lieutenantantichrist | [19] Video/Action for Olivine - "Warm Sun, Cool Ocean Breezes, Getting Ripshit On Ham"

[The camera is pointed at the sky. It's clear for now, though clouds aren't far distant. There's the sound of waves, underlain by clicks and scraping noises very close to the speakers. The screen shifts until it is angled properly to show the one positioning it - a Clauncher. With careful movements of his claws, he makes sure that the Gear is balanced against the rocks behind it. Once he's satisfied, he scuttles backward daintily until he has room to work.

In the background, Blake is visible, wearing swim trunks and reclining on a distant beach chair and soaking in the last of the summer. Now and then an Emolga hops up and drops a Frisbee onto his bare chest, and he tosses it off across the beach again.

The Clauncher has found an expanse of clear sand and a period of time in which he is given no heed, and intends to make the most of both. With a wriggle of his tail to steady himself, he rises up and lifts his claw. A slender stream of water arcs to the ground, forming the shape of graceful cursive letters writ in dampened sand.]

SOS, please hear and heed
I've come from 'neath the sea
Observe misfortune's bitter grasp
See what's befallen me.

I came with brethren plentiful
I know not whence or why
Only that by some mischance
I caught a native's eye.

I am a humble creature; still,
I've pride and dignity
I'll tell you now, I wasn't hatched
For a brute's menagerie.

Won't anyone come lend a hand
Or wing, or pseudopod?
I'll find my way as best I can-
But spirit me from this clod!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[...Kayneth's lip curls in distaste because ugh, his sensibilities are so offended by those legs.]

Well, I was admiring the scenery... and I also happened to notice that your Pokemon fancies itself a poet.

The key word here being "fancies."

[Blake bends down and picks up the Gear in one hand, keeping a firm hold on the struggling lobster with the other. He holds it well out of pinching range as he looks down at the sand. It looks like there's words there, though he's stepped on some of them.]

Yeah, I just picked this thing up this morning. There was a whole bunch of them scuttling around. Figured I might as well grab one.

Huh, the little shrimp can write. Did you know they could do th-- hey! [He lifts the lobster and glares at it.] Who you calling a clod?

Really, you may as well. We have absolutely no idea what to expect from these things, so it could be a good idea in the long run. Of course, I've only encountered a strange geode creature in person thus far, but it actually seems to have a great deal of potential.

[...okay, he needs to suppress a smile at that]

...Not the shrimp, specifically, though I have known Pokemon to type, at the very least. Mine have never written insulting poetry, of course...

It could at least write some dirty limericks.

Wait, a geode? Like a rock?

[The Clauncher hisses and snaps, offended at this insult to basic geology. Blake holds him up to eye level, at arm's length.] Aw, cram it, you-

[He regards the lobster thoughtfully.] That's right, you need a name. Groucho Marx?

[The Clauncher shakes his head.]

Davy Jones?

[He chitters. Absolutely not!]

Felix Hernandez?

[The Clauncher tilts his head to the side, considering the sound of that. Finally, he nods. Blake breaks into a grin.]

See, there we go. We're goddamn buddies already.

[Felix demurs from that assertion by squirting water at his face.]

Yes, the kind with the crystals sticking out of them and not Geodudes, which... who even named those things? I couldn't really identify the composition, of course, but it would probably require a dissection and lord knows that would be impossible even with a jackhammer.

[...the name sounds familiar but... he knows jack shit about sports hahahahah

in any case...

heh.]

Well, at least he's not outright trying to kill you. That's always a plus.

Pffuggah! [Blake spits out water.] Mouthy little bastard.

[Thanks a lot, Kenny. The thing was settling down some, but at the word dissection it lets out a squawk of alarm and thrashes in his hand.] Christ, calm down, nobody's dissecting anybody.

[it takes some work to hold onto the thing, but it calms down some. Blake adds, after some thought:]

And if it was you, it wouldn't be a science project, it'd be for lobster rolls- Fuck! I'm kidding, I'm kidding!

Oh, come off it. I'm reasonably certain that's actually impossible both in terms of progress and lunch.

[...that's directed at the shrimp thing, not Blake.]

Have you ever attempted to try and explain to your Pokemon that they're basically immortal, even...?

[...now, that's directed at Blake.]

[The Clauncher chitters. 'Reasonably' is not certain enough when it's your flesh in question! Then he pauses and holds still, suspended in midair. He has seen his share of years, but never seen it put quite that way.

Blake doesn't pay much mind to him.] Yeah, the little bastards are tough. Do they even croak from old age, or do they just stick around forever?

Now fighting, yeah, no matter how beat up they get they spring right back. So don't worry about that, fella.

[That's to the lobster, who clacks his claws once sharply and shakes his head.]

Huh? You don't wanna fight?

[Blake glances at Archie in confusion. He's never run into that before.]

Oh, I'm quite certain they die somehow, given that there was apparently a Pokemon graveyard in Lavender before they tore it down and replaced it with a radio tower.

Because that is absolutely a wonderful idea and will in no way go wrong ever.

[...but speaking of things going wrong...]

...well, that's different. I suppose that realistically, there's no way the love of battle could be a worldwide trait, but it's unusual to see.

Honestly, if you don't force him to battle, it would be interesting to see what results he does produce. Aside from poetry, of course.

Great, that's...fuckin' wonderful to know. Why would you put a radio tower on a graveyard? That's a good way to get yourself creepy twin girls showing up in the breakroom.

[He looks at the lobster thoughtfully.] Well, he doesn't gotta fight. I have plenty of these things, it's no skin off my ass if one stays on the sidelines. As long as he stays out of the way, he can write bad poetry in a notebook like a teenage girl for all I care.

[Felix is not certain whether to take this as a benediction or an insult.]

Well, since the graveyard is for Pokemon I'd suspect it would be creepy twin Krilia... but no, I certainly agree.

Precisely. It's not as though the limit on these things isn't fairly generous, so there's no issue with keeping a few on that aren't really battlers.

Hell, my dog's the magic animal version of Evander fuckin' Holyfield all on her own. [That may be a note of pride that sneaks into Blake's voice.]

I can afford a couple benchwarmers, as long as they behave. [He holds the Clauncher up and looks him in the unsettlingly intelligent eye.] You gonna behave?

[The little lobster regards him, then nods. Blake looks satisfied.] Good.

...Yes, right.

[AND THAT REFERENCE ZOOMS OVER HIS HEAD]

And really, that one doesn't seem to be much of a troublemaker to begin with, outside of perhaps being a bit fresh with you.

Hey, nobody likes rotten seafood.

[The Clauncher's glower is for how terrible that wordplay is.]

But if you wanna try to teach it better poetry, go ahead. Maybe I can hire it out to write greeting cards.

...that was pretty awful, yes.

Anyway, I'm not much of a poet myself, but greeting cards aren't the height of poetic wit to begin with so you could likely do that anyway.

[Felix perks up a bit. The blond man does seem to be erudite and knowledgeable, even if he is a touch cruel.

Blake's thoughts are along the same lines, though differently expressed.]

You're into that shit, right? [The display dips and rises as he waves the hand that isn't full of lobster, which is full of phone.] Books.

Ah, yes, though I'm a bit fonder of prose.

[While he's good with words, in the long run, he's best described as a visual thinker, really.]

Still, I suppose if you could find any sort of Shakespeare equivalent here, he might be fond of that.

[19] Video/Action for Olivine - "Warm Sun, Cool Ocean Breezes, Getting Ripshit On Ham"

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]