. "
----------Cicaro gritted and bore his teeth a little in mild irritation. It made sense - Spora's skin did seem horrifically dry, to the point where it suggested that the condition was tied to an ability rather than a dermatological disease - but it invoked a feeling of being stifled; like discovering the perfect cake recipe to use for your significant other's birthday party only to find out that they're allergic to gluten. Cicaro bid away the emotion with a hum and reassessed his list of ideas; he supposed he should be grateful that he was informed of the restriction ahead of time, rather than going forward and sending Spora to the Emergency Room like he did his ex-boyfriend. He brought his hand to his gaze to humor his curiosity about what color he had found.

- Will get married and make self a great widow one day!​

----------Pill bottle orange, apparently. The Furret gasped as he recognized all the trademark indications of a pharmacy bottle and examined the bulbous pellets resting at the bottom. Shock bred confusion as Cicaro tried to make sense of the scenario: on his second thought, he figured that finding medicine wasn't all that damning - there could be any number of ailments his boss had to treat, especially in her increasing age - but then again, it was shifty to hide pills underneath a collection of arts-and-crafts supplies. Their effects had to be deliciously illicit if Amaryllis felt she needed to store them in such an inconspicuous place. To boot, there was a bad sense of familiarity that scratched at him when he traced over the shape of the humongous pieces.
----------The label confirmed his subconscious suspicions: he was staring at a stash of SecretPotion, one of the most notorious cure-alls humans ever invented for their Pokemon brethren. There was apparently a time when the name didn't incite awe or fear; when all variations of the substance could be safely implemented to treat anything down to the simplest headache. However, it was the special concoction of some Johtoian guy who lived in a place named Sinwood or Cyanfield and never distributed on a mass-market scale; so when human civilization moved on, it became hard to find a reliable and inexpensive dealer - let alone one not on the black market - that wouldn't fudge the recipe or mix in something dangerous. Even legitimate versions are so potent that they're only prescribed to those on the edge of death or with debilitating allergies and conditions.
----------Cicaro knew of it a little too well: in one of his more risky teenaged moments, he had purchased a fistful of the stuff from his brother - the sickly one who walks with a cane and whose silky voice is perfect for broadcasting - wanting to experience the infamous high for himself. To this day, there's a block of twelve hours that the Furret can't account for, that somehow ended him up in his friend's kitchen sink covered in glitter and vinegar while the song "Together Forever" blasted on an old radio.

- Sharing with your brother is caring for your brother!​

----------There was no chance it was a clean batch: Amaryllis was too healthy and the fact the bottle was stashed away assigned novels of guilt. She either was a dealer herself … or a junkie. Cicaro inched his eyes to her delicate form, mouth agape with surprise and intrigue. It suddenly all made sense: her languid movements, her habit to giggle at the tiniest things, the constant feeling that she was seeing a different reality than those around her! Those locked drawers were merely a decoy - a surly employee would head straight to those and satisfy their curiosity by shuffling through sensitive-looking documents - but the real skeletons were hung up in plain sight so they would be overlooked. Either that, or the Florges was terrible at hiding a secret.
----------The Furret thought he heard soft, nearly inaudible chanting. " Basket, " the voice seemed to say, " Basket! " Cicaro heeded the ethereal warning and stashed the bottle in his scarf before darting back to the cardboard boxes. As he picked through one labeled "Other Such Things," a giddy smile crawled up his face. He had a feeling that in a couple of hours, Amaryllis would go into a silent panic and begin frantically drifting through the halls of Forget-Me-Not. One couldn't accuse their employees for stealing something that they themselves weren't legally allowed to possess, so the ferret didn't find reason to worry over losing his job. It wasn't like he was going to confront her about it, anyway; or at least he wasn't planning to.
----------It was just the feeling of holding onto something that could ruin a person's livelihood … it was honest, good fun for Cicaro.

- Could probably steal a wheelchair for similar reasons!​

----------" Lovely-lovely trinkets, " he pittered as he pattered over to Spora, still reined in by the egg's artificial glee, " is what Cousin Chic found for you. "
----------Apparently, he was wrong in his assumption that Amaryllis would be above keeping pricey ornaments cooped up at the bottom of a box. In his grasp were a series of necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and other pieces of jewelry. Most had intricate, mandala-esque designs as their main attraction, but all of them strung together patterns of wooden beads that varied in taste. " If you wouldn't mind draping this shawl over our lady experiment, " he said, tilting towards his boss so that she could pluck the wrap from his shoulder, " we can start pinning and latching these bad boys to it. She'll look like a priestess of Shaymin when we're done with her. "
----------" But we gotta be careful and make sure we don't pin her by accident, " he continued with a sly grin, " nothing's worse than a case of shaky hands, right? "

​

 

[Xtrashy]

Spora could swear she heard something from outside of the room, but then again she didn't really care about anything outside of this room right now given it most likely wouldn't effect her. Most likely. Jeeze she was going to be incredibly hot today wasn't she, a blanket, some trinkets, whatever else they saw fit to throw onto her. Hopefully it wouldn't be too many things after all. She eyed Cicaro, as much as she could eye anyone, he better be careful with pinning, she probably wouldn't care much if her did stick her, but of course she didn't want him to. "Wait, don't you have paws?" she snidely commented off hand, she had to take what she could get away with after all. Times like these she had to wonder why she even took this job to begin with. It didn't pay exceptionally well, it wasn't really anything that fit her interests on the whole, most everyone who walked in never gave her a second glance and her work environment could often be classified as hostile. It was just the two though wasn't it, there wasn't much of a choice was there.

It wasn't like she could just hermit herself off either, as much as she loved to be away from everyone from time to time, she could never just stay alone. She grew up with too much family to just not want some company, even if it wasn't the best, her fault really, she could have gone anywhere, hell she didn't have to go anywhere, no one made her leave, no one wanted her to go anyway. She thought she wanted it, and she kind of did, plenty of things were far more enjoyable from time to time. Though now she was getting to be in that stage of sullen loneliness as opposed to quiet, calm, and peaceful solitude. Could have stayed home, watched her siblings, could have gotten a job closer to home. But no she wanted to be like her father, always traveling. He made it sound like so much fun after all, going to different places, always something new. Then again, he traveled, he didn't just plop himself down somewhere else and then forget what he was going to do with the rest of his life. Not to mention he didn't walk either, just sort of floated about as he wanted, perks of being a Jumpluff after all.

Perhaps she should actually try traveling, not just going somewhere else, but really going wherever, just strolling along in some direction until she got somewhere worth being? Bah, who knows, she could never make up her mind about this sorts of things, hell it had taken her so long in the first place to even consider making the move out to Jubilee in the first place. Maybe she should have taken the day off to enjoy the festival instead of working. Hell she could always just walk out after all, what was stopping her? It's not like she really needed this job, which was mostly just something to get her out and meeting anyone really, something to while away the boredom and earn something while doing it. Though she could hardly call this earning giving the only things she did here was decorate, clean and sell things on occasion. Which if Amaryllis wasn't so, her, she could probably do with just three pokemon at max, though the way the other employees were at times it was hard to count them as functioning pokemon from time to time. Though she had no idea what the festival was even about, or what they did during it, not to mention it was out in the sun, and if it happened to be a bit too harsh she'd just spend all her time hogging what little shade there might even be. Eh, she still had plenty of time to see how today went, if things really went south then she could leave, though she was getting a distinct bad feeling for some reason, not sure why, but something just didn't feel right overall, though it was hard to tell what that could even be coming from, ranging from her coworkers apparent typism, to whatever Rina often seemed to be screaming about.

 

[Jauntier]

Spirited Away
7:30 AM | Manager's Office

The Mismagius closed his eyes as he began to envision what the Braixen requested.

"... Sounds to me like you're true to your line, Blair," he teased as he opened his eyes. "I believe I see where you're coming from with this. Actually, I don't think we'll need to necessarily craft anything either." He drifted over to the corner with packages, and as he stared at the torn postage stickers and taped letter envelopes with descriptions scrawled on them--some of the boxes even tumbling out of the way on their own to reveal these indicative papers--he saw just what he was looking for. The orange gem that parted his pink cloak began to glimmer as a dark cloud contained within began to brew, and the parcels of his choice were now lined with that familiar violet glow as they lifted up from the pile and perched themselves in the air before Blair.

"You also have your own cape, which wouldn't look out of place with the overall color scheme," Castiel added, "But we do want to keep some prominence of those natural red, yellow, and orange earth tones if we're going to fit you with that stage name. Your fur should be enough, otherwise I wouldn't have come up with the name to begin with.

"In any case," he continued, "these packages I have here are the few other clothes I wear for special occasions. The great thing about being a Ghost is that I don't have to have limbs to fit these shirts perfectly." He had a glint in his eye as his even tone hinted at his crafty pride. The first package opened itself up and its paper wrapper fell to the floor, as now a linen blouse with a trimmed and tapered elastic waist but free, puffed long sleeves with ruffle and elastic in the cuffs now hanged before her. It had a folded and rounded collar, and ruffles that lined the front button placket on either side. It was rather thin and its color was a subdued cream.

"This has a bit of a colonial flair, though the waist is altered for a slim fit," he critiqued. "It's not too big though. This is a human shirt, but it's been altered by the town tailor Nellie so that the shoulders don't appear too broad on me. I think it should fit you though. Try it on. If that shirt isn't for you, I have this kind of poncho, though the color is overall grey and a little more patchwork.I'm not sure how it'd look with your purple cape, if we use it.

"As for a bonnet..." the second package presented itself. Unlike the first where it was already opened and the wrapper creased as if it were roughly handled, this one was nice, neat, and boxed, with the word "Sybil" scrawled on a sticky note next to the address sticker. "The only bonnet I have is this one. It was pre-ordered for a customer who told me she'd be coming in to pick it up, but the good thing about it is, she won't be visiting today. So, we can be a little stealthy about it and try it on for size with you, then pack it up after we're done using it. She won't suspect a thing!"

The box shook as if to tempt. "It's a really rich black with white lace trim. Even if it's too black, the blue drape of the stand will obscure some of it. Or even the hood of your cape. Your cape has a hood, right? I never really payed attention to it.

"Regardless, I do have some bracelets somewhere if you want to take a look at them. I'd just have to find them myself. But what do you think so far? Try on the shirt, think about the bonnet idea."

The items floated still in the air, waiting to be taken as the witching Ghost turned around to glance about his cluttered Office, trying to recall where he had a small box of rings and bangles.​

__________________________________________

Forget-Me-Not
7:30 AM | Manager's Office

In the mirror, one could see a slight twinge to the Florges' smile when the Parasect mentioned her dermatological dryness. At first she thought to suggest to Spora of a thing called oil-based deep moisturizer, but then she suspected it may just have to do with her being, among other things, a fungus-riddled, forest floor-foraging Parasect. The Garden Pokemon would just have to make due without the use of makeup, which she so looked forward to do in the couple minutes prior.

She swiveled around in her upholstered chair to face the Bug who refused to take a seat, likely because the large, low, and lumbering body would have a hard time mounting and getting comfortable on the stool or a chair. Sliding off of her own throne, Amaryllis rolled her chair aside and reached over her vanity desk to push on the bottom of the mirror, tilting it to focus more on the floor. The Florges then glided over to and behind Spora, nudging on the large, dense, almost semi-hard and spongy fungus with an outstretched hand.

"Well, no wonder you don't wear any make up. Well, I guess if you're going to be reading palms or whatever you can tell your customers to close their eyes. That way they don't have to stare at all those crackling blemishes up close~!" The effect of the Soft-Boiled Chansey egg she had had for breakfast seemed to be coming down from its earlier high. "Anywho, come a little closer! Don't be shy, dear, the mirror's right over here. We want to get a look at good angle, once we find one!"

As she was now standing closer to the shut Office door, she was able to hear some raspy shrieking that sounded to her like "ASK IT! ASK IT!" through the thick oak. Amaryllis looked over her shoulder looking rather unimpressed.

"Are they fighting out there," she murmured to no one in particular. "I swear, I can't leave the three newbies unattended for five minutes and they're already getting annoying. Arceus..."

Cicaro at that moment had returned from his scavenging with his paws full of jewelry, the towering ferret bending forward toward his boss to show the scarf he now shouldered. Taking his cue, she presently plucked up the scarf and almost haphazardly slung it over Spora's hump, her mind clearly elsewhere.

"Yes, Cicaro, that's fine and all," she said with a fraction of conviction, glancing back behind her to the door. "Make sure when you pin whatever to it that you pin it through the holes, not through the yarn, before you unravel the thing. At least it's durable enough for a few heavy trinkets, but don't push it."

She heard chattering beyond the door, though muffled. Now she was getting anxious.

"I think those petty bozos are going at it out there," she bitterly breathed, the warmth in her voice quickly dropping in temperature as certain effects faded. "I'm going to go out there to stick their noses in it. My God."

With a huff, a pivot, and a flounce of her floral coif, she prepared her face as she opened the door and slipped back out behind the Checkout Counter. Crossing behind it and pushing through the spring slab board that acted as a low gate to the rest of the store, she turned aside the trolley to get through to the real commotion: Samuel standing panicked over an almost whitish Rina, who writhed on the ground collecting glitter and paper snowflake confetti. Rina's nub hands raked at her gaping mouth, as her eyes bugged and her breath was clearly cut short to desperate wheezing.

Recognizing the frantic body language, the stern look on the Florges and all pretenses immediately dropped into a shock at the sudden emergency. The Chimecho was choking, but from what?

Oh $#@&! Amaryllis' mind began to race as her eyes darted about the scene, trying to pick up on any clues to the context of the situation. What the dickens happened?! She doesn't know how to swallow her own food or what?! Does she even have teeth?! Is that why?! How do you Heimlich a goddamned ball?!

"RINA," she shouted, dropping to her knees to better assess the victim. Her shout, she realized, had probably startled Rina, and so she tried to reign her address back before she caused the girl to quickly worsen her condition out of hysteria. "Rina? Listen to me," Amaryllis began, reverting back into her motherly tone. "Don't squirm so much, you'll overexert yourself into a blackout." She placed the backside of her hand against Rina's underside in an attempt to establish a comforting touch, but she quickly found that the Pokemon's temperature was unusually high.

Arceus, it's an allergic reaction...

"Samuel," the Florges commanded as she glanced over her shoulder at the quivering, snotty mess. She pointed to the Checkout Counter as her stare and voice remained firm. "Get to the phone under the counter. Be prepared to dial '001'. Rina is having an severe allergic reaction." She turned back to the teen under her guidance. "Rina, where is your allergy medicine? If your throat is too swollen to talk, we'll have to call the paramedics!"​

 

[Orx of Twinleaf]

Druag
Having ended his heart-to-heart with Gabriel, Druag resumed his mission towards the restroom, reaching it in short order and working himself through the small door, closing it behind him.

He took a deep breath now that we was away from the others. That pervasive peppermint scent that had been flooding the store all morning wasn't quite as pronounced in here, but it had that curious artificial soap smell to it that Druag had by now learned was often attributed to the residences of older Pok?mon. Druag distantly wondered at just how old Castiel was: Ghosts didn't age quite as obviously as most other Pok?mon did, and lived a good deal longer than average besides that.

He padded the cool tile floor with his feet, leaning on the wall as he brought the top of his cane into his hands. With a practiced jerk he pried the top of it sideways, and it screwed off to reveal a miniscule hollow compartment, only just big enough for the small pill bottle and equally-small paper cup, and a pathetic collection of small Pok? coins.

Druag's shoulder quivered a little as he took the items out and set them on the side of the sink, leaving his change in the cane in the hopes of being able to buy something from a food stand later. He hadn't managed to look at the clock, but judging from the last time he looked at it, he figured it was about half past seven or so now. He propped his cane against the wall next to him and picked up his pill bottle.

The small white container was a sturdy plastic, a monochrome no-nonsense label declaring its contents to be Celsux, followed by some ten-part chemical name in smaller font and a note that each capsule contained mucus from Magmars and Heatmors, or something. The back of the small container gave dosage instructions, but by now Druag already knew to take one every four hours or as needed, and not to take more than eight in a single period of twenty-four hours.

Druag did the math in his head: he'd taken one at four thirty that morning, just before being held up by that Duosion patrol guard that thought he was popping Secret Potion or something. To take one now would technically be an hour or so early, but after the chill he'd given himself with Castiel's Aprijuice, Druag was inclined to consider this to be a use "as needed." He made a private note to himself to look into taking another one later at half-past eleven, or probably just around lunch.

He sighed and pried the cap off the little bottle, shaking one of the sickly rust-colored tablets into his old paper cup. He resealed the Celsux bottle and returned it to his cane before reaching over toward the sink and turning the hot faucet on.

He leaned deeper into the wall as he let the water build up some heat. Performing some more maintenance, you broken beast? Honestly, Druag, you could manage to make a Drampa look like an Altaria. Maybe you should just find one of those homes for old has-beens that're waiting to die? Oh, but that probably costs two canes of change. You simple oaf.

Druag rubbed his face tiredly and placed his cup with its capsule under the hot tap, filling it up and setting the Celsux to bubbling. He brought the steaming cup of bubbling orange-brown water to his mouth and drank it down in one gulp, doing his best to keep the stuff off his taste buds. He winced at the caustic feel of it against his cheeks as he held the cup under the tap and rinsed it out.

A hot sensation like a burning sludge ran down his throat and sat into his stomach, chasing out the delirium the cold beverages had brought upon him and waking his limbs up with the vivifying warmth.

"Ah," he said to himself, letting out a hot puff of breath. "That's a little better." Druag pinched the little cup together and shook it off in the sink before setting it back into his cane and shutting off the tap. He limped carefully off the wall so he could stand at the sink properly and look at himself in the mirror above it as he twisted his cane back together, his weight spread between his right leg and tail to allow him to handle it without falling over.

He looked into his eye sadly, and examined the bandages around his left eye. He had stopped changing them some months ago when the socket stopped its occasional bleeding and he had decided buying new gauze was unnecessary if it wasn't getting dirty. Indeed, it was perhaps an off-white now but wasn't really dirty, and the skin on his face didn't let it chafe him. He finished working on his cane and leaned it against the sink before leaning in toward his reflection.

Druag had never spent a whole lot of time around mirrors. Nothing in his caves properly served the purpose and he had always preferred to drink at the pond rather than stare at himself in it. And he certainly didn't own a mirror at the old park bench he had to consider as his home most nights. He reached behind his head and found the safety pin that held his gauze tight, pulling it out carefully with his claws and placing it on the sink as he unwound the bandage from his face.

It came off rather clean, except for the last round where it had pressed against his socket, where it was a tad sticky and moist. Druag looked at the wet spot on his bandage confusedly and then looked at his face in the mirror and flinched a little.

Weeping Weezings, Druag, that face could make a Bastiodon feel pretty!

Druag had spent very little time around his reflection, and now that he thought about it, he couldn't recall ever having looked under his eye-patch before. He had thought that he still had his eye in there and that it was just unfocused or glassy or something, but they had taken his eye out entirely, and now there was an unnerving hole in his face, and he could see the pink muscles in the back of it writhe as he moved his other eye to examine it.

He inhaled sharply and averted his eye. Hideous, Druag. Even for a cragface. He looked himself in the eye again and saw the writhing form of his thoughts in his gaze as surely as the he saw the pulsating hole on the other side of his face. Wow, Druag, you're more of an alien monster than you thought! You hideous thing.

Druag suddenly considered how Gabriel and Blair and Errol and Silver must have been looking at him this whole time. He had considered himself just a pitiable cripple; he hadn't noticed just how terrible he looked. No need to fear for your job, you miserable animal, Castiel probably hired you as a freak show to draw in all those people that like to stare at the broken thing that used to be a Dragon. No wonder Gabriel was so scared and Errol was nervous! No wonder Silver's been ignoring you and Blair didn't want to talk to you!

Druag saw his empty eye socket start to well up with a weak stream of tears. He interrupted his monologue with his own curiosity at this: he hadn't cried tears for a long time. Or at least he thought he hadn't: evidently his dead eye still cried under his bandages. Druag didn't know what to think of that. He looked at the wet spot on his gauze and remembered the cooing sound he'd made when he was talking with Gabriel.

A little too old to cry, aren't you Druag?

Druag snorted unconcernedly. He started wrapping his bandage around his face again and talked to himself to keep from hearing his monologue. "Maybe I should get a glass eye or something so I don't have to walk around with a hole in my head." He tightened the wrap up and reached for his safety pin, but it snagged his claw awkwardly and went tumbling down the sink's open drain.

Druag looked after it and grumbled under his breath. "Muk-sucking Magikarp, anyway." He huffed agitatedly and shared a look with his reflection to see how angry he looked. All in all, his face didn't change a whole lot, but the intensity was obvious in his eye. Druag made a private note to himself to remember that he evidently showed his emotions through that eye. He'd have to remember to keep it turned away from anyone that got him worked up.

He tapped his foot and considered his options before looking over at the toilet. Druag was still uncomfortable with the things and was pretty sure that they hadn't been made for tailed entities at all, but his drinking spree would probably see him paying the porcelain shrine its respects later in the day. He kept one hand holding his bandage taught before reaching over and tearing off a longish piece of toilet paper. He wrung it out into a single-ply rope of sorts and with a good deal of clumsy fumbling managed to get it secured to his bandage.

Some more half-blind fumbling and low cursing managed to tie it into a tight knot, and he found his bandage looked much the same as before and felt quite secure, except that now he had two spun-together lengths of toilet tassel trailing from the back of his head to his shoulders. He sighed. "Well maybe no one will notice it's toilet paper."

He took a deep breath and looked himself in the eye again. "You can do it, Druag. You got this."

Pft, no you don't. You simple oaf.

Druag took his cane and left the restroom.

 

[dud190]

Location: "Back inside from outside."
Status: "Observing. Maybe helping if people want it."
Additional Info: (Apologizes for a short post, I don't really have anything to do, at least in my perspective.)
[/COLOR]​

​

Benicle the Ninjask​

​

Benicle breathed a sigh of relief. Well, I did something productive and helped clean up the place. That should be good enough for now, right? Benicle thought. Immediately after that thought, however, the silly Rina interrupted his thoughts. Boy, did that pokemon get on his nerves. Anyway, Benicle started flying backwards and away, as he didn't want to become apart of whatever was to come. Rina had started making weird gestures and her face looked a little peculiar. Benicle's observations became conclusions as more pokemon came out to inspect what was going on. Amaryllis, especially, provided many clues as to what was going on. She started panicking, and the only major thing that Benicle thought was important was that Rina was having an allergic reaction. Benicle laughed in his mind. It's kind of cruel, but I enjoy her suffering, even temporary. Serves her right for how she has been treating me. But, I suppose I should try to help in some way here. Benicle thought.
"I'm here if any assistance is needed in this situation." Benicle called out.
​

 

[Ihsaan]

Samuel the Bidoof

Mission: "Save Your Friend."

Samuel regretted his violent shaking of the Wind Chime Pokemon. She appeared woozy and delusional, and was struggling to keep herself steady and upright. She had heard Samuel's outburst of ecstasy, but she appeared to not process it. Samuel was disappointed in her lack of interest, but he was overcome by a sudden wave of emotion. He was scared for the Pokemon. Her face was somehow more white and deathly than it was before.

"Samuel, I know not what you mean. I do not… want to… take 'these bugs' downwards…? I do not… 'down'?" she rambled, showcasing herself as a symbol of incoherence. All of a sudden, her entire body appear to inflate and stiffen, as though she was being pumped full of hot air. Samuel's eyes flickered as he tried to hold his tears back. He felt a lump forming in his throat, and his entire body froze up. Rina was in perilous danger, and there was nothing that he, Samuel, could do to save her. Her mouth began frothing, and viscous fluids began pouring out of all her pores. It appeared that her luminous yellow eyes were losing their gleam. She began yelling a singular word over and over again, her voice constrained and pained.

"BASKET!" she wailed.

Samuel comprehended what she said, but could not react. He realized she referred to her point-winning basket. The same one that had impressed mother. Whatever was happening to her could be fixed by the basket. But he could not move. All his furs stood up, normal to his bulbous body. He began sobbing, believing that there was no saving Rina.

"RINA!" came a authoritative yell. The brisk, feminine voice broke Samuel from his state of extreme panic and shock. Now he was in a state of lesser panic and shock. Using his returned motor capabilities, Samuel prepared to dash towards the basket. As he was about to let his Primal Form loose-

"Samuel," the Florges interrupted. "Get to the phone under the counter. Be prepared to dial '001'. Rina is having an severe allergic reaction." she finished. Samuel almost dashed to the counter immediately. It was surprising, especially to himself, that he didn't immediately pounce at the counter. But there was something holding him back. A glimmer of autonomous realization. It had rooted itself in Samuel's being when he decided to renovate FMN's garden. It had grown as steady as an oak, and had shown no sign of stopping. Samuel might actually end up as an individual. He began a slow walk towards the telephone and said-

"M-Ma'am, Rina was saying something about a basket. I think the basket she showed you might-" Samuel said, choking up, "-might be able to save her." he finished, tears forming. He lifted up the old-timey looking device with his formidable front teeth. He dialed in the number with his stubby fore-paws and proclaimed in a muffled voice,

"Weady when you far!"

Perhaps, picking the phone up with his mouth was not the best of plans.

​

​

 

[Xtrashy]

Well, something seemed to be happening. After what simple yelling had increased to levels she had thought impossible, her boss seemed to have deemed it necessary to go and deal with whatever the problem was herself. In the mean time she was perfectly okay with this, breathing a sigh of relief as Amaryllis left the room. She didn't quite care to have her boss so up close to her, messing about with her like that, it just put her on edge, and she didn't like to be on edge. So while she had the change she began examining herself in the mirror, and well, it wasn't horrible. It's not as if it was really any different than how she looked before but with some cloth and shiny bits. Definitely wasn't something she wanted to have done to her everyday, but for one? It was tolerable, nice even.

But it was just one part of a larger picture wasn't it? She'd have to start prepping herself mentally for the task ahead if she wanted to do it without being completely terrible after all. Though it didn't matter that much, at least it didn't matter that much to her, she was sure her boss, and maybe Cicaro, cared about her performance. Man all that noise, she had half a mind to go and see what they were all shouting about, some days she just wanted to throw spores all over the entire place and just enjoy the sound of their bodies falling limply to the floor as they were put to sleep, then enjoying the long quiet silence that followed it. Such a simple pleasure, yet one she was sure she wouldn't get to enjoy. Especially with how things were today. They weren't even open yet and everything kind of seemed to be going down hill fast.

 

[Junier]

'You would like to see it again, my application?'

Here's the deets:
⇠ ㉔ ⇢
__
Location: The depths of her mind... ↪ Forget-Me-Not; the project area.
__
Mentions:
Amaryllis, Benedict
__
Held Item(s): Teenage Chimecho Body
__
Status: "Semi-life"! +Steady Consciousness -Tangibility
__

⬈

+2 Favor

Rina the Chimecho ~ Forget Me Not

as of 7:30 AM:​

-------"RINA!"
-------Oh, Great Alien… She was delirious but she refused to believe she was mistaken. The Alien was calling for her now, through name. The raucous cry sent shivers through her. She was defenseless here, laying limp on the rug of her own creation, and if there were people around her she could not discern them. All she could hear was the garbled speech of the Alien, so muffled and distant and distinct. All she could see was the colorlessness of the void when her sight went dead, as if she had eyelids to close. Rina was entirely terrified but, truly, there was nothing she could do. Death was not compromising. It would come for her, it and the awful, awful Realm.
-------Was this what she deserved? A death so soon? Rina thought to contemplate her sins again as she waited for the Alien to admit her entrance, to drag her into their dimension with those intertwined tentacles, red and blue… How did it sense the wrongdoings of the world? How did it decide? Surely there were greater sinners in the world that were not herself, that were not her mother…
-------Oh! Ohhh! A great upsurge of grief sent her body shuddering again. With it followed a rush of powerful feeling: I cannot die! I cannot die! The Chimecho writhed on the project floor.
-------Rina could not breathe or truthfully sense the outside world at this point but she could think. There was a solution--she knew there had to be--and she would have to rediscover it fast, for she could already feel those white, pointed eyes turning up to regard her. When Rina herself regarded the flat, almost humanoid face of the ancient, ever-powerful Alien, she would finished.
-------There was a state aside from death that was brought forth from the absence of life. If both concepts were placed on a horizontal spectrum, similarly to the charts her old tutors had unfolded, death would be at the very bottom end, as low as possible. There was nothing "after" death. Death was the utter demolition of a Pokemon's existence. At such a low point, they would not exist outside of memories. She had seen many times before the process of life and death represented by an hourglass. When all the sand transferred from top to bottom, you were done for, but if you managed to maintain consciousness--flip that hourglass on its side--you would be left at a standstill, and that standstill was referred to in her culture as 'semi-life'. You had no physical body, just a similar, incorporeal form projected by your ever-healthy mind and soul. All Pokemon, with enough perseverance, could achieve semi-life upon their assumed death, though they would rarely be heard from again either way; they were a "ghost" (Rina and her peers from Mt. Pyre deemed this term offensive, however, when not used to refer to an actual Ghost Pokemon). Centuries before, a great warrior had rejected the semi-life, abandoned his old form for something completely new, and from that faithful decision, the true Ghosts were born.
-------Rina's inner rambling had gotten her somewhere, fortunately. She could feel her seconds draining; she was no longer alive. However, she was far from death. It was not too late to achieve semi-life, though she needed to dedicate more sacred time to recalling the process. It was not taught directly to her but she was luckily present for when Uncle Ludwig was educating his old Gastly twins. It was an emergency procedure truly all of her relatives needed to learn in a household where a drop of Gengar or Haunter saliva could cause them to shrivel up and cease existence.
-------"You need to act fast 'fore you bite it," her uncle was saying. "Pay attention, Stephen! Pop's is tryin' to teach you how to save your life here. Now what you have to do, first and foremost, is look for the light. You'll know it when you see it. Look for the light, 'cause if you don't know where to look, you ain't goin' anywhere, a'ight? It makes it a lot easier if you have an actual destination. After that's the hard part. This whole process ain't 'measurable', kids. It's all about feeling. You have to feel that perseverance coursing through you, and I say that's hard because it's gonna hurt. A lot. But you have to keep pushing through! Got it, Stephen? You too, Hugo. But after the pushing, it'll be simple..."
-------There was likely more after that but, off in the distance upstairs, one of Ludwig's pranks seemed to have been successful as little Mei sporadically came tumbling down the stairs. That became a far greater priority.
-------Rina hadn't forgiven Ludwig yet for his antics that day but she was beginning to feel more partial towards her facetious uncle in her current time of need.
-------You need to act fast before you bite it. The advice dawned on her immediately and soon Rina was consciously straining to find that 'light'. Sourly, she decided she no longer liked her uncle for his vague directions as she ogled about desperately for whatever it was intended to look like. She was answered to when promptly she was met in the face with a blinding white gleam, like the rays of a sun. Immediately Rina thought it was the Alien and she cowered but she felt no tentacles pulling at her and, in the end, soon concluded that she was on the right path.
-------Her consciousness was dwindling, she could feel it, the lapping, like a subtle suggestion in her hearing pores to sleep. Rina would not have it. She opened herself to the light, mentally drove herself into it. The resulting pain was like she'd rolled into a wildfire. The burn was remarkably painful, and it was not short-lived either. She could not even scream. She longed to draw back but the Chimecho felt the presence of the Alien behind her now and knew there was no way but forwards…
-------...and outwards. The burn subsided and she went flying. Past Amaryllis who sat kneeled over her body. Past Benedict who hovered unattached in the corner. Her momentum ebbed and she turned somersaults before the door, though Rina knew colliding with it would not be a collision with all. She would just go flying out into the streets of Jubilee. She had no substance now, she was a ghost. Rina wouldn't have so casually uttered the phrase unless she peeved, and she most certainly was. After all the pain and guilt and fearfulness was left a raw, bitter vexation, a certain loathing of how her day was progressing thus far. There was something about being thrust from her body that made Rina especially cranky, as well as unnerved, as she turned to observed the scene she'd been ejected from.
-------A cold sensation swept her. There was Rina, on the carpet, a corpse. It was utterly disturbing, seeing herself all colorless and limp, her eyes so steady gaping outward at nothing at all. ...in truth, she always held that expression. However, the added context of her body being left spiritless made it especially frightening to Rina, it surely it would be to the others regarding her if they were paying critical attention.
-------No more observable than a curious gust of wind, Rina rushed to herself and dove inside. Alas, it could never be that easy for her to simply exit life and then return to it in the span of a few seconds. Regaining entry, she felt unnaturally foreign in her original form. She needed effort to resume seeing through her very own eyes again. It was if the entire Chimecho figure was a costume to her. She was forced to give in with the eyes or even the mouth and instead spoke out with her own inperceivable pipes, very softly: "I am… still here…"

 

[Jauntier]

Forget-Me-Not
7:33 AM | Manager's Office

A basket...?

In that lapse of thought, immediately the word conjured up the image of the colorful crafts Rina had toted into the store this morning, a gift for her boss. It appears the basket doubled for Rina's life-saving medicine.

The sound of bleating buzzing broke Amaryllis' concentration. She flicked her eyes up to see Benicle, mentioning a paltry offer to assist, should he be ordered. She didn't know if he was attempting to remain calm during this time-sensitive and dire situation or if he was truly removed from it, but whatever the case, she didn't have seconds to spare on guessing viability. With a Pokemon whose strength was its unmatched speed, she figured he could.

"BANGLE," she ordered the Ninjask, pointing a demanding finger to her Office door, "Into my office, in the cupboard on the middle shelf, there's a basket. Dig for her medicine, bring it to me. GO!"

Expecting no delay from issuing the directive and it getting done, she returned her attention to Rina, who blanched for a moment and exhaled into a stillness before just as quickly wheezing, almost hollowly that she was still conscious.

"Oh Arceus, Rina," Amaryllis grieved above the Chimecho, almost cradling the Pokemon in her arms, pressing the wind chime's cheek to her chest. "You're going to be okay. You're going to get your medicine and follow-up care to make sure you're okay..."

She looked over her shoulder and gave an intense look at Samuel, giving him a firm nod of confirmation and the directive: "Dial."

The motherly Pokemon then returned to the cold, pallid body in her arms, and with a gentle voice and eyes closed, whispered, "Nothing is going to harm you while I'm around. I promise."

At that assurance, one could say it was the dust that caught in the golden early morning light as it flooded through the blinds in the windows. But there was something that lightly sparkled for a split second between them. Even shorter than that, one could say those glimmers melded into a sole, minute singularity of shine. But whatever it was, it just as quickly disappeared, as if a pin of light called back into a higher plane, ascending as a Wish.​

 

[Junier]

'You would like to see it again, my application?'

Here's the deets:
⇠ ㉕ ⇢
__
Location: Forget-Me-Not; the project area.
__
Mentions:
Amaryllis
__
Held Item(s): Teenage Chimecho Body
__
Status: "Semi-life"! +Steady Consciousness -Tangibility
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+2 Favor

Rina the Chimecho ~ Forget Me Not

as of 7:33 AM:​

-------Ironically, Rina began to feel trapped in her form. There was an uncomfortable, stuffy sensation that came with residing in a Chimecho body when the routine feel was abandoned. She felt as if her being was crammed inside a tiny glass receptacle that in turn felt like a suit so stiff and incapable of letting any movement. Her tail just dangled beneath her. The aptitude to move it was lost on her now as she lay there uncomfortable, the world twisting incomprehensibly around her.
-------She had no access to her pores so she incapable of physical feeling, hearing, smelling. She could not even see, or at least well, for even if she strained, Rina could not translate the blurring greens, reds and creams of the tangible world. It was as if she were dunked underwater. All she heard was gurgling. This was making everything worse for Rina. She struggled to reach her body's senses once more and it was undeniably a struggle indeed. After an extended internal twisting and toiling she had only regained the sense of sound—like she had ears and they'd popped. Fortunately it didn't require much energy to uphold, though she had exerted most of what she had anyway. She was exhausted, on the edge. Rina was strongly considering giving up and leaving her unfortunate colleges with her corpse but it really wasn't an option if she, firstly, wanted that body back and, secondly, wished to sustain her first ever job.
-------However, the "ghost" halted in her anguished mind-racking as she was suddenly exposed to a soft, cooing voice with a signature inflection. "You're going to be okay…" Like a mother to a child, Amaryllis whispered to her closely like she had the Chimecho cradled. Rina went still, for a time absorbed in the speech. So forlornly she was told that she was going to get her medicine and then she flinched as Amaryllis snapped out of her solace offering, ordering someone else to dial.
-------"Nothing is going to harm you while I'm around. I promise." The words truly resonated. Rina felt hollower than usual, almost sick. There was a sudden upsurge of emotion that consumed her and, at first, it demobilized her. But then, it invigorated her, and with a sudden push she was again gasping for air.
-------"M-Ma!" she wailed. "No needing to call…! I am well!" Rina managed to lash her little limbs about and even flap her tail as if to make evident the words she'd spoken.

 

[Foxrally]

Status: Designer

Click here to view Errol's application!

Held Item: None

Errol the Qwilfish​

As Castiel presented Blair with more options on what to wear, the young Qwilfish decided to take the time to look over his boss' office, and possibly find something useful.

First off, the room wasn't half as intimidating or mystical as Errol had fantasized it to be. It was - from this angle, anyway - still quite impressive, with the masks and the sword sheaths hanging along the walls. Other than that, he couldn't see much from his perspective. At eye level, however, there were a few knickknacks and jars lying around. Errol tried his best to avoid the gaze of a pickled eyeball contained within one of the jars. There were also multiple boxes scattered around carelessly on the floor near the cupboards, some with their lids open; containing all sorts of jewelry and accessories.

Oh, this could be useful! Errol thought, hopping over to the cases. With so many lying around, one of them was bound to have something good in them. The Qwilfish's attention suddenly snapped back to Castiel and Blair as he saw the ghost give the Braixen a bonnet.

He gave her THAT?! he thought, cringing at the glaring mismatch between the colors of the hat, cape and fur of the Braixen. He hopped over to the nearest desk, sidestepping - or rather siderolling - Castiel, and took a good look at Blair.

"Um, Blair... If you want my opinion... get rid of the hat. And your cape." he pointed out bravely. "They don't work for you at all." he shook his head and frowned. "Especially with that fur color, it makes no sense for you to be wearing that."

 

[Greiger]

To be the best...​

Now that Druag was gone Gabriel couldn't help but feel the need to snap his head in the direction of where everyone else had basically gone. There Castiel was, giving personal touches to Blair and ensuring that she would keep his attention for some time. The seed of jealousy that had burst into Gabriel's mind but a few minutes ago was quickly fertilizing among his many thoughts. He HAD to show Castiel that he was better than that fox. Determination now swelled up in Gabriel's chest. He made his way across the room, eyes sweeping for crumbs as he used a wipe to pick them up and clean the areas they had infested. Errol had, of course, not managed to put his food box up, so Gabriel found himself doing the task for the Qwilfish.

With that task done, Gabriel grabbed the trash bags out of their containers, proceeded to tie their tops, and dragged them outside, making sure to be careful enough so that they wouldn't rip open and spill their contents everywhere. He had seen far too many sitcoms where such a travesty had happened and the audience had laughed uproariously while the protagonist had to clean up the mess once more. He figured Castiel wouldn't be in the mood to laugh. Once he was outside the Weavile dragged the bags to the dumpster and with a simple grunt threw them into the metal box.

Now that he was outside Gabriel couldn't help but feel his curiosity peek a bit. What were the other stores doing to attract potential customers? He saw that a few decorations were up with most being colorful to gain some needed attention. Still, Gabriel was confident that Spirited Away would be getting good business today. It was already well established in the community, AND Castiel wasn't half bad. Far more pleasant than that plant across the street.

"Excuse me!"

Gabriel slowly turned about...​

 

[Fen-Fen]

Upon being presented with the many options for how she would be presented, with a thin, cream colonial looking gown and with the possibility of a black bonnet on for size, Blair was sure that she'd rock the look. She knew that she wanted to aim for an exotic look, a look that she knew from experience that was sure to sell in the market of magic. Blair was a bit partial to the look of course, having adopted it some of the time for her magic show.

However, it seemed that Errol had other ideas for how it looked.

"Um, Blair... If you want my opinion... get rid of the hat. And your cape.They don't work for you at all. Especially if you're going by the 'Ochre Oracle', it makes no sense for you to be wearing that."

So, it seemed that Errol wasn't on board with the bonnet or her cape. She was willing to reconsider the bonnet as her boss said, but she was not ready to just ditch her cape. It was almost silly how the worn out thing became a symbol that carried lots of good memories for her, and in these days when Blair isn't the most positive of people, she needed a little something like that. Defensively, she replied, putting her paws on her hips, "I am not just gonna ditch the cape, Errol. It means a lot to me. It's been the attire I've always worn for magic."

 

[Orx of Twinleaf]

Druag
Druag emerged from the restroom and swept his eye over the store: no one immediately visible from his position. He glanced at the clock and it was just about half-past seven. He decided he'd might as well see if everyone had cleaned up their breakfasts.

He moved to the counter and found the boxes stacked just as Castiel had asked, and hardly a crumb left anywhere. A tad surprised that someone else had completed the mundane and boring task of cleaning-up, Druag instead went to check the trash cans, as he hadn't emptied them after sweeping. But they were all totally empty, too.

Druag raised an eyebrow at this, and figured it must have been Gabriel, as pretty much everyone else seemed to be engaged in preparing Blair for her act. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge earlier: Gabriel evidently wasn't afraid of working and was actually rather on-the-ball, really. Druag wondered inwardly whether or not the Weavile would be quite so effective when it came to the customers. The nervous way he'd talked to Druag didn't seem particularly like it could sell trinkets.

The Druddigon rubbed at his thigh absent-mindedly, at a loss. He supposed he could dust, but it was too close to opening time to be whipping dust out of the shelves and into the peppermint-polluted air. He decided he'd might as well just go ahead and put fresh trash bags in and then mill about for a while. He didn't think he was up for trying small talk with Silver: she had gotten rather sluggish since the Kecleon incident, and Druag didn't want to impose on her. She might well not have a strong-enough stomach for back-to-back Heal Powder doses.

He hobbled into the backroom again, pointedly ignoring some of the stranger figures in the room. Druag didn't have to wonder as to why Castiel didn't leave such things out on the floor proper: besides being rather cumbersome in size, some of them seemed eerily lifelike. He had noticed them earlier, of course, when he was getting stuff for Blair, but he had been moving with a purpose and hadn't paid them any mind. Druag wondered what purpose such curious statues served: he couldn't quite make himself believe anyone would want the visual equivalent of a rigid corpse for purely aesthetic reasons.

He spied the box of trash bags on a shelf near where he had returned the broom, and took a bag for each can on the floor. He turned to close the storage room door (it wouldn't do to leave it hanging open for the customers to wander into, after all) and cast one last anxious look at the statues arrayed among the boxes and shelves along the wall: a squint-eyed Meowth in robes smiling and with one paw raised, a Cacturne in a thick haggardly dress perched in what seemed to be a mortar-and-pestle, a Lucario with its face covered with red wrappings, a Drampa wearing a rosary and with a staff in one hand and a ball of sorts in the other.

Druag shuddered and closed the door tightly.

He made a limping circuit around the store to replace each trash bag and found himself ending it near the bookshelf. Druag had never been big on reading anything other than correspondence, but he could think of nothing else prudent to do for the remainder of his time. He found a heavy metal-spined book labeled as The Way of Things: an Extensive Foray into the Enigmas of Reality. He opened to a random page of tightly-packed text.

| ... such that it is not truly an infant individual but rather another body held to the soul in the same manner as the bodies of the Exeggcute or the Magneton remain linked.
| From these examples we see the true power of the soul at work, allowing a single mind to hold over multiple bodies. The soul is thus shown to be on a higher plane that the body, and when the latter gives way the former returns to that mystical place. But the soul is ignorant, for lo, it does not remember its origin and fears leaving its body, and where that fear is strong enough, where that will to remain is stronger than this plane can quash, the soul remains, free and without a vessel. Such are what receive various names throughout cultures both civil and feral: spirit, bogey, haunt, spook, and all manner of thing. The most common of these is ghost, but this term is to be avoided as it causes confusion with Ghost-Types, who are only distantly related to this phenomenon and may undergo it themselves.
| In the cases of Ghosts, the soul is in a state of ...

Druag furrowed his brow and put the book back. A tad dense for his tastes. He plucked out another one, this time thinner and with four other books near it with similar spines. Bound in fresh leather and with a portrait of some bearded human man, it was titled proudly in golden letters as Mister Merlin's Manifesto of Mysticism and Magic, Volume Three of Five: Potions and Poisons of the Eldritch Sort. Druag checked the back of the book expecting to find some meaningless quotes from meaningless people praising the book, but instead found a small paragraph explaining it to be a collection of spells and magic rituals gathered from cultures and sources throughout history and from all over the globe, along with the complementary note that it was for hobbyist interest only, and that results are not guaranteed from performing or creating anything the book talks about. He whipped it open to a page near the end.

| ...and has now been recreated as an alcoholic beverage sans the Muk secretions for very nearly the same purpose, ha!
| The same village also very heavily believes the Eevee line to be tied closely with the powers of nature, and that the Eevee holds within it a potential greater than most other forms of life. They have a recipe for something they call the "Kamangyan na Mahusay na mga Elemento," which I will abbreviate to KME. The KME cannot be made with materials from Eevee, but rather from any one of its Evolutions. One must simply take about one gram of fur from the back of the head and mix it with the juices of an Apricorn of a similar color to the species the fur belongs to. From here, the mixture needs to receive a single drop of the venom found in the spines of a Qwilfish and then left to set for five minutes. When the KME is ready, simply ignite it and breathe the fumes deeply to receive its effects.
| What are these effects, though? Well, they vary depending on what species the fur is from, but usually only last about an hour, regardless. Sylveon fur, for example, beautifies the user and clears their body of blemishes and wrinkles. If a Jolteon's fur is used, the user receives a palpable surge of energy and strength, and becomes extremely nimble. The effects seem tied to the donor's Type in some small way, but there are also a few truly unanticipated outcomes. Why, if an Umbreon's fur is used, the user...

Druag closed the book and put it back, losing interest. He was already bothered enough that his pills apparently had Magmar snot in them, and he didn't think much of the idea of using parts of other Pokémon for things like that. He made a private allowance for his cane, considering the circumstances under which he had received it, and grudgingly extended that allowance to that Trevenant as well. Druag wondered how she was doing, and regretted not having gotten to know her better.

He reached out and pulled down one of the thicker, older books there, with not a word on its cover and only a picture of an elderly Swanna on the front. It looked juvenile for some reason, but also had an air of dignity about it. He opened it to a random page and found most of the pages played host to their own little stanza or poem of sorts. Seemed to be nursery rhymes and limericks, mostly. Druag smiled a little at the childishness of it and found one titled A Wizened Old Owl.

A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard
Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?

A wise old owl looked out from his hole
And what he saw ate at his soul
His soul was hurt and he lost all hope
How should any of us learn to cope?

A wise old owl heard the sound
And grew scared of what he found
The things he found haunted his dream
When will we learn things aren't as they seem?

A wise old owl sniffed at the air
But he couldn't find a reason to care
He didn't care so he didn't try
What place do we have to want to fly?

A wise old owl tasted his food
He found himself in a sour mood
In a bad mood, he just couldn't smile
Who of us can when a foot becomes a mile?

A wise old owl felt the chill
And he knew he was falling ill
He was sick and he would die
Wouldn't any of us start to cry?

A wise old owl died in an oak
His life had seemed to be a big joke
Funny but offensive and far too long
What is there we can learn from his song?

Druag swallowed dryly at the dark limerick that had evidently qualified as a children's nursery rhyme and put the book back shakily. He blinked nervously and decided not to open any more of Castiel's books.

 

[Who's Kiyo?]

" I only give two different reviews for movies: 'Terrible,' and 'Not as Terrible as I Suspected.' "

​

? Cicaro the Eleventh ?
- Shiny Furret -- - Level 23
- Forget-Me-Not Employee (+1)

Today's Achievements

Determined to get Spora so much booty that she'll be forced to wear a scarlet letter!

Only skimmed through the ?Emergency Situation Protocol? section of the employee handbook!

Walked a mile in someone else?s shoes! (Does it count if you took them off a corpse?)

​

-------- " An organic, soy, low-fat, caramel latte Christmas tree. "

----------Amaryllis handed him a distracted, half-hearted answer as she draped the garment over Spora; probably too wrapped up in her SecretPotion trip to give a proper response. She did manage to mumble a decent tip about lacing the jewelry through the holes of the shawl rather than pinning it in the yarn itself, which made Cicaro hum with appreciation; as he hadn?t had the concern himself. The Furret gently placed his collection of accessories on the floor and picked through them: eliminating the pieces that were too heavy, and selecting a couple of bead bracelets to begin with.
----------? I think those petty bozos are going at it out there, ? Amaryllis complained aloud, completely ignorant of the fact that Cicaro was holding out a trinket for her to clip on. She pivoted on her axis and spouted something authoritative as she exited the room. The ferret exchanged a tired glance with Spora and rubbed one of his eyes with the back of his paw.
----------? Good golly gosh, ? the Furret slurred underneath his breath, a blanket of fatigue draping over him. His fur felt unusually warm and cozy: asking him to close his eyes so that it may transform his imagination into dreams. But he frightened away the temptation with a low, grainy growl and scuttled over to the Parasect; tutting his lips as if the gesture could activate his stylistic intuition. Finding a temporary muse, he flashed Spora an eye gleaming with mischief.
----------? Don?t think of it one bit, darlin?, ? he sputtered like an overbearing hairdresser, ? I?m here, and I?ll make you so beautiful that your suitors will be clawing at eachother?s throats. ?

- Determined to get Spora so much booty
that she'll be forced to wear a scarlet letter!​

----------Threading one of the gaudy bibelots through the shawl only took a couple of seconds, so by the time Cicaro picked up on the commotion outside, he had made quite a lot of progress: the Parasect looked like an organic, soy, low-fat, caramel latte Christmas tree, clattering with wood beads and glittering with jeweled centerpieces. The Furret had expected a backhanded compliment to spew from the cicada nymphs? mouth, but none came: Spora merely looked at her reflection with indifference, placated by an internal monologue and tolerance for her station. Upon seeing what he could get away with, the ferret dressing her was inspired to go one step further and started untangling chains for another idea ? but when the phrase ? we'll have to call the paramedics! ? pierced through the office door with surprising clarity, Cicaro directed his curiosity towards the sound.
----------? Here, lady love, ? he said, placing a silver chain necklace on each of Spora?s pincers, ? wrap some of these around your hands; make them look sexy. ? He gave the tip of the Parasect?s claw a friendly - yet, somehow condescending - pat and smiled before trotting over to the door and quietly cracking it open. He was very careful to peek out only a portion of his face, so he could see what was going on unbeknownst to those in the room, and spotted Samuel walking towards the counter.
----------He was drowning in phlegm and tears: ? Rina was saying something about a basket. I think the basket she showed you might ? might be able to save her. ?
----------Cicaro squinted, sensing desperation in the room. Amaryllis was hunched over, coddling something pale; uncharacteristically sacrificing her fa?ade of grace. It wasn?t until Basileios flew over, offering to help with all the vim and vigor of an apathetic tree stump, that the Furret figured out what his boss was holding: a sickly version of his young Psychic co-worker, her breath suffocating under the weight of some sudden illness.
----------? Bangle, ? the Florges barked, the sheer force of her words startling the Long Body Pok?mon she was unknowingly pointing at, ? into my office, in the cupboard on the middle shelf, there's a basket. Dig for her medicine ? ?
----------Before she could finish her command, Cicaro quickly closed the door and dug out the pill bottle from his scarf as a look of shock crawled over his face. He examined the label intensely: he wasn?t sure how he missed the name ?Gaspar? printed out in sketchy yet clinical font, but the discovery caused him to put his hands together and rest the cap on the bottom of his lip. He was too busy contemplating to indicate any sort of follow-up emotions, and he briefly stood there in silence; assessing his options.

- Only skimmed through the ?Emergency Situation Protocol?
section of the employee handbook!​

----------On one hand, someone outside was clearly in a critical state and he held the cure. Though, there was a part of him that wanted Rina to struggle a bit: reaping her payment for being a rude-ass kid. But someone who labeled themselves as a ?decent? or ?ethical? person - or what his father personally liked to call ?nice,? - would surely burst into the room without hesitation and hand the bottle to Amaryllis. This in itself wasn?t a bad idea, either ? surely the Fairy would be grateful for the immediate response, as well as future discretion about the whole ordeal.
----------However, those people wouldn?t have been snooping in a piece of furniture they weren?t specifically given permission to, and therefore wouldn?t?ve come upon the pills in the first place; let alone take them in impish spirit, believing them to be contraband. A fact which was still debatable: Come to think of it, who hell was Gaspar?, Cicaro pondered. How would Rina be so careless as to leave a substance as intense as SecretPotion - especially one not assigned to your name - in a present for your boss on your first day of work? Unless it was some under-the-table business, but Amaryllis seemed too helpless to have known it was truly there: it would?ve been first solution that came to her mind before calling the hospital. Something was incredibly fishy about all that; but not as suspicious as it would be to conveniently come forth from the office like some white knight with the medicine, when nobody knew you were remotely aware of the situation. There was still a chance that everything about the potion?s background could be reasonably explained, and after the Chimecho sufficiently recovered, heads would turn to Cicaro for his foresight: why did he have the pills before anyone knew of their existence?
----------Nervousness possessed his fingers and the Furret began fiddling with the cap of the SecretPotion. His brain swam in a torrent of confusion, questioning his morality and how best to approach the conundrum without his intent coming off as dubious. Even if he forfeited any credit and slipped the bottle back into its place, he couldn?t do so safely with Spora?s beady, glassy eyes scrutinizing him; nor would he have the time, as Bradley?s speedy wings would surely have him busting through the door at any second. A swarm of tingles smacked the lining of Cicaro?s stomach and culminated into a sigh; the noise cuing his brow to shape into one of determination and frustration.
----------All these doubts were suddenly silenced when he imagined himself lying limp, white, and dying, and their echoes parted and made way for the image of the wind chime taking his hypothetical medicine and stuffing it down her throat to spite him; fueling her decision with the notion that if she allowed him to die, she would have less competition in whatever mental mind game she was playing. The Furret sneered at the thought, anger tensing up his neck. It was a bit disgusting how realistic this vision seemed ? and though there was a small germ of virtue crying out that he didn?t know her well enough to legitimately assume that, the ferret had made up his mind. He would stuff the bottle in some other crevice of Amaryllis? office and feign stupidity when Byron frantically came to search for it. Maybe he?d slip the Ninjask a low-key hint or two so that Rina had a fighting chance, just to prove that he still was above her level. He picked out one of Amaryllis? ostentatious wigs and began walking towards it.

- Walked a mile in someone else?s shoes!
(Does it count if you took them off a corpse?)​

----------It was then that his hand, in an accidental and brisk move, twisted open the bottle. Not comprehending the instant change of sensation, Cicaro?s whole body hiccuped in its path and his feet fumbled forward; leaving him on all fours and staring at one of the symbols on the tiled floor. And it was interesting, he thought, how one could be staring right at something and still have to slowly piece together what it was: for instance, he was just realizing that the patterns he had been taking idle interest of on Amaryllis? floor were some sort of fancy crest, and he was only now coming to the conclusion that the weird, random circles in the design were actually spilled pellets of SecretPotion.
----------? Oh, ? he said softly, terror rising in his voice as he spotted more and more of the pills on the floor underneath his belly, ? oh, bonemerang me in the face. ?

​

 

[Xtrashy]

Spora had no words. After Cicaro had been adorning her with additional bits and pieces to make her look more complete, she watched him head over to the door, obviously trying to figure out what was going on out there. In mere moments she saw him shut the door and fiddle about with something. She couldn't see what because he was turned away from her, but that didn't matter because in a few moments said Furret was on his stomach. Which was likely not the first nor the last time Cicaro would be in that situation she surmised, little pills flying all over the place and landing on the floor. Looking at the pills that had skittered across the floor, she instantly recognized them as some form of medicine, but what was Cicaro doing with it, dropping it all over the floor? She shuffled herself over to the pokemon on the floor, all the bits and gaudy pieces jingled lightly as she moved. "Do I even want to know what all this is about?" she asked, motioning her claws to all of the mess around him.

After a few moments of consideration it didn't take her long to put two and two together, obviously whatever was going on outside had something to do with this. "What's going on out there?" she asked, normally she'd simply open the door and find out herself at this point, but her coworker was perfectly placed on the floor in such a way that getting to the door would require walking on top of him. There was also the distinct possibility she didn't want to know what was going on out there, also who's medicine was that? She didn't think Amaryllis took pills of any kind, and she hadn't been made aware that any of her coworkers had medicine of some kind that might be needed at a moments notice.