Garland always preferred to move at night. His white feathers were practically a beacon in daylight, the colour sufficiently dulled when the moon emerged to cast a silvery glaze onto the chaotic world below. Not to mention it was quieter. Of course, there were always the occasional strangled screams and screeches echoing in the distance, but the further from land he flew, the more he could forget about the epidemic. It was almost peaceful. The great body of water was effectively a death sentence to those that dwelled within it, but there was no denying its beauty. When calm, a startling stillness in the rippling waves that could transport the viewer to the most tranquil of situations. But when the winds picked up, the sea held an incredible passion, a powerful and violent being that could bring down the biggest of opponents – ships, leviathans, even whole islands could succumb to the mighty waves. Garland was just as unpredictable as the ocean; his serene beauty masking a truly callous force that lurked within.
His red-tinted wings were beginning to ache, the swanna gradually descending from his midnight flight at the sight of land. He was unsure to where he was exactly, confident in only that the region was Johto. Vito had told him stories of this land, always suggesting that it was worth a visit for the awe-inspiring mountains alone. Garland was eager to catch glimpse of their beauty. But for now, he would take time to recuperate. There was no telling how far the next stretch of solid land would lie.
The swan landed silently, expertly, his wings folding back to his body as he flexed his claws in the sand. Simply enjoying the tingly sensation that such movement evoked, Garland stood in solitude, his demeanour calm as he observed the area. There were footprints. A slight frown surfacing over vivid, oceanic blue eyes, the bird scanned for any other telltale signs that he wasn’t alone on this island. From what the tide hadn’t already consumed, Garland succeeded in making out five distinct prints. One was a large, clawed specimen; then there were three finned beings – all of different sizes – and finally, prints almost exactly matching his own.
“Hmm,” Garland muttered quietly to himself, leisurely padding after the trail before he found himself at the entrance to a darkened cavern. His eyes feverishly scanned the formation, straining into the darkness of the cave as his claws flexed, ready for battle. However, all was still, silent save for regular, quiet breathing.
His composure unfaltering, Garland fearlessly walked into the Safari Cavern, secretly eager to cross paths with the undead. Whilst he doubted that he would discover any monsters, the lust to tear something apart was beginning to weigh on the bird’s mind. He had vowed to give up his days of violence, but a lifetime of sadism didn’t go easily quietened. The infected were a means of effectively controlling his addiction. He was disappointed, but unsurprised to stumble across a small group of pokémon lost to slumber.
Choosing to keep his distance at first, Garland simply observed each being in turn, absorbing their physical strengths and weaknesses from their body type alone. The feraligatr seemed the strongest, boasting a muscular body and betraying his only recent unconsciousness with softer, faster breaths. The swan smiled at him. Then there was a turtle-type creature, a seel, a wounded lapras and some small shell-like creature nestled to the latter’s chest. Frowning, Garland padded forward, his long elegant neck stretched forward to catch glimpse of the tiny shellder nestled closely to the female. A child. His cold heart melted at the endearing sight, an own unrequited dream for family blossoming in the back of the assassin’s mind. But he was soon distracted.
The smell of blood was incredible at this distance, the swan having to catch his breath to prevent himself from contributing to the aroma. No, they were weak, helpless. They had done nothing wrong; managing to survive this epidemic intact wasn’t something to be punished. The swan’s expression softened, turning away from the cosy scene as he turned to observe one of his own kin, a female resting on the water. She was slightly smaller than him, not to mention more attractive. Her pristine feathers weren’t stained red.
Deeming it rude to disturb them, Garland’s eyes quickly sought out a spot a few metres from the gathering in which he shortly filled with his slender frame. Scarred legs tucked beneath him, the swanna simply chose to watch the others, a guardian angel per se. Well, if guardian angels could be considered infamous, ruthless assassins. Regardless, Garland was turning a new leaf. Providing a look-out for these strangers would only be the start of a future of good deeds.
(( Garland watches you sleep, lol. Also, I presume all your characters would be asleep at midnight – if not, I’m happy to edit. ^^;))
