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[Anonymous Text]
[The text that hits the device tonight is the sort that obviously comes from some sort of hacked ID - it's poorly done, but at the same time well-done enough that you're just going to get a lot of static and glitching if you're going to try to work out who it is. More of an obviously anon setting than a device that's pretending to belong to someone else, basically.]
Tell me about recurring dreams you've had.
Not necessarily nightmares, though I suppose those are fine. Just those dreams you've had over and over again, the ones your mind keeps coming back to.
If you're expecting psychoanalysis you won't get it, since I'm not being paid nearly well enough to do that for the lot of you and I've no interest in it besides. I'm just interested in talking and hoping you'll say something interesting.
[...okay then.]
[Action - Goldenrod City]
[Well, abrasive texts or not, Alfred can actually be found outside today; it's warm today (even if his internal clock is still yelling at him that it shouldn't be, and he is never going to get used to the damn weather in this hemisphere) and he's taking the opportunity to spend time in the park, watching his Pokémon...play? Are they playing? It looks like they might be; it's either that or it's a level one slapfight that's more ineffectual than anything, between a Sewaddle and what looks to be a male Combee.
After a bit of watching it'll become clear that this is, in fact, a slapfight, and one that the poor Sewaddle is not going to be winning; it keeps getting a shot of Gust in the face and unfortunately Tackle isn't landing too well right now, due to the abovementioned...well, Gusting to the face, and after a few rounds of this the Sewaddle is basically ending up spending more time kind of lying on the ground in a universally understood gesture of "I have run out of fucks to give" rather than actually fighting.
Alfred, unfortunately, seems to be taking no pity whatsoever on the poor damn thing - he's sitting on one of the benches nearby, leaning idly over his legs where they're crossed at the knee, chin propped in his hand while he watches; he's also got at least one bug he's not particularly interested in deathmatching, if the ever-present Joltik on his shoulder is any indication. As it is, said Joltik apparently gives no fucks about what's going on and Alfred himself just sort of rolls his eyes when the Sewaddle flops over, reaching out for the bag he's got with him and spraying it in the face with a Potion.]
Oh, no, you don't. Get back in there.
[Alfred, that thing is going to hate you before it even reaches level 5, what are you doing.]
[The text that hits the device tonight is the sort that obviously comes from some sort of hacked ID - it's poorly done, but at the same time well-done enough that you're just going to get a lot of static and glitching if you're going to try to work out who it is. More of an obviously anon setting than a device that's pretending to belong to someone else, basically.]
Tell me about recurring dreams you've had.
Not necessarily nightmares, though I suppose those are fine. Just those dreams you've had over and over again, the ones your mind keeps coming back to.
If you're expecting psychoanalysis you won't get it, since I'm not being paid nearly well enough to do that for the lot of you and I've no interest in it besides. I'm just interested in talking and hoping you'll say something interesting.
[...okay then.]
[Action - Goldenrod City]
[Well, abrasive texts or not, Alfred can actually be found outside today; it's warm today (even if his internal clock is still yelling at him that it shouldn't be, and he is never going to get used to the damn weather in this hemisphere) and he's taking the opportunity to spend time in the park, watching his Pokémon...play? Are they playing? It looks like they might be; it's either that or it's a level one slapfight that's more ineffectual than anything, between a Sewaddle and what looks to be a male Combee.
After a bit of watching it'll become clear that this is, in fact, a slapfight, and one that the poor Sewaddle is not going to be winning; it keeps getting a shot of Gust in the face and unfortunately Tackle isn't landing too well right now, due to the abovementioned...well, Gusting to the face, and after a few rounds of this the Sewaddle is basically ending up spending more time kind of lying on the ground in a universally understood gesture of "I have run out of fucks to give" rather than actually fighting.
Alfred, unfortunately, seems to be taking no pity whatsoever on the poor damn thing - he's sitting on one of the benches nearby, leaning idly over his legs where they're crossed at the knee, chin propped in his hand while he watches; he's also got at least one bug he's not particularly interested in deathmatching, if the ever-present Joltik on his shoulder is any indication. As it is, said Joltik apparently gives no fucks about what's going on and Alfred himself just sort of rolls his eyes when the Sewaddle flops over, reaching out for the bag he's got with him and spraying it in the face with a Potion.]
Oh, no, you don't. Get back in there.
[Alfred, that thing is going to hate you before it even reaches level 5, what are you doing.]
