Post by Roxanne Adkins on Nov 29, 2014 22:09:36 GMT -6
 RELIGION IS TO BLAME; WELL, I'M THE NEW MESSIAH death angel with a gun There was a certain... rhythm, a routine that came with Roxanne's madness. No word, no action was without meaning in the grand scheme of things, and no bit of energy spared in the midst of a trainer battle was without reward on her side. The time it took to fly from her makeshift home in the woods outside Veherna Citadel, for example, to the old Veherna by the waterside was never in vain. There was always someone, whether they be a veteran returning to revisit their younger days, or a rookie who had to pass through on their way to the next gym leader. All that she had to do was make the flight, issue the challenge, and watch the chaos unfold, perhaps giving the occasional order of her merry band of beasts started going a little off beat of their typical battle strategy. There were a few bumps in the road, sometimes; the older, more experienced trainer could sometimes get the better of her, or they ended up not having what she was really after in their immediate party after all, but the battle experience was nice all the same, and the money she'd be given or would snatch from their pockets was always enough to get her more than by in life. In most cases, however, the end result was always the same: one less dragon-type for them and one more to add to the growing army hauled away in her Personal Computer, ready to be raised for a higher purpose. One day, a day when she's acquired a roster much more expansive than the one she had now – and was a legal adult – she would rise from the dirt she'd buried herself in and take hold of the region long enough to save it from itself. And maybe cheat the civilians out of a bit of their money, but the text books always like to blot out the bad things when hailing heroes. The Salamence gijinka made long strides to close the distance between she and the fallen trainer. The boy, probably no more than thirteen, had lost six to none and had been reaching into his pocket to give her the customary prize money. This was always when she'd order one more attack: never lethal, unless the brat was especially annoying, but enough to have them knocked out cold so she could take the goods. The goods, in this case, was a Noivern. High leveled, well trained, probably bred especially for him. The massive bat-like creature would simply never be able to reach its full potential, however, while drowning in the mediocrity of a boy skylark. What is needed was a king. Or, more specifically, her. The King of Dragons. “Bloody idiot,” Roxie said with a smirk, accent seemingly thicker than usual in the quiet of a mostly-abandoned city in the early hours of the night. “Not a bad team, I'll admit, but I could've sworn “strategy” isn't a word in his vocabulary.” The dual dragon-flying-type flailed wildly in it's Poke' Ball as she retrieved it from his pocket. She almost didn't have the time to use a swift, but weak Dragon Claw attack on the button to seal it shut and keep the beast from letting itself loose. Exhausted as it was, an angry creature of that power was not something she wanted to deal with so late at night. “Oh, calm down, you fool. You won't miss him, anyway.”
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