Username: Sharubii
Favorite type of RP: Animal (really general, yes, but it's hard to decide. x'D)
Sample of writing: *rips from recent rp* Sorry for suckishness!
If there was ever a time for ultimate depression, it would have to be now.
Reagan was very well about to connect his forehead with the wall of the Pokemon Center in embarrassment. How? How could he have lost? His plan had been so simple, so flawless: enter the little town they called Ecruteak, waltz into the Dance Theater, hands in the pockets of his faded blue jeans (gotta look cool, unconcerned, y'know?), and challenge those gaudy Kimono Girls to battle. There were only five of them, and each only had one Pokemon -- it seemed a sure bet that he would win, despite the warnings that agitated old man back in the last city had thrown in his direction. I mean, seriously, he had thought at the time, they're girls!
But woe betide him, they were girls with skill. The first one, smiling the sweetest of smiles, had knocked out two of his own Pokemon before he could fell her Umbreon. The next one's Espeon -- suffice to say that by the end of that match, he only had one very tired team member standing. The Flareon that the third one summoned hardly had to breathe on it to knock it out.
He had then put the Pokemon back in its Pokeball and turned around, leaving the theater without a single word. He'd staggered to the local Pokemon Center, dropped his Pokeballs at the nurse's counter, reserved a room, then all but collapsed in the bed. And up until now, he had felt too numb to actually react to what had happened.
Now, though, he was filled with the manliest type of angst -- if, indeed, that could even exist -- and he found himself growling like a feral Arcanine, crumpling the once-tidy blanket on his bed. "I should have won that," he said out loud. "That was a fluke!" And with a rather flashy chest-puff, he stood up and stomped out of the room, stomped through the hallway, stomped into the waiting area, stomped to the main desk, where Nurse Joy was typing away on an archaic desktop computer.
He waited until the nurse looked up at him and asked if she could help him, then proclaimed, "Reagan Sayre. I want my Pokemon back." Then, as if in afterthought: "Please."
Joy regarded the boy carefully. Average build, messy white t-shirt, old blue jeans, mop of red hair, hazel eyes. He looked like a wreck. She sighed inwardly and went back to her computer, clicking through a few files. "Sir, you only left your Pokemon with me ten minutes ago. Wounds don't heal that fast."
Reagan deflated. "But --"
"Why don't you go out into town for awhile? Maybe buy some things from the Pokemart. We should have your Pokemon healed by tomorrow afternoon."
Tomorrow afternoon?! But he wanted his revenge now! The boy pursed his lips slightly, and was about to say something before he saw the nurse's resolute eyes. The retort died halfway to his lips, and was instead replaced by a sullen "Okay."
Grumbling to himself, he turned on his heel and sulked out of the Pokemon Center, letting his feet drag on the floor. "There goes my perfect plan," he sniffed under his breath. He chose to ignore what the outcome of his last "perfect plan" had been.
Just outside the doorway, Reagan stopped and looked around. All the buildings looked the same: it was as if the people in this town didn't know what the heck the word "renovation" was, and opted to stay in those ancient structures while the world around them laughed. Or didn't laugh. Reagan wasn't up to date on his current events, actually.
He walked a few paces forward, then stopped again. "...now where is the Pokemart?"
Any semi-lit/lit RPs you have: Eh. Just a bunch of 1x1's.
