scientificflair: (Have a new kind of fear)
[PRIVATE TEXT TO EMMY ALTAVA] )


[ACTION]

[Well, some of you may remember that...weirdly terse post from Descole that went out about a month ago, asking exactly how one would know if their Pokémon that requires happiness to evolve is anywhere near pleased with you. You'll be pleased to know that it's -

...seriously not anything he'll have to worry about anytime soon. No. Really. It's not.

It's not exactly something he's keeping to himself, either. Oh, no. It's incredibly evident in several ways, the primary one being the fact that he's currently skulking around on Route 34, just outside of Goldenrod City, and that Togepi he's been training is currently wailing up a storm.

Descole doesn't seem to know what he's supposed to do with the fact that the damn thing simply will not stop crying; to his credit, he isn't just up and ditching the thing, though from the look of it he's clearly considering - once in a while he'll get fed up and stomp off a few feet, only for the wailing to intensify the further he gets. The result is this...bizarre storming back-and-forth routine, simply because Descole is the paragon of grace and charm and he cannot figure out how to make the damn thing shut up.

Yes, he has tried everything from leaving it alone to being in its presence to...yelling at it to shut up. No, he has not worked out the incredibly obvious solution of "pick the little crying eggthing up."

-50 PICARATS FOR YOU, DESCOLE.]
scientificflair: (Your early ending was all wrong)
[The 'Gear had been an interesting thing to figure out - an amusing little toy, really; while calling it a puzzle would have been giving it entirely too much credit, Descole had enjoyed himself with it for a while. The afternoon had been spent watching the others post to the network; apparently he wasn't the only one that had randomly found himself stuck here. Really, there had been at least one other that day posting to say that they had found themselves in the same predicament.

How odd.

Tonight, his own feed comes alive, focusing in on a dimly-lit room and just enough of a figure to indicate that there's a person sitting in that chair over there, though he's leaning back and the camera is situated at an angle in relation to the person, keeping his face out of view of the camera. There doesn't appear to be too many distinguishing points about the individual, as he appears to be draped in a long black cape of some sort, though toward the upper corner of the frame, there's an obvious fluffy shock of white among all the dark folds of fabric, and the edges of his sleeves are ruffled and white, pale against what's visible of his hands where they're folded against what appears to be a desk or table of some sort.

All part of the act, of course; keep the audience guessing.

When he speaks, his voice is cordial, but almost stiffly formal - not quite rehearsed, but he's clearly been thinking about what to say for some time.]


Assuming this message manages to reach anyone, if someone would do me the favor of actually obliging me and letting me know where I am, that would be appreciated - there was a red-haired woman in here earlier claiming that she was doing exactly that, but unfortunately, she didn't say anything terribly useful.

[He leans forward a bit, the slightest hint of a smirk edging into the frame above that white boa.]

And if anyone just happens to know where my swords have gone...really, if you know what's in your best interests you'll return them as quickly as possible. I can't say there won't be any hard feelings, but I'm sure we can work something out.

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scientificflair: (Default)
Jean Descole

January 2020

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