Between the kindness of strangers and the rumble of the road
Who: Aoko Nakamori, Crow Hogan, Harry Mason, Heather Mason, Henry Townshend, Kaito Kuroba
Where: Route 38
When: Nighttime, August 31
Summary: Campfires are interesting places. Even more interesting when the people sitting at one are a detective's daughter, a guy who plays card games on motorcycles, an internationally-wanted jewel thief, an agoraphobic photographer, a ... Heather, and a mild-mannered novelist who's probably the only mature adult there.
But you can't have a campfire without stories, and with such a crowd as odd as this one, there's sure to be a few worth telling...
Rating: PG for spooky stories
Log:
The dog days of summer are a special time of year, regardless of whether or not you're young enough to still associate them with the last days of freedom before fall and academia set back in. And while Johto's pace of life seemed to stay the same year-round regardless of season, there was still a little something in the air on that last night of August.
The sun had long since sunk below the treeline, leaving in its wake a warm night that still held the barest hint of the autumn ahead.
But the fire chased that little ghost of a chill away nicely, small though it was from where it flickered in the center of the little hollow they'd set up camp in, and what the fire didn't do, the sleeping bags would. It was a small site, hardly more than a pine-needle-and-root-floored clearing walled in by thick trunks.
In fact, the fire's flickering light hardly even extends through the gaps between the trees.
... Which is why Heather's got a staticky, softly-glowing Pichu held in the palm of her hand like some kind of squishy, living lantern as she squeezes her way back into the fire's light, stepping carefully over friend, Pokemon alike before dumping a pile of sticks next to the fire.
"Boom. That's enough for the rest of the night, I think. Outta the way, Cooj."
Shoveling the fluffy canine monstrosity that had (along with a few puffy bags of marshmallows) been taking up most of her sleeping bag aside, Heather flopped down with a hearty huff, still holding her father's Pichu and looking around at the rest of the travel party with a wide grin.
"SO! We still gonna do the stories?"
Where: Route 38
When: Nighttime, August 31
Summary: Campfires are interesting places. Even more interesting when the people sitting at one are a detective's daughter, a guy who plays card games on motorcycles, an internationally-wanted jewel thief, an agoraphobic photographer, a ... Heather, and a mild-mannered novelist who's probably the only mature adult there.
But you can't have a campfire without stories, and with such a crowd as odd as this one, there's sure to be a few worth telling...
Rating: PG for spooky stories
Log:
The dog days of summer are a special time of year, regardless of whether or not you're young enough to still associate them with the last days of freedom before fall and academia set back in. And while Johto's pace of life seemed to stay the same year-round regardless of season, there was still a little something in the air on that last night of August.
The sun had long since sunk below the treeline, leaving in its wake a warm night that still held the barest hint of the autumn ahead.
But the fire chased that little ghost of a chill away nicely, small though it was from where it flickered in the center of the little hollow they'd set up camp in, and what the fire didn't do, the sleeping bags would. It was a small site, hardly more than a pine-needle-and-root-floored clearing walled in by thick trunks.
In fact, the fire's flickering light hardly even extends through the gaps between the trees.
... Which is why Heather's got a staticky, softly-glowing Pichu held in the palm of her hand like some kind of squishy, living lantern as she squeezes her way back into the fire's light, stepping carefully over friend, Pokemon alike before dumping a pile of sticks next to the fire.
"Boom. That's enough for the rest of the night, I think. Outta the way, Cooj."
Shoveling the fluffy canine monstrosity that had (along with a few puffy bags of marshmallows) been taking up most of her sleeping bag aside, Heather flopped down with a hearty huff, still holding her father's Pichu and looking around at the rest of the travel party with a wide grin.
"SO! We still gonna do the stories?"