(no subject)
There's an irritated growl coming from over in one corner of the CMA, and what looks to be a small, isolated thunderstorm covering about ten square meters, while the rest of the island enjoys nice, peaceful weather conditions.
At the heart of this tiny storm is the small, black Rayquaza (Or as Giratina so affectionately dubbed him; Flygoth), grumbling and dragon pulsing random plants and rocks to vent his annoyance.
"Seriously, what the hell is wrong with this place? I keep trying to leave, but I think I'm stuck. What gives?"
At the heart of this tiny storm is the small, black Rayquaza (Or as Giratina so affectionately dubbed him; Flygoth), grumbling and dragon pulsing random plants and rocks to vent his annoyance.
"Seriously, what the hell is wrong with this place? I keep trying to leave, but I think I'm stuck. What gives?"