The LAVENDER Team

"What happened?" Therese paled, unsure of how to explain to the Smeargle that he just lost his fucking tail. The Marowak stuttered, scrambling for words of consolation. However, no matter how hard the ground-type tried, all that came from her mouth were quiet sobs and whimpers. "I am so sorry Cketch..." she wasn't quite sure for what reason she was apologizing, whether it was in sympathy for her companion's lost tail or the sudden urge inside of her to devour the amputated limb.

As many times that she had treated small wounds and scrapes of little children, never had she dealt with this. The only idea that came to her mind to try and help the poor painter was to put pressure on the wound to stop bleeding, but put pressure on it with what? She had heard rumors that if you ever cut a limb off, to keep it in those cold boxes human used to keep their food cool to make sure it won't decay, but they didn't have a fucking fridge in a cave. Hell, trying to preserve the severed tail would most likely be a stupid idea since they didn't have any hospitals to even take Cketch to.

Panicking in her efforts to try and figure out a way to help the blind Smeargle, and to also suppress her urge to devour him, she frantically glanced around. Reddening eyes darting around the bat-filled cavern, her eyes caught the form of Torrent, protecting Noir as his loud roar ricocheted off the rocky walls. The Marowak didn't quite want to disturb him, the ground-type sighed.

'Oh, fuck it! she cried in her mind, reaching for the severed painting mechanism with one of her hands. In the chance, which was probably one in a billion, that they would be able to reattach his tail it would need to be kept sterile and with cells intact. Fishing her brains for ideas she remembers an image of her old Chansey friend holding a Charizard's hand in her mouth to 'keep it at body temperature' and 'ready for surgery'. The Marowak herself had no fucking idea if it worked, but was more or less using the idea as an excuse to nibble of some living flesh. "Cketch... I need to borrow your tail for a moment, is that fine with you?"

[OOC: This is probably going to sound very weird but... Permission for Therese to take Cketch's severed tail and plop it in her mouth? She won't eat it, but probably lick the blood or nibble on the tip. When you get a finger cut off one of the things you do is keep it in your mouth until you get some help... So I'm assuming this could work with a tail. xD As a side note, I realize the tail will never be reattached but Therese really just wants to nom on something. VwV]

Yue fell back, her tail going between her legs as she cowered before the enormous dragon, his teeth bared and his roar still ringing in her ears. Her eyes shot to the Dragonites' furious gaze to the tiny Cubone whom he protected with his giant claws.

"...I-! I didn't mean!-" She stuttered in terror, her words rushed as tears flowed from her eyes. With a pathetic whine, she threw her paws to her face and scrambled into the shadows, as far as she could go. She shimmied up to the wall and shivered, acting as if she were to get close enough to the wall, she could disappear right into it.
"It was j-just...an object...! The bits were once whole-b-but...!" She continued to mutter frantically, crying into her paws.

___________________________

Noirs' head reeled as he slowly pulled himself up, only to be met with the ground shaking underneath him and tossing him to his back again as Torrent landed above him, his arms the size of pillars landing right in front of him. His powerful voice echoed throughout the caves; a terrifying roar that made even the little Cubone want to just curl up and cry.

But the anger wasn't directed at him. Noir looked up at the dragon fearfully, slowly crawling to one of his muscular claws and wrapping his tiny arms around it. He watched with watery eyes as the Riolu scrambled back, running into the darkness terrified. Noir sniffled, confusion and sadness overwhelming him. He looked up to the dragon helplessly, not knowing what to do.

"....Is...she okay?..." He whispered, his voice broken and hoarse from the attack. "Sh-she...she was hurt..." he said quietly, timidly picking up his club and pika, cuddling the ratty stuffed animal for comfort.

(sorry it took so long, ive been really busy)

Unbeleivable.

That brutish dragon not only foils my chances of getting that remarkable Mawile’s face, but also damages my once perfect body. Bad enough I had those scars, but now he was adding to them, I’m going to need to take hard measures to try to hide them…..maybe cover them up….I could still remember all the clothing I had to leave behind while my face was exposed.

Speaking of my face….

I reached up to touch the face I had on, it was getting worse….much worse….It had been drying up like crazy, cracking and folding around the edges showing the harsh ugliness that lay beneath. I needed that mawile now. It could not wait, her demise shall pave the way to my path of fabulousness.

But….

As I looked around, no mawile was seen!

All that fighting, all that effort, all that damage to my body, all for nothing! That fucking dragon made me lose it!

I wanted nothing more than to kill that dragon and disfigure it worse than how I was, and stop my stomach from killing me with pain. But my face was more important, nothing was more important than beauty. I would rather starve to death than go longer without a pretty face.

This place held nothing for me anymore, these pokemon can go to hell for all I cared….

((Sorry, didn't notice that Kaze was in the SH... And leaving the team for now, Zubera needs to float somewhere else to find a face she needs xD))

"It was j-just...an object...! The bits were once whole-b-but...!"

Torrent's vicious snarl slacked a little as the riolu frantically tried to explain herself to him, putting her paws over her face as she whimpered and blubbered her words. Her ramblings didn't really make any sense to the dragonite, but he was content enough to know that she wasn't actively trying to kill Noir anymore. Said cubone shivered at his forearm, his voice soft with fear as well. "....Is...she okay?..." Torrent glanced down to him, cerulean orbs glinting in the dim light. "Sh-she...she was hurt..."

He gave a small grunt, as he really didn't care for the pup's well-being. He was concerned with Noir's care first and foremost; this little shivering pile of fur could go and choke someone else. Still, even only having known the little cubone a day, he figured the kid was likely to get his own answer if Torrent didn't provide one. Letting a low growl rumble in the pits of his throat, he took a few steps forward, eyes focused on the riolu, glaring down at her. "...He says you were hurt. That true?"

She was growing impatient, foot tapping a tad bit too harshly on the ground before she gave up, simply grabbing his severed tail and his hand. "Cketch, come on!" she said, slipping the sliced end of the tail into her bony maw and tugging the poor Smeargle along as she ran. Up ahead was the sight of Torrent, Noir, and the Riolu. The Marowak began speeding towards them, quietly nibbling on a bit of the flesh in her mouth.

Cketch in tow, Therese skidded to a halt a bit beside the large dragon, quickly mumbling; "His tail got cut off and I'm doing this to preserve the cells," to hopefully dull any suspicions. She really didn't need someone to be revealing her state right now, especially when her body was jittery and shaking and her head was pounding like no tomorrow. Even in her almost crazy state, she carefully regarded the young aura Pokemon, curious as to what had happened.

[OOC: Received permission to nom on Cketch's tail and drag him around. xD]

"...He says you were hurt. That true?" The Dragonite snarled as he approached her, his fierce eyes never leaving her form. The Riolu looked up at him fearfully, her eyes darting from him to the small Cubone at his feet. Yue looked at the child blankly, as if she had never seen him before. But a quiet rumbling in the dragons' throat shook her out of her stupor.
"The girl isn't hurt. Just lost...lost and alone in the woods..." She said, her voice and manner aloof. The Riolu turned her attention to the other ground type who had stopped abruptly before them. The Marowak looked about at them anxiously, with what looked like a tail in her mouth before mumbling something through her full mouth.
"His tail got cut off and I'm doing this to preserve the cells."
Yue tilted her head as she gazed at the Marowak, her eyes wide and blank. As the older ground type regarded her, Yue saw through her facade.
She's turning.
Instead of being repulsed or fearful, she stayed where she fell, watching her in distant interest.

_____________

Noirs' confused gaze stayed on the Riolu, watching her with a strange fascination.
What does she mean by that? Is she talking about herself?...
He looked up at the dragon, stuttering quietly.
"N-no, she...she was asleep, and she wouldn't wake up..." His voice faded as he started to look about them. "The furry boy, he helped her I think..."
But his attention was soon on Therese, who had run up to them with the canine in claw and his tail in her mouth.
Noirs' eyes grew wide in terror as he scrambled behind the Dragonites' protective arm with a small cry, his heart beating frantically in pain and fear.
She...! She's eating him!?

(Just to give you guys a heads up, Yues' very smart and has foresight. She'll guess things that won't be said in character. She's also super strong for her age, but she's batshit crazy, lol, so she probably won't fight at all, unless it's practically worthless or against the team. She's gonna be the monkey wrench.)

It waas everywhere, the thick cloying scent of blood took over everything. It blinded him completely, filling his world until there was nothing left but the invasive disgusting smell.
Disoreintated, almost drunken, he let Therese drag him by the paw. It feels like there is a balloon being steadily inflated inside of him and it makes his head feel lighter and lighter.
The blind Painter pokemon finds it is getting harder and harder to order his thoughts as the blood that should be providing oxygen to his brain instead spills out sluggishly into Therese's mouth. His paws tingle with the uinplesant prickling feeling of a limb falling asleep but from his tail tip he can feel nothing but numbness.
Shock and disbelief have completely numbed the pain.
Delerious from his serious injury Cketch stumbles. His blood stained paws twitch as he tries to regain his balance.
"Can someone open a window? I can't breathe." He says faintly, smearing his own blood over his white furred forehead as he feels his temples.
His limbs shake, drawing out the smear into an uneven star. A cold sweat slicks down his fur.
Flicking one floppy brown ear he thinks he can make out the familiar tone of Torrent's reassuring voice. He, at least, was safe.
The tiny canine feels more blind than ever as he tries to flick his tail to use Foresight but can't get it to move.
Cketch doesn't notice the slow trickle of a tear running down his face, cutting cleann trails through the drying smears of blood.
He can no longer pick out the meaning behind the syllables but he can sense the tone. Torrent sounded very angry and he couldn't hear Noir at all, only another unfamilar voice stuttering away. They seemed to be getting fainter and more ethereal with each passing second.

He didn't want to die.

The more he bled the more confused his thoughts became, rational arguement giving way to simple emotional responces. His sence of smell overpowered by the blood scent and the rattle of wings and high pitched squeaks still making his ears ring Cketch finally understands what it is like to be Confused.
It is not a pleasant sensation.
The world around him was cold and dark and without any kind of identifying marks and that made him confused and angry like he had never been before.
Pushing hard against the fog of lightheadedness that threatens to consume him Cketch pulls himself to his feet and strives to stand straight.
If he was going to die he would say this first and he would do it like a man.
"Therese." he says solemnly. "I really, really like you."
His confession over with the Smeargle loses his nerve and with it his balance as he passes out on the cold stone floor.

The answer that Torrent had been seeking was more of a "Yes" or "No" sort of thing, but what the furry pup gave him was a little more alarming. "The girl isn't hurt. Just lost...lost and alone in the woods..." Woods? What woods? Quickly deducing that this small fighter was probably completely out of her mind, Torrent took a small step back. Malicious was one thing, batshit crazy was another. He knew only how to deal with the former, his background in crazy being little to none. He didn't know how to handle this one --all he could really do was make sure she didn't harm the others.

Which...

Footsteps coming near revealed Therese and Cketch. While the giant dragonite didn't really pay much mind to them being completely covered in blood, it soon dawned on him that not all of that had come from the swarm of bats. 'Shit...' It wasn't until he saw Therese nibbling on his tail that Torrent truly understood what was happening, what had been happening. It didn't take a genius to know that Therese was probably turning: her sicklyness, her fatigue... and now this? It was too much to dismiss... and it pained him.

"Therese..." he mourned, knowing then what had to be done. However, before he could continue, Cketch -in what Torrent could only guess was his delerium- professed his admiration for her; an odd choice, as she was currently nomming his severed tail. The dragonite sighed; Therese seemed at least sane enough to allow some sort of medical attention for the painter... Dealing with her would have to wait.

"...Cketch... We need to seal the wound. Lay on your stomach. I'll fix it. Therese, you stand back." He closed his fist, his Thunderpunch crackling with power. He may not have fire, but electricity was enough to sear a wound shut. "Brace yourself. This is going to hurt."

((Kaze, I left it open completely so you can have Cketch agree or not. : ) ))

Those looks they gave her, mixes of fear and sadness was almost too overwhelming for the Marowak. She clenched her bone club tightly, eyes narrowing a bit in annoyance. 'I'm not Undead!' Therese wanted to scream, so badly, denial rising up from the pits of her rotting stomach. But now they already knew, and her red eyes were solemn and emotionless. There was nothing she could do.

Cketch's voice saying her name had caught her attention, head turned towards the poor Smeargle. "I really, really like you." Therese is taken by surprise, eyes wide as the painter soon falls to the ground. "C-Cketch?" she mumbles, unsure of what to say or what to do. Her mind was blank, the overload of thoughts suddenly vanishing and leaving her dumbfounded. She panicked, dropping the tail from her mouth as she kneeled beside her companion.

Thankfully, Torrent knew what was to happen. "...Cketch... We need to seal the wound. Lay on your stomach. I'll fix it. Therese, you stand back." The static from the dragon's fist tingled her skin, sparks attracted to her body from her ability. She obeyed, scurrying a few feet away so the energy from his ThunderPunch won't leap to her trembling figure. "Brace yourself. This is going to hurt." Almost instictively, the ground-type closed her eyes and covered her nose, not wanting to see what was about to happen nor wanting to smell crisp, burnt flesh.

The Blind Smeargle blinks in surprise at finding himself unable to get up.
Lethargy is beginning to take over him. His head spirals, what few faint wisps of scent he can pick up swirling around to make a mixed up spiral of unreadable information.
His tail twitches like a dying fish as he tries to use it to clear away his confusion.
What had happened, what had happened?
"I can't get up." He mumbles, trying to get to his feet.
Blinking again in some vain hope it will clear away the fog his confusion leads to a strange kind of anger at a world that is suddenly refusing to make sense.
He needed to paint. Painting would make things make sense again.
More violently his tail twitches again. Already it is lying in a puddle of sharp scented blood but the clear patterns of movement elude him.
He can't paint a masterpiece, he can't even sketch anything.
Cketch lets his head lay back against the cool stone, one paw smearing soothing circles on the stone in splatters of his own blood.
The sharp scent of ozone pricks his nose, it is the smell of electricity building in the air.
"Thunderstorm?" Cketch mutters.
With an agonizing slowness the words of Torrent reach him, sounding foggy and distant like they are heard through water.
The Blind Painter Pokemon wrinkles his forehead as he tries to remember their meaning, the words slotting into place but the meaning of the sentence as a whole eluding him for a long time.
A few stray sparks with their electric smell brush his fur as the small normal type breathes in more and more deeply in an attempt to get the air he needs.
When the meaning suddenly does come to him the Smeargle twitches one paw in his confused protest.
"I don't want-" He babbles.
Once again he struggles to stand but his limbs are like dead weights of lead stuck to his side. He simply can't get up.
He clenches his jaw tight in frustration and breathes out a shaky sigh.
Confusion breeds an unjustified anger.
"It's hot in here." is his final protest before the Smeargle falls still.

((OOC: Cketch may not like it but full permission is given to seal the wound before he gets much worse))

Torrent listened to the faint mumblings the smeargle produced, ears straining to catch any sort of real protest. His knuckles tensed as the power began to build, flexing lightly to relieve some of that power. He didn't want to hit the pup full force-- at this point in the game, that would likely kill him. No, he needed just enough electricity to seal the wound and that was it. He sighed, soon deciding that Cketch was no longer conscious enough to make the decision and so, he made it for him. His arm flew.

The impact was pulled, so the giant dragonite wouldn't completely crush what little was left of Cketch's tail. The pool of blood bubbled beneath the pup, singing and charring almost instantly. The electricity, however, did its job. As Torrent pulled his fist away, he could tell that no new blood was oozing out. Thank the Legends.

His grand head swiveled, taking in their surroundings carefully. All of this blood... it was bound to attract some attention. "We need to move," were his simple words, bending down to pick the wounded up. He glanced to Therese, the cut tail nearby. "...Is that going to hold you over?" While it was an honest enough question, the motives behind it were muddled and vague. He let no emotion taint the tone of the query; no worry, no confusion, no anger. He simply wanted the answer... and what he'd do with it was also a mystery. He had no want to destroy Therese, but he wasn't stupid. No Marowak just munches on a teammate's fallen limb. Not one that had all her wits about her...

Noir cringed, burying his face in his pika while the giant dragon seared the Smeargles' wound shut. His stomach was in knots and tears fell from his eyes silently as he shut his eyes to the horror all around him.
"We need to move." The towering Dragonite grumbled above him, but the little Cubone stayed planted, shivering in his silent whimpers. The matted and clumped fur of the old plush was hard against his skin, but the pliable material comforted the young ground type as he clung to it tightly, digging his small claws into its back.
Why is she eating that?!...is she a monster too?...she was so nice...
how could she be a monster?...

____________________________

The pale Riolu pulled her blank gaze from the Marowak to the Dragonite, who was cautiously surveying the area before suggesting moving on.
"...But what about the crickets? They get lonely in the woods..." She vaguely protested, her golden eyes settling on the cold gaze of the Dragonites, her soft feminine voice slow and somewhat unsettling. "They sing us songs to keep us company, so we won't leave them alone..."

But her gaze quickly shifted to the tiny Cubone, who had been silent this entire time. She stared in a removed fascination from her seat on the damp floor as the tiny ground type cried into his stuffed animal. The large orbs in her head stared intently at the small Pikachu plush in his arms, her body relaxed and awkwardly positioned.
"He loved his old master. They chased the fish through the green smoke. But then master got trapped by the smoke and ran out of breath....Daddy was sad." Her gaze fell as it broke from the plush, a hint of melancholy seeping into her voice.

The Blind Painter lay slumped on the floor, his shoulders curled inwards and make him look even smaller and more vulnerable than ever. He hasn't been the best of fighters but he had survived the Epidemic a long time on his own terms and now he lay helpless against the cold stone floor, unable to even protest as the Thunderpunch ran through his body and scorched closed the blood vessels in his tail.
The puddle beneath him still soaking the fur of his severed stump of a tail the sensation of massive pain coursing through the tiny canine's white furred body cannot wake his shocked mind from the haze on unconsciousness.
The blow falls, his wound prevented from bleeding his life out onto the cold stone floor and at the same time preventing any chance of his tail being reattached.
His unmoving tail was now a mere cauterized stump.
He would never paint again.

Still against the cold stone floor, the rise and fall of his white furred chest the only sign that he was alive the shock of being crippled in yet another way sends Cketch's mind away into a lurid world of strange scent pictures with no frame of reference.
He can't move at all, his limbs won't respond to him but the world around him felt strangely soft and comforting. To aid healing his mind released a few endorphins and in his dreaming state the Smeargle laughs without knowing why.
There is the happy scent of friends around him even if his befuddled thoughts cannot identify them and one scent seems to drip and merge into another.
Is it safe now? He asks them in his dream with a voice garbled and distinct.
He cannot hear or understand what reply they give.

((OOC: Cketch is going to be out for a few cycles, please can someone carry him?))

Well, this was turning out to be a shitload of fun.

The towering canine stalked the darkened routes of the tunnel, a look of melancholy on his refined features as heavy footfalls sent him deeper into the still of the cave. Boredom was truly a cruel thing. Itching for a fight, for something to keep his restless mind occupied, the Arcanine had deemed the Rock Tunnel an ideal location to do some ‘tidying up’ – thus far, he had been disappointed at the lack of undead tenants. Nostrils flaring, the proud creature stood tall despite the monotony trying to wear away his regal composure, resolute in his attempts to locate something to kill. Uncalled for, perhaps; sadistic, no doubt; but it was therapeutic for the damaged fire-type, besides, it wasn’t as if the blighters would be missed.

Silva considered himself the local exterminator.

Humming tunelessly, half distracted as the darkness enclosed around him, the shiny moved with a rigidness stemming from a blatant limp in his right, foreleg. Still, given all the prosthetic work that had saved the limb all those years ago, his gait was relatively impressive. The light sapped as he wandered further into the gloom, Silva remained fearless. Platinum eyes pierced the shadows, alert for signs of movement as their owner strolled onwards, begging for as little as a lame Zubat to chew on.

His wish wasn’t fulfilled, but what he did stumble upon was in many respects, a more appealing turn of events.

Silva stood there a moment, his glossy, white pelt barely visible through the shadows as his eyes shamelessly roamed the collection of living creatures gathered before him. Well, it was a curious sight to say the least. A small Riolu was speaking as if in tongues, her words soft and delicate but tinged with a certain abnormality. Beside her was a Cubone, a child, and then a Marowak with a tail hanging from her mouth. The hulking Dragonite was practically bursting with muscle to rival Silva’s own physical stature, whilst a limp creature, unidentifiable from this distance hung in his grasp. The heavy scent of blood on the air was the cherry on the top.

Unable to dispel the building curiosity such a peculiar sight had provoked, Silva shifted on the spot, the earlier stillness disturbed as the statue came to life.
“Not witness to murder, am I?” He called from the darkness, a surprisingly high, but accented voice laced with amusement. A smile played on his lips, the minute movement causing his artificial jaw-come-cheekbone to ripple beneath the stretched skin. “Need a hand?”

Eyes on the gathering with a natural intensity, Silva kept his distance out of the sake of good manners – that and he didn’t fancy staining his pristine fur red. The smell of blood was strong enough to alert him that it would be waiting to spring up and cling relentlessly to his form were he to approach. The idea these creatures were responsible, however, made no difference to his actions. But that Dragonite… The creature didn’t seem an unlikely killer. His physique alone was enough to trigger warning bells in the minds of any sane creature, but Silva had happily wandered past that barrier long ago, left drifting in a no-man’s land between normality and pure insanity.

(( So glad to be on the team! :3 ))

Seemed everyone was now nuts.

Torrent frowned at the odd laughter Cketch had produced, a strange, fitting accompanyment to the odd silver riolu's ambiguous mutterings. Therese stayed silent, not answering his earlier question, bringing up the thought that she could be turning for the worst as they spoke. Everyone seemed to be a ticking time bomb, and he and Noir were caught right in the middle of it all. However, a voice distracted him momentarily from his worries, his large head turning to the source.

"Not witness to murder, am I?" the voice called, lofty and airy. Torrent's eyes narrowed; that sort of tone always meant trouble. Not like the small, unfortunate group hadn't already found enough of it in droves. "Need a hand?" Torrent glanced the newcomer over. An arcanine, this one was oddly colored, a large specimen even for the normally towering species itself. A strange grin was on his face, the dragon unable to identify just what was odd about it. A few more glances told him that this was probably a creature worth avoiding, and so he slung Cketch onto his back, ushering Noir closer with a large hand. For a moment, he resembled a lioness keeping her cubs away from a nearby threat.

"...No," was Torrent's curt reply, his eyes fixated on the fire dog. He'd had enough problems today, he didn't need more. He snorted and began to lumber away, Cketch's unconscious form resting securly between his wings.

The small Cubone inched closer to the Dragonite, his large eyes dazed underneath his skull helmet. The large canine before them was almost as tall as Torrent. The easy grin that occupied its' face unnerved the ground type.
Murder...? What's that?...isn't he scared of all the walkers?...he doesn't look like he is...the little Cubone sniffled, wiping his nose on the plush. I guess when you're big, you don't need to be scared...

His large eyes wandered to the Dragonite as he pondered, temporarily forgetting their predicament.
Like Torrent. He's not scared of anything.

_________________

Yue eyed the Arcanine blankly, her mind sizing him up with critical speed despite her empty appearance. She tilted her head, noting the purposeful distance the canine had kept from the group, stopping immediately at the spattering of blood.
“Need a hand?”
The dragon replied, his deep voice laced with a passive threat as he piled the wounded on his back and turned to leave.
"...No."
The Riolu airily got to her feet, her golden eyes locking on the newcomer, matching his accent without flaw.
"And what if it is murder, then? Don't seem likely we'd tell that to you now, do it? Anyone off the routes knows better 'n to talk to strangers." She padded closer, stooping to the ground and smearing her paw in a pool of blood. "You're talkin' loud enough for the both of us, though, ain't ya? What, y'like others fightin' your battles for you too?" She sneered, slowly putting her bloodied paw up and stretching it towards the Arcanine, as if she were to smear it on his pale fur.
"...'Sides, you'd look better 'n red." She said softly, recalling her paw and gazing down at it in contemplation. As the heavy footfalls of the dragon echoed behind her, she turned on her toes and followed, her gaze shooting back at the dog one more time.

(ooc- lol she's so weird. I. love her.)

"...No,"

Well, that was curt.

His brow rose quizzically at the Dragonite’s blunt response, the hulking creature glaring at him with the bloodied invalid strewn over his broad back as Silva eventually gave a deep, aristocratic chuckle. Leisurely stalking forward, eyes shamelessly roaming the powerful frame of the dragon, Silva’s laughter died away to leave him with a broad, mischievous grin.
“The strong silent type, eh?” He mused aloud, side-stepping a fresh streak of blood as he nonchalantly strolled after the retreating figure. “And good with kids… I rather like that,” Smirking, his admittance holding a certain honesty, Silva was more than comfortable with his sexuality. Bisexual, it wasn’t often the Arcanine came across such a catch and couldn’t deny he was rather impressed with the behemoth silently escaping him. But love was such a trivial thing. Silva just liked to watch his less eager targets squirm.

"And what if it is murder, then? Don't seem likely we'd tell that to you now, do it? Anyone off the routes knows better 'n to talk to strangers."

Soon, the peculiar Riolu was living up to first impressions and speaking nonsense. Silva stood tall, watching the canine approach with a mix of curiosity and bewilderment as she rambled on, making a startlingly accurate observation of his preference not to get his paws dirty. Smiling challengingly as the creature held a bloodied paw up to his face, Silva lightly head-butted it, leaving a clear mark of crimson between piercing silver eyes.

"...'Sides, you'd look better 'n red."

Watching her paw fall down to her side, holding the Riolu’s striking eyes with his own, Silva smiled, straightening up with his face smeared crimson.
“I think you may be right,” He purred, almost kindly as he watched the canine scamper away after the dragon. Inhaling, walking onwards through the pool of blood he’d been so keen to avoid before, Silva had absolutely no intention of letting this group escape him. He was intrigued. The strange Riolu, the alluring brute of a Dragonite and the unconscious creature that lay atop its back, on their own, were enough to ensure his interest. Oh no, Silva was going nowhere.

But his footsteps brought him closer to the Cubone, a ragged doll in its grasp as the child remained seemingly clueless to his protector’s absence.
“I’d offer you a lift, but Momma seems a bit overbearing,” What had once been a kindly smile took the obvious snap to mischief as the fire-type mentioned the Dragonite. Mom, it seemed suitable enough. Looking over to said creature, Silva gestured to the masked youngster at his bloodstained paws. Pouting in mock disappointment, the shiny shook his head as he addressed the Dragonite from a distance. “And I thought you were perfect,”

(( Lol, such a warm welcome. xDD Silva can be quite the creep himself – I can edit if you’re not okay with anything. ^^ ))

Torrent didn't like this guy, this strangely-colored arcanine with the weird face. This cocky, jeering presence... it reminded him of that stupid rat, that raichu his trainer had mystifyingly kept for one reason or another. Even as he moved away, the dog kept talking, his ego seeping out of each word he spoke. Things weren't much better when the insane pup began spouting out her nonsense, even going as far as placing a bloodied paw to his face... and he embraced it.

Snorting, Torrent continued on without them. He didn't care much for the silver pup, as she'd already made her first impression on him by trying to strangle Noir. They could have each other and fall to pieces. He really didn't care. He had the ones he cared for; Noir beside him, Cketch on his back and -hopefully- Therese following. Hell, if push came to shove, he could feed them both to the turning marowak. He looked down to the youngest of those in his care, noticing how he stared at the stranger. A look the dragonite did not like. It was almost awe.

"Come on," he spoke quietly, firmly. He glanced back up to the arcanine, giving the other another glare before continuing his trek. He wanted out of these damn caves.

The little Cubone nearly fell over as he gazed up at the towering canine above him.
“I’d offer you a lift, but Momma seems a bit overbearing.” The enormous fire type cooed, his voice dripping with mockery. “And I thought you were perfect.”
Noir shuffled back uneasily, his voice caught in his throat as he was confronted by the newcomer, on his face a deep red paw mark, which only made him look even more intimidating.

"Come on," was Torrents' short reply to Noir, motioning to the little Cubone to move. Noir glanced back, his grasp tightening on his bone club as he inched away from the Arcanine backwards before dashing to the large dragons' side hurriedly.

"Why is he following us?..." He whispered up to the Dragonite when they were far enough away, his long tie dragging in the dirt beneath him as they trudged through the darkness. The Cubone looked back uneasily before glancing at the Riolu at his side. Noirs' gaze fell as she realized that she had been staring at him the whole time, his tiny paws clutching his plush tighter in anxiety as they walked.

The Riolu continued to watch in silence before finally speaking.
"I'm Yue." She said quietly, her large eyes piercing the Cubones' side, expecting a response. The Cubones' gaze widened as he realized that she was actually being friendly, even after trying to hurt him.

"...Noir." He replied after a few moments, still uncertain about the young canine. But the Riolu only smiled faintly, as if he had made a joke.
"Noir. Dark." She translated off-handedly as her gaze turned to their destination, a faint but growing light.

(I say we leave the cave. Dark cave is dark.)

"Come on,"

Silva was unsurprised at the curt response, a smirk creeping onto his maw as he shook his head, disappointed as the Cubone trotted away to join the close-knit group. How quaint. Staring a moment, piercing eyes latched onto the retreating unit, for a fraction of a second, the Arcanine felt an incredible need to ruin them. Literally tear apart they happiness, their joy, as they made a peaceful exit, charity ensuring the survival of even the weakest creature. Life wasn’t like that nowadays. His expression growing dangerous, glare narrowing, Silva could never admit his envy.

Dismissing the foul emotions building beneath the regal surface, Silva gave an audible sigh and slowly followed them. Keeping his distance enough to only catch the occasional, quieted words exchanged by the ‘family’, the shiny remained patient. Whilst part of him wanted nothing more than to see their joy crumble, his curiosity to what held them together refrained his destructive nature. In a way, he wanted to study them. He’d never known loyalty, compassion, and the way these creatures so openly flaunted their blessings both irritated and enchanted him.

Uncharacteristically quiet, the stench of blood and the hulking silhouette of the dragon effectively led the canine into the faint glow of moonlight.

Torrent's mind paid some attention to the silver pup introducing herself, a small growl emanating from his throat at her words. Like he was going to simply forget that she'd tried killing Noir when they'd first spotted her. The giant dragonite wasn't usually one for such grudges, but it was his first impression of the girl, and first impressions last the longest. Though, when he spotted light, he couldn't help but quicken his pace a little, eager to get out of the caves and into open air.

Torrent slowed as a cool, gentle breeze welcomed him back out in the open, the ethereal glow of moonlight illuminating their surroundings like a tranquil dream. He paused and stood, stretching his tall form for the first time in what seemed an eternity (placing Cketch down beforehand, of course), glad to be rid of the looming cave ceilings. He was too happy to see those stars once more, the familiar scenery of the route just outside Cerulean just the way he remembered it. In the back of his mind, he knew that not all was well, for Undead penetrated any sort of peace they could find. However, it was nice to think that for once, they'd come out on the right side.

His mood dimmed a little when he spotted the dog still following, seeming to stare strangely at him and the others. A frown graced his rugged features once more as he hulked back down on all fours. It looked like he wasn't going to be rid of this guy very soon. He glanced back to the children and Cketch's unconscious form. They needed shelter and berries. Turning his gaze to the small rise to the east, he knew there was a pokemon center just beyond there. The question was if it was safe.

He looked over the group once more. Therese, the one he'd trust the group to, had taken a turn for the worse. He knew she needed to be gotten rid of, but... couldn't bring himself to complete the deed. The two kids were next, the unconscious painter who was now missing his only means of defense, and this new git that kept eyeing him strangely. There was no way Torrent could safely leave anyone in charge here without asking for trouble while he scouted the building. Frowning, he turned back to the rise, only able to make out the red roof.

Dammit.

He lumbered over to the arcanine, analytic frown still upon him. "...You wanna stay? Then scout out the Poke Center just over that rise," he growled lowly, pointing in the direction of the building. It wasn't that great of a plan, but it was the only one Torrent had. "If you don't come back in ten minutes, I'll assume you're dead."

The tiny form of the unconcious Smeargle lay limply in the grip of the huge dragon, his eyes slid closed and if it were not for the faint tremble in his limbs and the drying red blood still smeared in his white fur he could merely be sleeping.
Cketch lay slumped, still, his dreaming mind beseiged by the most nonsensical of dreams that could be drawn forth from his oxygen-starved brain. His agile tail lay perfectly still now, the end a seared and scarring lump. The tuft at the end that bore the light purple 'paint' that was a Smeargle's cause for living could not be reattached for the nerves that had led to its agile and delicate brushwork had been seared shut by the force of the Thunderpunch.
A tiny droplet of saliva oozed from the canine's jaws as his tongue lolled.
It would be some time before he recovered enough to pull himself into wakefullness, for now his brain ran checks on the parts of him that had been damaged and exhiled the concious to its lurid daydreams.
Breath rasped from his jaws as a constant reminder that frail as the Smeargle had become he was still counted among the living...for now.
A terrible thirst assailed him as his body demanded fluids to replace those that lay in a dark puddle of red behind them.
His nose twitched at the strange scent of fiery fur, even in his sleep registering the new smell and trying to find a familiar memory to match it to. Rather than by value of his useless eyes it was by his keen sense of smell and vast memory that he indentified species of those around him.
The bitter scent of the infection still lingered in the air from the loathesome bat hordes but the faint hint of burning hair was not something he could easily place.
In his faded lurid dreams the charred scent of a Fire Type paints the python-like curls of smoke into his dreaming.
Unaware of anything more than the presence of a new smell and his growing thirst Cketch sleeps onwards, dreaming mind still thankfully freed of the knowledge of how he had come to be a cripple in more ways than one.
The scent of fresh air sweeps over him as the blind and now tail-less Painter Pokemon is laid down on the ground.

((OOC: Accidentally skipped so this post is out of order sorry, please continue as normal from here.))

Noir smiled happily as they stepped out into the illuminating moonlight, the air clean and fresh. He beamed up at the Dragonite before breathing deeply and bounding down the small hill before them. He relished the feel of the short but soft grass underneath his feet, and quickly took to rolling on his side, giggling softly as he let the Pikachu plush in his arms roll with him.

He rolled into the thicker grass and stopped, falling back as he pulled his plush close to him, his gaze bright as he looked up to the canopy of stars above them.
The small Cubone smiled softly as he sang a quiet and melancholy tune.
"This is not my life,
It's just a fond farewell to a friend...
It's not what I'm like,
I'ts just a fond farewell to a friend...
Who couldn't get things right,
A fond farewell to a friend..."

__________________________

The pale Riolu watched in silent amazement as the little Cubone danced and rolled about, as if the entire world changed for the better in an instant. She made a quick dash to catch up with him, a need for being included in this happiness pulling at her, but she stopped a few feet short of the Cubone when his movement ceased and a quiet melody floated through the calm night air. The smile that had unknowingly adorned her face disappeared as she listened to the quiet and sad words, the happiness replaced with glistening tears.

Yue swallowed hard, ignoring the tears streaming down her face as she almost reverently padded closer to the child, crouching down and silently sitting next to him, her large eyes rapt on his small form while he continued to sing.


(He's singing this song. I'm assuming we're at Rt.9 now, and it's close to that small hill, with a poke center nestled in the cliffs)

Slowly the tiny canine-like Pokémon blinks and opens his blind, dead eyes to the cold night air. His breath wheezes from his jaws as he gulps in air and coughs to clear his lungs. The lurid smells of his delusion fade into the somehow cleaner scents of reality and leave behind only the hazy shadow of pain to show they have ever been there.
Cketch slowly manages to roll over on his own merits and shakily hauls himself to his feet. His head aches like it has been repeatedly struck with a hammer and there is a searing pain in the tip of his tail as he tries to twitch it. His limbs feel weak and a great nausea twists his belly but the Blind Painter is awake once again.
"What has happened while I was unconscious?” He asks softly, nose in the air as he tries to face Therese.

In taking a tentative step forwards, out of the damp smelling cave, the Blind Painter Pokémon finds himself suddenly over balancing and sprawling to the ground.
Blinking his milky-white eyes in confusion Cketch rolls over into a sitting position. He feels weak, light-headed still from the loss of fluids he has sustained. His white fur is still matted in places with nearly black lumps of drying blood and a dire thirst dries his throat but he was certainly awake, why could he not walk?
He hasn’t been this clumsy on his feet since he was a child.
Cketch flicks his burning tail out of habit, trying to counterbalance his motion with the agile twists of his muscular tail and finds that through the pain it is not performing as it should.
Cketch remembers the burst of sudden pain from the strike of undead, how he had screamed as the blood flowed and he thought he would be torn to shreds.

In desperation he curls his tail towards him and tentatively touches the seared end with his paws. The wound hurts though it no longer bleeds but there can be no denying what the sensitive pads of his forepaws communicates to him. The slowly blistering end of his tail has lost its purple-painted tip.

He would never paint again.

Cketch joins in Noir's song with a low mournful howl.

By the time Silva’s eyes had traced the group’s declining state and wondered whether it was wise to put them out of their misery whilst he had chance, the dragon was lumbering towards him. It seemed Momma certainly had his hands full. Two kids, a stirring invalid and an aloof Marowak – he might as well be titled a saint for his endearing patience. Still, he must be desperate to seek assistance from a stranger.

"...You wanna stay? Then scout out the Poke Center just over that rise. If you don't come back in ten minutes, I'll assume you're dead."

Silva, a smug grin crawling up his bloodstained face, merely tilted his head as the Dragonite spoke. His tone was level, as blunt as before with those flickers of hostility that the Arcanine was oh so familiar with. Still, he was unsure whether he wanted to stay. Roped into helping these miscreants in return for their company didn’t seem a fair deal. Silva wasn’t known for his kindness and had no intentions of reinventing his persona. But on the other hand, there was Momma and his kids. Silva held a morbid fascination with the unit’s determination to survive. Staring hard at the Dragonite, the canine eventually gave a defeated huff.
“How can I say no to that face?” Glimpse of a smirk hit his features, concealed only as he turned away. Hadn’t the Dragonite been as rugged as he was charming, Silva would’ve stuffed his order down his slit throat and been done with it. Always the pretty ones…

Moving swiftly, glossy, cream fur swaying in the evening breeze, Silva was upon the Center in minutes. Stood tall, eyes taking an initial scan of the area, the Arcanine, seeing no immediate threats leisurely strolled towards the building. Like most of the standing constructions he’d passed, the place was a little worse for wear. Broken windows, blood-smeared decoratively across the walls – they were all the same. Slipping through the entrance, Silva’s attention immediately fell to several corpses, their blood presented as a thick crusted pool as the stench of decay wafted to offend his nostrils. They must’ve been there for days, their mutilated faces hardly recognisable as the smell lingered heavy in the air. Still, there was no undead. Voyaging into the back-rooms of the establishment, Silva was content to find that the only inhabitants lay rotting in the lobby.

Returning back to the tenants, a quick, concentrated Flamethrower was enough to dispel the offensive sight. Of course the smell still consumed the place of healing, now coupled with the burning of dry flesh, but it was, at least for now, safe. Momma would be happy. Making his exit, Silva propped the entrance open in a vain bid to air the room out, stood just in the group’s line of vision. From a distance, they wouldn’t hear him, but his glowing presence, unscathed and jaunty, seemed enough evidence of a safe haven.