Something's familiar about these strangers like me...
Who: heatherusedrage, harryusedworry and no_ufo_ending [CLOSED]
Where: The woods right at the edge of Olivine
When: June 15
Summary: Henry is not-totally-willingly absorbed into Team Silent
Rating: PG-13 for discussion of a certain horrible little resort town and profanity probably?
Log:
Henry Townshend was not an outdoorsman. He never had been. He never wanted to be. But he was going to have to learn if he wanted to keep his skin without numbers carved into it. The 'gear conversation with Harry had more than shaken up the photographer. He had moved camp no less than three times, but always settled within sight of the city lights. You know. Bathroom breaks and all that.
These woods with their killer pitcher plants and God knows what else was the LAST place he wanted to be with his pants down.
The sun was starting to come up. He had slept restlessly and knew that damn Hoot Hoot had been watching him. He had to cover up his little fire, count all of his two pokemon to make sure they were still there, and fumble with the map of the area he'd snagged in the Pokemon Center.
Burger, meanwhile, made a pest of himself and wound around Henry's feet, mewling for breakfast.
"Shh, Burger. We'll eat later, okay?" grunted Henry. He was kicking dirt onto the fire and stamping at it. He'd remembered to put his shoes on before doing this, at least. "Promise."
He was sure there were some sort of public showers in town. There had to be--maybe down at the beach to wash the sand off of swimmers. He was starting to look like a wildman.
Ever listen so hard that you can't actually hear what you're listening for? That's what Henry was doing as he strained his ears for...whatever he thought cultists sounded like. Or that unmistakeable, deep laugh and the harsh pok of a pistol...
Where: The woods right at the edge of Olivine
When: June 15
Summary: Henry is not-totally-willingly absorbed into Team Silent
Rating: PG-13 for discussion of a certain horrible little resort town and profanity probably?
Log:
Henry Townshend was not an outdoorsman. He never had been. He never wanted to be. But he was going to have to learn if he wanted to keep his skin without numbers carved into it. The 'gear conversation with Harry had more than shaken up the photographer. He had moved camp no less than three times, but always settled within sight of the city lights. You know. Bathroom breaks and all that.
These woods with their killer pitcher plants and God knows what else was the LAST place he wanted to be with his pants down.
The sun was starting to come up. He had slept restlessly and knew that damn Hoot Hoot had been watching him. He had to cover up his little fire, count all of his two pokemon to make sure they were still there, and fumble with the map of the area he'd snagged in the Pokemon Center.
Burger, meanwhile, made a pest of himself and wound around Henry's feet, mewling for breakfast.
"Shh, Burger. We'll eat later, okay?" grunted Henry. He was kicking dirt onto the fire and stamping at it. He'd remembered to put his shoes on before doing this, at least. "Promise."
He was sure there were some sort of public showers in town. There had to be--maybe down at the beach to wash the sand off of swimmers. He was starting to look like a wildman.
Ever listen so hard that you can't actually hear what you're listening for? That's what Henry was doing as he strained his ears for...whatever he thought cultists sounded like. Or that unmistakeable, deep laugh and the harsh pok of a pistol...