Organism assembly line

So it's been made clear by some...friends of mine that I should probably sell the results of my breeding endeavors rather than attempting to keep them in hopes that they'll someday completely defy my expectations and actually be useful.

[I mean, he can't possibly imagine why. It's not like his fault that Operation: Ho-Ho-Holy Shit (or whatever it is that we're calling that thing that happened in Celadon earlier this month) involved an unholy mess of bees for no real reason.]

I've attached a list of what I have; get back to me if you're interested. I'd prefer trades over flat-out payment, though I certainly won't tell you no if you want to send me money instead. I don't particularly care what you do with them – give them to your friends, sell them at a profit, keep them and love them forever, whatever. I'd just prefer to not have them around for much longer than needs be.

[...NOT LEAST OF WHICH BECAUSE HE'LL JUST KIND OF HOARD THEM ALL, AND APPARENTLY THAT'S NOT GOING TO FLY...]


[OOC]

[Egg list is here - there are still a mess of them so feel free to claim what you like!]

[TEXT]

So it seems that the running theme on the network this summer is "We're all terrible people and/or have no idea how to handle ourselves in groups." Good to know, I suppose.

Since I'm particularly bored but otherwise actually am having a very good day today (thank you very much), maybe all of you can regale me with some of that optimism you seem to like so much. Or you can be needlessly pessimistic, I don't really care. I just want to hear stories.

So why don't you talk about something you've accomplished since you've been here? I don't care how important it is in the scheme of things. Just something you've gotten done.

Since I'm sure somebody is going to ask for my reasoning in asking, I'm coming up on a year of being here, though I still have some time yet. I suppose this sort of thing is on my mind.


[ACTION]

( Egregious animal cruelty again, because of course. )

[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.]