It's Evolution, Baby.

[machitobaye]

Who: Machi and Kitora
Where: Violet City?
When: Backdated November 30th
Summary: A training match goes slightly awry.
Rating: Maybe slight language?
Log:

Comments

[vocal_gardens]

The odor of the Gloom really didn't bother the trainer. Sure, he knew the scent wasn't as pleasant, but it reminded him of soil. Sometimes more sour than usual, but this wasn't much... Well, more than usual because it was amped up in battle, but... Kitora could tell the pokémon was definitely ready for this battle.

It was just a practice match, but it seemed fun enough. And his Gloom never seemed to mind. His battle skills weren't that great, but as long as they were trying, then it seemed okay, yes? And it was something Machi was actually somewhat interested in. Instead of that overly quiet, scared individual, he was at least putting his interest in something... and Kitora liked to see that.

He just was not expecting for when the Poochyena bit deeply into Gloom and the little pokémon cried out and tried to scramble away, but it was too late. Her energy was depleted by this point. Kitora wasn't even sure how much she had left in her from this match.

"I think you're going to win this one, Machi," he said.

Did you know I didn't get a notif? I had no idea you'd tagged back.

[machitobaye]

The pianist pressed his lips together, creating a tight line. Kitora didn't know that he could see it, but just the cry from the Gloom would have been enough.

"Good," he said tersely, his voice just barely loud enough to be heard, even over the battle. Machi wasn't good at conversation, and he was talking more to himself than anyone. He didn't mind if Kitora heard--he just didn't care enough to speak up.

On a fundamental level, he was still uncomfortable with the whole 'battling' event, even if the level it bothered him at might not have been the one it should have. It was less a case of tenderheartedness and more a matter of something deeper, something he didn't really want to touch; on a practical level, however, he knew it would cost him if he hesitated too much. Weakness was easily measurable here--if you could win a battle, you could be right, or wrong, or smart or stupid or blind or a liar, it didn't really seem to matter.

If you lost...

"Tackle!"

...then what?