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M-Lucario with pokemon blue’s colors :D

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The consequences of replaying XY

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{ ooc. Sorry for the silence-- I've been Really Sick for the past handful of days! It's very slowly getting better but man it's been tough }

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I miss you.

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{ ooc. I mean jess is self-explanatory (cursed with a boring very common not at all unique basic name) but gioia is bc that's the nickname my nonna has always used for me so it holds a very special place in my heart 😌}

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     ↗     Professional nap trapper. Truly that one Meowstic who it will take months to gain the trust of, if not more, but will then use your affection for her to her advantage. You want to get up? Too bad, she is curled up on your lap. Want to move? Sorry, she just so happened to stretch out a paw to rest on your arm, when she otherwise was not near you before. You are legally, contractually and spiritually trapped. Try to tell her that she has to move because you need to get up? She will use her psychic powers to close a door or put a barrier up in front of a hallway. She's kneading and sinking the tips of her claws into your skin on accident? Suffer.

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Secret Santa for arquerite for the PCC’s Secret Santa event (late upload rip). Hope you like it, Silver!!

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     When Adam speaks of her condition, the heroine’s thoughts come to a halt, though little of the pause manifests in her features, save for the way her stare remains on him, the warmth a little more distant. He is, of course, correct. Any injury, any strain, while still painful and present, would vanish within a matter of days—returned to how it had been, pristine and functional, as though never inflicted upon her to begin with. None of this she speaks. It would be foolish to divulge the specifics of her immortality—weaknesses, strengths or anything in-between. Instead, she allows for her gaze to flicker off to the side—to the sky—, and for the smile upon her lips to form into a mix of something reminiscent and sweet. Perhaps the first of a genuine smile from the woman.

          “I don’t think it was a where, so much as a when,” Comes the start of her answer, accompanied by the barest shrug of her shoulders. “It started when I was six. I… don’t know what else to say than it was something I fell in love with from the first class I took. There wasn’t anything specific at that age—I just… knew that it was something I wanted to keep doing. That I was made for.”

     And, with that, Serena places the food back down upon the plate and dusts both hands against one another.

          “When I was ten, I was encouraged to try out for an academy in Jubilife City. The place is… how do I put this…”

     Words trail, carrying themselves on the tail-end of what little breeze brushes past. And in the search for a description apt enough do brows twitch, as though to hold back the start of a contemplative frown. If only there were truly a way to describe it without the chance of sounding as though she might only be propping herself up upon some nonsensical pedestal.

          “…Thousands of children audition each year from all around the world… and only around sixty are accepted. Even less for the scholarship I needed to fund going there.”

     Fingers graze the surface of the blanket, and from the corner of her eyes does she regard Adam for another, brief moment before casting them back out again. Surely, this is a story anyone with a minute of spare time and a search engine at their fingertips would know of. Videos of her year’s exams, competitions, performances and clips from documentaries—a far better record than a verbal summary from the woman herself.

          “After I was enrolled, the rest is history. My love for it only grew over the years. The movement, the music, the emotions… being able to bring stories hundreds of years old to life in a way both people and pokemon can understand… I don’t really think I could begin to describe it all—or find the right words to do it justice.”

Admittedly, this was not a choice borne from his own preferences so much as setting the vibes and mood he was going for. But, as someone who drank wine anyway, there probably wasn't much of a practical difference to an outsider.

"Kalos is not a region of half-measures. Neither are its people." He muses as he takes his first bite of his sandwich, chewing politely with a closed mouth. "But I cannot blame him either. Passion is passion, as you say, and I do not believe in half-measures."

Its true. Art is the most common motivator for that sort of thing but far from the only one. And what point was dedication if you did not give it your all?

"Likely not." Adam admits. "I am passionate about my work, as I believe everyone deserves to look as good as they feel, but the demands on your body and the time you have put into it cannot be fairly compared."

A smile.

"But that sort of passion and dedication is what the world needs. Admittedly, your state of being means you will never pass beyond the threshold where you would otherwise retire for your own health."

Another bite, and quiet chewing before he swallows and adds;

"Something to be careful of. Though I am curious; where did your passion for Ballet stem from?"

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nope, still can’t wait for october.

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     As he moves pass the plate and glass over her way, Serena meets the gesture with a lean slight enough to be seen, yet not move closer than necessary, a small expression of thanks passing from her lips. And how odd it is, in this outing of theirs, for her to utter expressions of gratitude so often—meant in their entirety or not. Eyes cast themselves to the drink once more. Wine—again. Though this time, one devoid of alcohol and therefore one she would drink. A little detail, perhaps, and maybe not noticed by him yet it screams a preference of his. An unsurprising one, for she could not imagine pint glass in his hand so easily as a Bordeaux or flute.

          “Oh, it’s… never a small affair,” She admits with a glance down to the blanket, the nails of a  free hand grazing over strands of fabric as the other places the plate upon her lap. “If he is making one dish for us, it somehow ends up turning into an entire three-course meal. I think he gets a little caught up in the moment.”

     He is, however, a passionate soul—terrifyingly so. Someone possessing a fire far too bright and immense for one who specialises in water-types.

          “Not that I blame him. When there is something you are so dedicated to, some form of art you’ve bound yourself to… it can be quite difficult to not put your all into it.”

     She goes to take a bite of the sandwich, though it is small and one hand rises up to shield her mouth from view. A risk, indeed, but much in line with his own thoughts—she cannot die. He could not kill her, no matter how much he wishes. And in one word could a need for help shoot through the petals of a flower and bring the woman’s pokemon to her in mere moments.

          “…I don’t know if it’s the same for you and your clothing line, bit it is that way for me and dancing. If my body could not eventually give out, there are some days where I think I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

Adam pretends not to notice the slight exhale she gives as Fleur is recalled. He cannot blame her; psychic types are especially dangerous - and all things considered, it was a sensible concern. He does not wish to present himself as a threat to her.

That is the last thing he wishes, frankly.

His eyes flick out over the view; he cannot deny he has chosen well. It truly is beautiful. His face softens for a moment before helooks back to her and smiles a little.

"No, not at all. I am simply glad you appreciate it. It would have been pointless to ask you out if you did not enjoy what I did for you." He replies as he fixes her a plate of sandwiches and pours her a small glass of non-alcoholic wine. He gently leans over to hand it to her. "Besides; I have found that food is a good way of proving your intentions."

Well. There was always the risk of poison or whatever, but even if that was true here, she wouldn't die and neither would he. It would be absolutely pointless.

Her comment makes him laugh softly.

"It is appreciated. I was fortunate enough to get to experience one of his meals once." He hums. "And I admit, I could not compare to him no matter how much time I had to learn. His natural talent is something else."

A smirk.

"But I cannot imagine the types of foods he makes for you and the Elite Four." He comments, taking a bite from his sandwich.

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A commission of Serena and Litwick from Pokemon!

(prices here)

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{ ooc.

None of you know what you have just signed up for

enjoy your peace while it lasts }

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{ ooc. Okay I think I've only got 3 of these in me for now (it'll make sense trust me) so like this post for a surprise

We don't have to have interacted before for this either 👏 }

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kjkjjj with my new tablet i can draw lines really quickly & naturally i really enjoyed doodling this !!!!!:-)) ms paint is very calming to use and drifblim is such an easy & good shape

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❝ do you mind if i ask about it? ❞

( taro, at the first opportunity: haha yeah could you elaborate 👁️👁️ )

Muses getting to know each other || Accepting

          "Not at all," She answers, the words gentle as they escape from her. The fingers of both hands spread along the cold and porous balustrade, her gaze unmoving from the crystalline structure before them. "Although... I'm not sure how much I can tell you about it. What any of us know are just guesses or observations."

     And what a monolith they stand before. Matrices of something so familiar and yet unidentifiable to humankind. Impenetrable and yet clear enough that peering into one surface might throw back at an unfortunate soul but a thousand reflections of themselves. The craning of a neck while standing at the base, not sufficient enough to see its end. Light dances from within and around itself with no discernible pattern, appearing and vanishing like countless blinking and gleaming eyes. Indeed, to call this a crystal or a sundial, though that is its name, would do it no justice. It stands a towering effigy of the unknown. Drawing in the curious and blinding them with its beauty, or singeing their very soul with unfathomable truths.

          "Every day, when the sun sets... the rays of the sun hit the sundial in a way that makes it radiate light— especially through the hole in its centre."

     She casts a look over her shoulder— to the rings of gold laying in wait, surrounded by carefully cut and rounded shrubs.

          "The concentrated light, somehow, makes these rings start to move all on the their own. Fragments of light fall from the sky, too— like tiny sparkling stars. And it's said that every Mega Stone within the region will glow and have the same effect."

     People like herself, too. Irradiated by the brilliance life and death in their purest forms. Cursed with eternity by the hands of the desperate and selfish. An addition she keeps firmly locked away in the depths of her heart, for they are too young to know of such things or to carry the burden of the knowledge that comes with it, or so Serena assumes. And she in no place to speak on it, nor made into a spectacle.

          "It's quite beautiful, but..." Finally does her focus rest on the stranger— this curious child, perhaps only a few years younger than she had been, those handful of years ago. "...doesn't it make you feel a little uneasy? Being able to witness a phenomena like that— something completely out of this world--, but understand so little about it?"

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     In the moment that Fleur is recalled, a sigh breaks free from the heroine’s lips, silent and free from tension, and she thanks herself for partially turning away from him before it could escape. Her presence not one that Serena underestimated, for how could she when so familiar with the power that exudes from her own, and yet still held with it an edge sharp enough to raise hairs—even through calmness. A step places itself so that she might look around as Adam sets up all that he has brought, arms loose around her waist. Perhaps it is not quite as close to the tree-line and patches of familiar flowers as the woman hoped it to be, however she would not describe the situation as too isolating—too dependent on him. Close enough to the ground to be incomparable to the smallest of mountains, and yet steep enough to offer a view over the tops of leaves and distant buildings. The sun, from here, would vanish past the horizon in a spectacle, and yet not one that would cast light too immense upon their eyes. The sky, a blank canvas for whatever the veil between night and day might choose to offer.

     And in this choice of location does she believe that there is every chance he might not have chosen it for some strategic advantage.

     Her head turns in his direction when he begins to speak again, wrists dangling and anchored to elbows only by fingertips. Then, to the food so carefully placed atop the blanket. She should not forget herself in the wake of scenery with the tendency to wipe the mind clean. He is, by all accounts, still something of a stranger. And so, she moves to the opposing corner of the blanket, armed with an excuse of not wishing for it to blow away in the wind, tucking her legs around one side.

          “It looks lovely— thank you,” She keeps her words soft, but not simpering. The ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips. “Not to sound like a broken record, but… you didn’t need to do this, either. I really do appreciate it.”

     The hand opposite to the side where legs are curled moves to rest upon the ground, and her weight shifts towards it ever so slightly as fingers spread.

          “I’ll try my best to not compare it to the dishes Siebold has made for us at the league.”

"Hardly." He replies with a wry smile and a shake of his head at her playful taps. For all her mistrust, the looks he gives seem so very genuine. "Do I strike you as someone who would give vapid compliments I did not mean?"

His own words give him pause and he clucks his tongue, another soft laugh and a teasing tone.

"Actually; do not answer that. I think I already know your answer at the current time."

She is right, however - he is theatrical when comfortable. Not intentionally, and not to decieve - its simply who he is beneath everything piled atop of it. The trees finally part and the trio break into the open air; he gestures atop one of the nearby gentle sloping hills as their destination and trek up to it through the small gravel path cut through.

Her question makes him hum.

"Perhaps, but even if they have doubts, what could be said? I cannot change what transpired here, and you cannot change what happened where I am from. To anyone with an ounce of common sense, this meeting would be no danger to anyone. Besides; I am allowed to make friends."

They finally crest the hill and Adam nods to himself, gently sliding his arm free of Serena's to open the basket and remove the blanket - and old thing; well worn. He unfurls it and lays it upon the grass before Fleur places the basket down. With a thankful nod he recalls her into her ball (as promised to Serena) and clips it onto his belt before he sits down slowly besides the basket and begins to unpack.

Inside are plates, sandwiches, a pair of deserts and more - all vegetarian. He glances her way and then up to the sky, before setting out the two plates.

"I hope these are to your liking. I made them all myself." He offers a smile. "-- I admit, I took something of a gamble on the specifics, but I stuck to the basics. Cucumber, tomato and lettuce and the like."