seventh battle
[The Celestial Tower. A graveyard for Pokemon.
Then again, that's already rather obvious, from the faceless people laying flowers on gravestones, the solemn atmosphere that permeates the air and the gravestones themselves, marked with names and dates and decorated with flowers. Every so often, you might get a feeling that you're being watched, though it always disappears.
Once you reach the topmost floor, though, you may behold a most unusual sight: Whitlea, standing over a simple grave with a bouquet of flowers in hand. She looks older, yet unlike her usual self, always bursting with optimistic cheer, she now looks weary, tired. Bright, innocent eyes have given way to hardened, exhausted ones, now brimming with tears, like she has seen the worst humanity has to offer and has suffered for it.
She kneels, and for the first time since this dream began she smiles, somewhat. It's sad, though, unlike her usual wide grins.]
Hey, Samurott. It's been a while. Sorry I can't swing by as much as I'd like, but I haven't had much time. Not since I became the Champion.
[She chuckles, bitterly.]
It's not the same without you. I wish you'd been in my team when we found the Seven Sages, but I guess some things just...happen. I hope you're okay, wherever you are.
[She lays the flowers on top of the grave, then stands up to ring the bell. A haunting chime echoes throughout the tower, and it's here that she lets a tear make its way down her cheek.]
Miss you.
[Approach?]
((OOC: Okay, so. Bitter cynic!Whitlea is go. Basically, her Samurott was killed in the fight against Ghetsis, though Team Plasma had been cracking her idealistic viewpoint for months at that point. Her Samurott's death was the last straw, so she pretty much curb-stomped Ghetsis with the rest of her team and went off to bury her starter Pokemon. I love traumatizing my well-adjusted muses, apparently.))
Then again, that's already rather obvious, from the faceless people laying flowers on gravestones, the solemn atmosphere that permeates the air and the gravestones themselves, marked with names and dates and decorated with flowers. Every so often, you might get a feeling that you're being watched, though it always disappears.
Once you reach the topmost floor, though, you may behold a most unusual sight: Whitlea, standing over a simple grave with a bouquet of flowers in hand. She looks older, yet unlike her usual self, always bursting with optimistic cheer, she now looks weary, tired. Bright, innocent eyes have given way to hardened, exhausted ones, now brimming with tears, like she has seen the worst humanity has to offer and has suffered for it.
She kneels, and for the first time since this dream began she smiles, somewhat. It's sad, though, unlike her usual wide grins.]
Hey, Samurott. It's been a while. Sorry I can't swing by as much as I'd like, but I haven't had much time. Not since I became the Champion.
[She chuckles, bitterly.]
It's not the same without you. I wish you'd been in my team when we found the Seven Sages, but I guess some things just...happen. I hope you're okay, wherever you are.
[She lays the flowers on top of the grave, then stands up to ring the bell. A haunting chime echoes throughout the tower, and it's here that she lets a tear make its way down her cheek.]
Miss you.
[Approach?]
((OOC: Okay, so. Bitter cynic!Whitlea is go. Basically, her Samurott was killed in the fight against Ghetsis, though Team Plasma had been cracking her idealistic viewpoint for months at that point. Her Samurott's death was the last straw, so she pretty much curb-stomped Ghetsis with the rest of her team and went off to bury her starter Pokemon. I love traumatizing my well-adjusted muses, apparently.))