in which Giratina is not even bothered
[Over the course of the day, something has made its way down from the mountains - slowly, step by step, a cloth sling full of trinkets and supplies over its back. By the afternoon, it reaches the CMA.
It's a Shiny Tyranitar - a massive one, nearly nine feet tall and crusted with layers of scales grown thick. It hauls itself along purposefully and without a word, or even a growl; each step is heavy and labored under the creature's sheer size and weight.
It doesn't look around itself, or show any interest in the passing scenery, as it walks on through the CMA.
And as it goes, a strange echo of sound follows it - the deep drone of a horn that is nowhere to be seen, a ghost sound more audible to the soul than to the ear.
Rock- and Ghost-types, especially, may find the noise intriguing.]
It's a Shiny Tyranitar - a massive one, nearly nine feet tall and crusted with layers of scales grown thick. It hauls itself along purposefully and without a word, or even a growl; each step is heavy and labored under the creature's sheer size and weight.
It doesn't look around itself, or show any interest in the passing scenery, as it walks on through the CMA.
And as it goes, a strange echo of sound follows it - the deep drone of a horn that is nowhere to be seen, a ghost sound more audible to the soul than to the ear.
Rock- and Ghost-types, especially, may find the noise intriguing.]