I had little muse, I went to go make soup, and now I can't even write two sentences without failing.
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Sєt.Mє.Frєє. wrote:I hate it when I get really into one of my One-on-One Roleplays, but then the other person never replies. <'3 It had such great potential...
Sharubii wrote:(( For my sanity's sake, I'll start off in the Viridian Forest so that I don't have to look up what any of the cities look like. orz
AND THIS TAKES A LONG TIME LOL))
It was dark. And cold. And incredibly unnerving.
Reagan was sitting just off the knackered orbit of the Viridian Forest, his dorsal against the knurly cortex of a topiary. He had his appendages around his flexures, trying to cache as much warmth inward his corpus delicti as he could. It was wintertide, and his rather diaphanous sheath and bedizen were far from keeping him warm (something he'd overlooked in the analogous gelidity of autumn). His compendious, rufescent vibrissa didn't do much to keep the calefaction inside, either. A scintillation was out of the catechism since -- exactly like multitudinous of other endeavors -- he had tried to anthracite one tonight until his metacarpuses were vexatious, without any eminence.
Speaking of the paucity of oxidation, the sequestered calignosity surrounding him was, to say the least, disconcerting. While the stock were bare of bract at this time of year, and the empyrean would be clearly seen on any normal lambent, tonight it was obscured by lavish-heavy nebulosity, seemingly ready to disencumber their tonnage at any second. The crepuscule lent a feeling of eeriness to the most quotidian sonancy: the chinook lightly crepitating the divergences of the weald, the little masticates of offed petioles as nocturnal Pokemon absconded about. To Reagan, it all seemed like revenants were running wanton about the compass, waiting for him to fall somnolent. Then...
Reagan imbibed and clinched at an principality on his tunic, where his vascular would be.
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It was dark. And cold. And incredibly unnerving.
Reagan was sitting just off the beaten path of the Viridian Forest, his back against the rough bark of a tree. He had his arms around his knees, trying to keep as much warmth inside his body as he could. It was winter, and his rather flimsy jacket and clothes were far from keeping him warm (something he'd overlooked in the relative coolness of autumn). His short, red hair didn't do much to keep the heat inside, either. A fire was out of the question since -- exactly like countless of other attempts -- he had tried to stoke one tonight until his hands were sore, without any success.
Speaking of the lack of fire, the isolated darkness surrounding him was, to say the least, disconcerting. While the trees were bare of leaves at this time of year, and the sky would be clearly seen on any normal night, tonight it was obscured by rain-heavy clouds, seemingly ready to unload their cargo at any second. The darkness lent a feeling of eeriness to the most ordinary sounds: the wind lightly rustling the branches of the forest, the little crunches of dead leaves as nocturnal Pokemon scampered about. To Reagan, it all seemed like ghosts were running rampant about the area, waiting for him to fall asleep. Then...
Reagan gulped and clutched at an area on his jacket, where his heart would be.
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