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About Literature / Hobbyist Member Quarteon01Male/Indonesia Recent Activity
Deviant for 3 Years
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    “I heard that the others will arrive soon. That true?”

    Darius inclined his head. “In about four to five days, if they have a smooth journey,” he mused. “They didn’t take the same route as we did.” The Shiny Blaziken adjusted the dark grey cloak that was fastened on his shoulder. “They will also bring three Novices with them.”

    “I see.” Ardor nodded. His brow creased slightly as he bit his lower lip. He couldn’t help but worry over that piece of information

    A small chuckle rumbled through Darius’ throat. “Have more faith, Ardor. Odius and Nikandros will guide our Brothers trough the Pass safely.” He took a gulp from his tankard. “You of all Pokémon shouldn’t feel so worried.”

    Ardor exhaled, a rather embarrassed smile plastered on his face. “I know, it’s just... Eight of our Brothers coming here from Fȳren, three of them Novices... Wouldn’t it attract their attention?”

    Darius knew very well whom Ardor was referring to, but he only smiled. “As a Master, you should trust your Mercenaries’ skills and capabilities more. They’ll make it through. I’m sure.”

    “Alright then,” the Quilava replied with a drawn out sigh. The two Mercenaries leading the journey were his best friends, of course he would worry. Shaking his head, he ran his paws through his hair and stood up. “I’m going out for some fresh air. Be back later.”

    “Don’t stay out too long then.”

    “Yeah, I won’t.” Ardor exited the small pub and into the streets. “As if I would stay out for hours on end.”

    The early afternoon air that greeted him was cooler than the air this morning, a great relief for most of the Pokémon that lived in Andalusst. Summer had officially started, and the temperature had risen drastically over the last few days. Being a ‘mon who was born and raised in the dry hot valleys and plateaus of Fȳren, the current temperature didn’t affect him much. In fact, the dry, summer winds would be considered moderately cool and refreshing in Fȳrenian standards; nonetheless, it was still warm. That was why Ardor had opted to wear a simple sleeveless tunic. His regular cloak would heat up to uncomfortable levels under the sun and he would get weird looks from the locals.

    Sighing, Ardor went into a slow, but leisure stroll around the general area around the pub, passing several Pokémon as he did so, while simultaneously picking up the conversations that had caught his ears, a skill that had turned into a habit after several years apprenticing in the Brotherhood. From what he had gathered, there had been talks of an upcoming party hosted by the Iaponese Ambassador as thanks for ensuring her safety in Andalusst.

    Well, that should be interesting. Ardor was now wondering what the Froslass had in store for them. She might throw a Iaponese summer festival if his knowledge on the eastern country was right. They loved to have huge parties to celebrate nature and seasons and so on from what he had read.

    He was brought out from his musings as he passed by a rather inconspicuous looking building to his left. It didn’t look like much but the distinct, rowdy roar of an excited crowd definitely caught his attention. Casting a long, dubious look at the two-storey wood-and-brick building, Ardor shrugged and stepped inside.

    The room beyond the door was poorly lit: a few dusty Chargestone lamps hung along the walls and on the ceiling; the windows on either side of the door were covered with a thin, canvas covering which bathed the whole room in a pale yellow light; the walls were bare, covered with white paint, which was chipping around the edges, and the floorboards creaked when Ardor moved across it. The dull roar of the crowd sounded much louder now.

    “You here to fight or watch?”

    “Hmm?” Ardor turned to look at the Medicham at the counter.

    “You want to fight or to watch?” the dual-type repeated, eyeing the Quilava as he approached the counter. “You seemed to be the fighting type.” She nodded approvingly at Ardor’s prominent muscles.

    The Quilava blinked and shifted under the Meditate Pokémon’s rather critical gaze. “A fight?”

    The Medicham raised an eyebrow. “Yes. This is a fighting club, didn’t the sign tell you?”

    “...There are no signs outside.”

    There was an audible curse from the Medicham as her face twisted in annoyance. “Must’ve been ripped off again, damn those kids... Ah, well. Welcome to the Zänker Haus. You can participate in our daily spars and fights or just watch the ones that are on-going.” She paused to catch her breath. “Entry fees will be three Stars for fighters and one Star for spectators. You still can participate in the fight if you want, so it’s fine either way,” she concluded with a shrug. 

    Ardor hummed thoughtfully, weighing his options. He could participate, and perhaps have a good workout, but that would take hours, which in turn would induce Darius’ annoyance. He doesn’t approve being late. If could also opted to watch the fight, and leave whenever he liked.  Well, he supposed that a little viewing wouldn’t hurt.

    Nodding to himself, the Quilava dug into his money pouch and handed the Medicham one Star. She took it with a nod and handed Ardor a small card of sorts.

    “Fill that and give it to Warden if you want to work that body of yours,” she said with a small smirk.


    “Yes,” the Medicham huffed, gesturing to the swinging door to the side of the counter. 

    “The Granbull. His name is Warden. Just go through there.”

    “Ah, okay then. Thanks.” Ardor nodded and pushed the doors open. He found himself passing through a short dark hallway and was soon inside a large hall filled with cheering and shouting ‘mons. The hall was a simple square opening, stretching two floors above with a balcony surrounding the whole area. A set of stairs were built right beside the corridor for easy access to the balcony on the second level. The ones who couldn’t get a good view on the ground level had gone up to view the on-going fight from the top.

    The fighting ring was the strangest thing Ardor had ever seen. It wasn’t in the default circular or rectangular shape, but was a large octagon instead. The floor of the ring was padded with soft clay, firm enough to stand and move around in but soft enough not to cause any bruises if one fall, and it was bordered by sturdy canvas walls hoisted by strong wooden poles. Ardor supposed that the owner of the club had given some thought on the wellbeing of the fighters.

    There was an audible pitying “Oooh!” from the crowd as the Quilava walked up the stairs to the balcony. He made his way to look over the railing just in time to see a rather scruffy and tough-looking Machoke delivering a powerful punch right into the cheek of a Zigzagoon half its size. Ardor was surprised that the Normal-type merely stumbled back, looking disoriented but definitely still able to fight. The Zigzagoon was thin, but not overly so, with a rather thick tail and messy fur. He had the lithe, speedy built of a fighter, definitely not the power type, and those calculating blue eyes... well, this had to be an interesting fight.

    The Zigzagoon in question was spitting out red from his mouth and regarding his opponent with a slight cock of his head. The hulk of a Machoke grinned challengingly and banged his bandaged fists together.

    The raccoon rolled over as the Machoke charged in. But he had misjudged the Fighting-type’s strategy and didn’t see the Machoke’s foot coming. Ardor could hear the air rush out of the Zigzagoon’s lungs as the foot collided with his stomach. He staggered backward, almost tripping in the process. Shaking the dizziness out of his head, the Zigzagoon blinked at the crowd before he focused himself back to the fight. The Machoke lunged again, and to his dismay, the smaller Pokémon sidestepped it with ease and countered with a solid uppercut to his jaw.

    There was a thunderous roar and applause from his supporters and betters.

    To everyone’s surprise, however, the Tiny Raccoon Pokémon gave a curt nod to the Machoke. A smile was sketched on his face. “Well done. Thank you for the fight.” And he began to walk away.

    The Machoke wasn’t pleased with the Zigzagoon’s actions, however, as he snarled. His voice thundered above the roar from the crowd. “Hey! We ain’t done yet!”

    “Not done. Finished,” came the Zigzagoon’s reply. He heaved a sigh and exited the ring. 

    “And, as I said, thank you.”

    The Machoke’s face twisted in disgust. He strode a couple steps forward and spat contemptuously at the Zigzagoon, catching him on the back of his head. The raccoon-like Pokémon stopped as the crowd suddenly fell silent. He felt the back of his head and sniffed it.

    “Hmm... Westron Gin,” he pronounced, loud enough to be heard by the entire hall. He turned around and walked back into the ring with the approving roar and applause from the crowd. The Zigzagoon was now eyeing the Machoke with a new calculating look. Ardor could almost see the gears turning in the Zigzagoon’s head.

    The Machoke banged his fists again and fell into his combat stance. What he and the onlookers weren’t expecting however, was the Zigzagoon’s sudden movement and speed, hitting the Machoke with a series of superfast jabs and hooks, incorporating a foreign style of martial arts Ardor had not seen before. The fight ended when the Normal-type delivered a swift kick to the Machoke’s knee, who buckled down and fell over, knocked out. The Zigzagoon had turned away just as the giant of a Fighting-type fell over the ring barriers.

    The crowd had fallen silent, unsure if they liked what they saw, but Ardor was impressed. 

    To take out an opponent less than a minute, and with a type disadvantage at that, was something worth admiring.

    “Well then,” someone coughed from within the crowd below. A Granbull in a simple black shirt and white vest waded his way through the mass of ‘mons and stood in the middle of the ring as the Machoke was dragged out into the infirmary. “The fight goes to James Holford by knockout. Congratulations. Next, we have Fennec Sharpe and Cormac Mc–oh?” He stopped as one of the fight house’s attendants came up to him and whispered something intangible. The Granbull blinked.

    “Ah. It seems that Mr. McDowell wouldn’t be able to fight today,” Warden informed the crowd. 

    There were collective groans and boos from the audience. 

    “But Mr. Sharpe has agreed to select an opponent from the crowd,” he added, much to their surprise. Excited whispers began to spread around the hall. 

    Ardor leaned on the balcony, looking down to the Dewott that was leisurely sauntering into the ring. 

    “This match will be utilizing melee weapons. Anyone who wishes to participate—please move forward to the edge of the balcony or in front of the ring.”

    Fennec watched with a small smile as the majority of the crowd moved backwards to the walls. Only a handful of the audience strode forward. He counted an eager looking Mawile, a Simisage with a smug grin, a brute of a Feraligatr, a pensive Golem, and a jittery Wartortle. And he hasn’t counted the ones on the balcony yet. But one particular ‘mon caught his attention. It was a male Quilava, and he stood out from the rest of the volunteers on the balcony. Well, primarily because of his exotic dark olive green and tan fur, and that firm, muscled stature of his...and partly because the Quilava looked to be the most likely candidate able to withstand his attacks.

    This will be interesting indeed.

    “Mr. Sharpe, if you will,” Warden prompted.

    The Dewott grinned in reply and pointed right at the Quilava on the balcony. “Him.”

    Ardor stared and blinked. “Me?”

    “Yes, the exotic Quilava on the balcony.” The Dewott grinned cheekily. “You seem to be quite the fan~”

    Ardor frowned slightly.

    “Right,” Warden coughed, interrupting the Dewott before he could make his new opponent aggravated. “Mister Quilava. If you would proceed to the changing room to prepare. The match will continue in five minutes. In the meanwhile, you both can prepare yourself.
The rest of the volunteers grumbled and went back to the slowly applauding crowd. Ardor caught the evil stares given by the Feraligatr and Simisage from down below as he made his way towards the stairs. Warden was waiting for him on the bottom of the steps, nodding before he led the Quilava towards the changing room to the side of the hall.

    “Would you require any arm warps, Mr. Quilava?” the Granbull asked, motioning for the number of bandages, gloves, and many other things that were displayed on the cabinet mounted to the side.

    “It’s Ardor, and no, I don’t think I will need any,” the Fire-type replied as he untied the strings of his tunic and pulled it over his head. “, the receptionist said I should give this to you if I wanted to fight?” He handed the small slip of paper to the Granbull as he stored his clothes on the locker shelves.

    Warden nodded. “Ah, yes. Thank you. Just remember to pay two extra Stars to Irma on the front desk since you decided to participate.” 

    “Even if I win?”

    “Yes.” The Granbull nodded. “Fight is in three minutes. Best prepare yourself.” With that, he left Ardor to his own devices.  The Quilava exhaled softly as the burly Pokémon left. Somehow, he had a sinking feeling that the day’s surprises weren’t over yet.

    Fennec was leaning on one of the poles as Ardor entered the fighting ring. The clay ground felt like hardened earth beneath his feet. He glanced around, seeing the looks from the expectant audience around him. Some were sending sneers and shouting encouragement to Fennec instead. The Fire-type rolled his eyes.

    Warden came with a large weapon rack wheeled by two Pokémon behind him. He strode toward the centre of the ring and addressed the crowd. “This will be a match between Ardor and Fennec Sharpe. The winner will be determined by hit points. The fighter who scores two hits or K.O.s their opponent will be declared the winner.”

    Ardor took a deep breath and exhaled, flexing his shoulders and arms as Warden rambled on the rules. Fennec was doing the exact same thing from his side of the ring.

    “And, without further ado...” The Granbull turned to the two ‘mons. “Fighters, choose your weapons!”

    Glancing at his opponent, Ardor went to the weapons rack and browsed through the assortment of swords, daggers, and spears. It didn’t take him long to choose a sabre from the selection of swords. It was quite heavy but well-balanced. Ardor frowned when he felt the blunt edges on the blade. It would seem that they weren’t meant to cut their opponents open. Oh well.  

    Fennec, on the other hand, simply held both of his hands out, forming a condensed ball of bluish energy between his palms; it grew larger and larger until it was a sizeable orb of snow and ice. Then, it exploded into a myriad of snowflakes. 

    Ardor fought to keep his jaws closed. The collective gasps from the crowd told him that they were just as impressed and surprised as he was.

    Gripped between Fennec’s paws was a large double-bladed glaive made entirely of pure, crystal-like ice. The shaft was a long smooth frosted ice, widening slightly as they melded into the blades, with tendrils of ice warping around the central blue gem which seemed to pulse with energy. The blades were pure white, almost silvery in texture, and shaped like a leaf, tapering into a sharp point on the end.

    “Do you like it?” The Dewott grinned, stroking the flat edge of the blades. “It took me a couple of weeks to perfect the shape and size of this.”

    Warden could be heard choking slightly from the sidelines. “W-well... that is a really fine weapon, Mr. Sharpe.” He cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “Right. Fighters! To your positions!”

    Ardor snapped out of his stupor and briskly paced to his end of the ring and fell into stance. Fennec had crouched low with his glaive held behind him, while his other arm stretched forward, smirking at the Fire-type. From the corner of his eye, Ardor could see several Psychic-types erecting barriers around the perimeter of the ring. Perhaps they realized how dangerous this fight will go, especially with the crowd gathering around them. Ardor’s grip on his sword tightened slightly.

    Meanwhile, Warden had taken his position on the small podium to the right of the ring, where he quickly addressed the crowd and the fighters. “Fighters at the ready... in three! Two! One! Fight!”

    Fennec moved right when the Granbull struck the bell. He hefted the glaive over his shoulder and flung it at Ardor, who sidestepped it quite easily and charged. The Quilava swung his sabre in a wide arc, which was dodged by the Water-type who lashed his feet against Ardor’s, causing the Quilava to trip. The Dewott quickly somersaulted and snatched the glaive from the ground before throwing it towards his opponent. Ardor ducked the spinning bladed spear and closed the distance between him and the Dewott. Blocking the incoming punch, the Quilava swiftly slammed the flat side of his blade against Fennec’s chest.

    “Impressive,” he remarked, swerving out of the way as the glaive come spinning in. The Dewott caught the weapon expertly. To Ardor’s surprise, the weapon split into two short swords with a simple twist on the shaft. Smirking slightly, Fennec brought both of the blades up and slammed both of the flat surfaces together, creating a high-pitched sound wave which disoriented Ardor who hissed and clamped both of his paws on his throbbing ears. The psychic barriers rippled from the noise itself, thankfully muting the ear splitting noise to a bearable level outside the ring.

    Taking advantage of the momentary lull in concentration, Fennec lunged and swung his swords downwards, only to meet Ardor’s sabre. The icy surface of the glaive cracked beneath the force as both Ardor and Fennec pushed both of their blades together.  “You look cute when you’re in pain,” the Dewott snickered. He rolled his wrist around, using the momentum to push Ardor’s smaller weapon down before he swung his other sword in a sideways arc. Ardor didn’t have time to react before the blade smashed against his cheek, sending a jolt of coldness running down his body.

    Shaking off the cold, Ardor glared at the Dewott and swung his sword to the side, releasing the hold on his blade before hitting the back of the hilt to Fennec’s stomach. The Water-type staggered as the air rushed out of his lungs. The Quilava quickly twisted his body around his opponent, gripping and twisting Fennec’s arm, putting enough pressure to force the otter to release one of his swords. It fell with a loud clatter to the ground.

    Thinking quickly, Fennec tipped himself a bit before he jumped, hitting Ardor’s jaw and releasing himself from the Quilava’s strong grip at the same time. He then proceeded to flip the Fire-type and slam him on his back, effectively knocking the breath out of him. The Dewott quickly twisted his body around and straddled Ardor’s chest, eliciting a wheeze from his downed opponent. He leaned his face close to the stoat and chuckled. Before Ardor knew what happened, Fennec planted a lingering kiss on his lips while pinning his paws down.

    The roaring crowd fell silent.

    Ardor’s eyes flew open as he felt the other male’s lips on his. Reacting on instinct, he quickly bit, hard, on the Discipline Pokémon, who immediately recoiled out of pain. He was about to knock the Water-type off him, but Fennec held his paws firm to the ground.

    “What the hell you think you’re doing?!” Ardor all but snarled.

    Fennec wiped his bloody mouth, looking at the amount of blood that managed to smear his fur. He chuckled. “Feisty. I like you,” he answered with a wink. “I was scoring a hit. What did you think? That counts, right?” He turned to look at Warden, who blinked at the rather unorthodox display of crippling an opponent.

    “Ah, oh.” The Granbull cleared his throat and nodded. In a louder voice, he said, “Fight goes to Fennec Sharpe in the two-out-of-three-hits bout!”

    There was a slow, but steady applause from the crowd as the psychic barriers dissipated and a roar as Fennec bowed to the audience. He turned and helped Ardor up on his feet with that annoying grin plastered on his face. Swiping his silvery white bangs out of his eyes, he gave a once over to Ardor and nodded to himself. “Dinner. 9 o’clock. Ramzi’s Tavern and Grill. Don’t be late.” He winked and turned his body towards the exit, leaving a stunned and flabbergasted Ardor.                                                                   

    “H-hey! What the in oblivion—OY!” Ardor growled and took after the Dewott. But the otter had disappeared within the cheering and cat-calling crowd.

Zanker Haus - Part 1
Part 1|Part 2

This little story here stems from the number of discussions and RPs I had with Senso ever since I joined PMDU. I had never imagined that one of my characters would be shipped with anyone, much less from one of the best writers in the group. Well, the ship had set sail, no turning back now. 

This is the second appearance of Fennec Sharpe in my stories. If you're curious, Fennec had appeared as the primary antagonist in one of my other PMDU stories. But here, he serves as one of the main "good" characters. And this is my first attempt of writing in the romance genre, so any advice will be welcomed, but please keep your flames or rants to yourself, thanks. Well, that's that, and enjoy.

now lemme just go over there and...idkthisisquiteembarassinghelpme

NB: Thanks for Setsuna-Senso for proofreading this. :)

    Derek took another sip from his warm Grepa juice as the Iaponese Ambassador– who he had leaned to be called Ayami, floated past by. His claymore Honedge partner was floating beside him, looking quite engrossed on his activity of observing the number of Pokémon that had attended the party. The ghost sword turned his single eye towards two certain guests that had joined them on the bar. He was surprised to see a Doublade,  as his kind were quite rare, and somehow, he hadn’t seen any Honedges, Doublades, or even Aegislashes lately, even if the city had lots of them floating around.

    Perhaps he ought to venture out more.

    “Hi! Welcome to Avalodge.” Cael heard the ambassador's cherry voice as she greeted the two guests. “What can I get for both of you?”

    "Oh, um... I'd like an Apple Cider, please!" The Braixen replied as he shifted his orange vest snugly around his torso.

    "Dude. That's alcoholic. You sure?" One of the swords that followed him interjected, echoed by the other.

    "Yeah man, you're a lightweight!"

    The Braixen’s face pursed in annoyance. "Weren't you guys the ones to tell me to have fun once in a while?"

    "... Good point." The first sword replied before turning to the Frosslass. "Two for the handsome swords too, please!"

    “Sure!” Ayami giggled at their antics, feeling more than happy to oblige.

    Cael chuckled to himself and decided to continue to his activity of observing the guests. The Avalodge was definitely crowded with various sorts of Pokémon he had ever seen. There was a lone, bored looking Phantump sitting by the Avalugg tables, eyeing someone who was face painting a few tables away. A pair of blue robed Lucario and Honedge walked past him, seemingly to be deep in discussion about the upcoming ice sculpting contest.

    “But... a bust would be simpler, wouldn’t it?” the Lucario complained. “Come on, Ven. I’m not that skilled.”

    “Which is why I purposed a Pidgeot statue.” The Honedge replied evenly. “It won’t be that hard, Zenneth. Trust me.”

    Cael could hear the blue cloaked Lucario grumble and disappear from view. With that, the Honedge went back to his sight-seeing. There were sure a lot of ghost types today, he mused, with an abundant amount of fire types. Perhaps that was why Derek seemed perfectly fine when he was shivering badly at his arrival with Ardor.

    And speaking of the devil...

    “Afternoon, Ardor.”

    The thickly robed Quilava nodded. The sword noted with amusement, that Ardor had a really bright yellow ‘mask’ painted on his face. It’s quite simple in design, but Cael would recognize a Verinzian styled carnival mask right away. It even had small, gold swirls around his eyes.

    “Afternoon, Cael. Enjoying yourself?”

    Cael’s green scarf swished lazily. “Quite, yes.” His eyes gleamed. “You got quite the artist, I see.”

    Ardor chuckled. “I’m surprised myself.” He nodded to the shiny Noibat who was flying towards a bright pastry cart attended by a Zoroark. “Despite what he said, Lapis’ work surpassed mine by great lengths.”

    “Lapis?” Cael blinked and looked towards the blue furred bat that was currently helping the Zoroark to sell the pastries. “Oh, I see. Interesting name...  Well, have a drink Ardor. It won’t be another hour before the Ice Sculpting began.” Cael intoned brightly. “I trust you and Derek already have something in mind?”

    Ardor hummed. “Actually, we will be partnering with other teams for that contest.” He said. “Derek had partnered with a Frogadier by the name Zach and his Togepi teammate..” Ardor nodded towards the hooded Bubble Frog Pokemon a few seats away. “The twins had agreed to help me and Lapis, on the other hand.”

    Cael blinked his sole eye, once. “The twins? You sure the ice won’t melt before you three fire types could even begin?

    A snort came from behind Ardor. “Then we will make sure the Nevermeltice wouldn’t melt, if it can melt in the first place.”

    “Glad you two can make it.” Ardor grinned, turning around on his seat to greet the two newcomers, his eyes shuffled between the Houndours. Both Nicolò and Alessandro were identical in the looks department: having the same set of bright amber eyes, same face structure, and even identical V-shaped skull-helmet on their heads. Their only difference was their build and hair. Alessandro had his medium length hair tied in a short ponytail and had a more muscular build. Nicolò on the other hand had shorter hair and a leaner but sturdy frame. But more or less, it would be quite confusing to differentiate them if not for Alessandro’s ponytail.

    Stessa cosa.” Alessandro replied, grinning. He adjusted his dark brown winter coat around his shoulders as he and his twin brother took the empty seats between Derek and the Phantump. “No wonder you told us to bring some winter clothing. It’s freezing in here.” He added, grimacing slightly.

    Ardor smiled wryly. “Derek didn’t bode too well with the cold either.”

    “As if you fared better.” The Chimchar retorted.  Ardor waved his paw dismissively.

    “Well, anyway. Have you two decided on what we should sculpt?”

    It was Nicolò who replied. “We have thought about several ideas, but we agreed to make the–

     “Le Grandi Torri di Guardia.” Alessandro supplied.

    “We had planned to make a large scale replica, which means–

    “–we will need at least five large ice blocks to make it.” Alessandro added.” And did you bring those small Chargestone lanterns we asked?”

    “Yes. It’s with Derek at the moment.”

    Nicolò grinned. “Great! It will illuminate the tower nicely–” 

    “–from the inside of course–”

    “–and the ice particles should reflect the lights very beautifully.”

    “Perhaps we should carve an opening between the ice blocks so we could place the lanterns inside.”

    “Yes, that should do the trick.”

    Ardor blinked and shook his head to get rid of the impending dizziness. Watching the two talk is like observing a tennis match.  “Wait, wait. Le Grandi– you meant those two famous ivory watchtowers?”

    Sì.” both intoned.

    “The ones that burned down with the city?”

    Both Houndours’ smiles faded, slowly replaced by a tight frown. Both looking quite uncomfortable with the subject.

    “Yes... We would like something to remember and preserved from our home...” It was Alessandro who had spoken.

    “Ah, alright.” Noticing their agitated body language, Ardor quickly changed the subject. He could relate with the two hellhounds. Watching your home burn and your family member die in one single day... it couldn’t be pleasant.

    “Well, I think you should know, arts-and-crafts aren’t my strong subject, or even my other partner, so to speak.”

    Alessandro chuckled. “Just leave the carving to us. You and that Noibat can help by cutting the basic the blocks into shape.” His eyes wandered about. “Well, we still have some time, right? I’ll just be with that Braixen over there.” He grinned, sauntering towards the fire type with the Doublade pair.

    Nico let out an exasperated sigh. Ale, this isn’t the time to flirt around!

    His words fell on deaf ears however, as Ale went to sit with the Fox Pokémon.

    Dei boni...” Nico muttered under his breath and went to order a drink with a small, annoyed scowl.

    Ardor’s eyes followed Ale as he conversed with the Braixen. He couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but it would seem that the fire fox was quite amused that Ale went to flirt with him. The Houndour seemed to have invited the fox to the bar as the two stood up. The Doublade stayed where they were though, waving their magenta scarf-arms as the fire types left.

    "...why not, if you don't mind a guy like me." Ardor heard the Braixen’s mirthful voice as their voices entered his hearing range.

    Nico chocked slightly at his drink, stifling a laugh as he looked at his twin brother’s stunned face.

    "Wait. Sei un maschio?!" the ponytailed Houndour asked.

    The Braixen blinked. “What’s that mean?”

    “He just asked that if you’re a guy.” Nico translated with a small snort.

    "Oh, yep." The fox replied, his bushy tail swished around. "I don't mind guys though. Gotta say, you do look cute~"

    Somehow, Ale managed to get through is initial surprise and his shocked face had returned to his award winning grin. With a chuckle, he replied, "Thanks. You look fine yourself."

    It was Nico’s turn to look dumbstruck. Cael couldn’t help but laugh out from the amount of hilarity while Derek observed the interaction with a choked smile. Ardor just snorted and shook his head in amusement.

    “Gods... I should’ve known.” Nico groaned, but there was an underlying satisfaction in his voice, as if he had solved a centuries old mystery.

    Derek made a coughing noise and stood up. “W-well.” He fought to keep his face straight. “I’m going to see Zach and Drew over there.” He nodded to the Frogadier and Togepi team.

    “Yeah. Go ahead.” Ardor nodded, stuffing his cold paws into his wintercoat pocket. His paw fingers immediately brushed against the ring which he had secured inside. A thought occurred to him.

    “Nico, can you come with me for a second?” he requested. The Houndour in question shrugged and nodded.

    Derek watched them stood. “I’ll see you later then.”

    Ardor nodded as the Chimchar left the bar to join his Ice Sculpting partners. Derek observed as Ardor turned to Nico and walked slowly to the other end of the bar. “Do you remember the ring?” His voice was pensive.

    The young Houndour’s ears perked up. “Yes...” he replied hesitantly. “How could I not?”

    The rest of the conversation was lost to Derek’s ears as the two fire types disappeared into the crowd. He wondered if they were talking about the journey they had taken a few weeks earlier. To where, Derek didn’t know. But Ardor had returned with the twins and another ‘mon with a ring made of pure silver and a small wooden box which jingled when the Quilava handed it to Darius.

    Shaking the thoughts out of his head, the Chimchar warped his loose scarf around his neck and walked past a stage which had been set up the other day. He watched in wonder at the finely dressed ‘mons bearing various musical instruments. One of them stood out from the most, seeing that the particular Zigzagoon was clad in a thin white shirt and a simple black jacket, looking quite miserable. Derek couldn’t help but feel pity to the normal type, seeing that he was shivering from the cold. But he couldn’t do anything at the moment, unfortunately.  

    “Hey! Over here!”

    The Chimchar blinked and looked around to find who had called him. He then spotted Zach waving from his seat. Smiling a bit, the fire type went to join the two Hunters and began to discuss what they should be making tonight.

    Meanwhile, Jim Holford sneezed as he drew his jacket collar over his neck. At least it provided some warmth. He huffed at his own negligence. Not only he had forgotten to wear warmer clothing, he had also forgotten his newly acquired scarf back at his flat. He had been informed that formal wear was the dress code for musicians for the night, but he had somehow forgotten that Avalodge had a concentrated winter climate.

    Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk.

    Shivering from the cold, the lanky Zigzagoon went to retrieve his trusty violin from the case and plucked the strings to test their pitch. He struck some notes to determine which ones would need tuning. Satisfied, he decided to play an excerpt from Ungarische Tänze No. 5 to make sure he had everything right. His violin was working well so far.

    As Jim was about to test another piece to get his strings going, he started to realize that he was being watched by someone. The Zigzagoon turned with furrowed brows  to see a Grovyle observing him with fascination written across his face. The Grovyle blinked when he realized that Jim was now staring back at himself, and he promptly averted his gaze away.

    “F-forgive me. Er...did I bother you?” the grass type coughed, directing his gaze back to Jim sheepishly.

    Jim raised his eyebrows. “No, no you didn’t.” he responded, taking in every detail of the Grovyle with his cold blue eyes. What he found was definitely interesting.

    Strong, lithe build...nimble claws...subtle dent on the and chemical stain on sleeve... interesting way to fold a dorsal-leaf...Aaah, I see now.

    “Isaac, wasn’t it?”

    The stunned expression on the Grovyle’s face was enough for an answer. “Er, how did you...”

    “You told me yourself. Just now.” Jim replied. “Well, that, and I’ve read every record on new members. I simply piece the facts together.” He added.

    Isaac blinked. “I see...” he shifted awkwardly.

    Seeing the Wood Gecko’s discomfort, Jim sighed and extended his paw for a handshake. “James Holford. I don’t believe we had met, which is strange since we are in the same guild.”

    “Nice to meet you, Mr. Holford.” The grass type took Jim’s paws with his own claws. “And indeed? Well, in that case, your previous statement makes more sense now.” He chuckled good-naturedly.

    “Right. Just call me Jim... or James. Whichever you prefer.”

    Isaac smiled. “Alright.” He adjusted his white coat as he prepared his own instrument –which turned out to be a violin to Jim’s interest. “Do you play often, James?”

    “Not really. I play it only when I have nothing to do or I need to think.” Jim replied, humming to himself. “Hmm... I trust you to have adequate violin skills?”

    “Indeed I do.” Isaac replied. “I play my violin often, just to spend the time.” He seemed to realize something as a small frown creased on his forehead. “Are you alright? You look kinda cold.”

    “Hmm? No, I’m not cold. I’m feeling quite well.” The Zigzagoon replied untruthfully. He sneezed. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes.... I think you should do some warm ups with your instrument. The cold is not good for the sound box and string.”

    The Grovyle nodded, though he still looked a bit skeptical about Jim's current condition. “Thank you.” He then went to tweak and tune his violin, making sure that he had every string in the correct pitch while humming a random tune to himself. “Hmm... what should I play... oh yes... That would do.” The Grovyle grinned and began to bow a cheerful and light melody. The Researcher-slash-pseudo detective immediately recognized the bubbly serenade that practically skipped out of Isaac’s violin.

    “Serenade No. 13 for strings in G major.” Jim uttered, impressed by the skill Isaac was showing.

    Eine kleine Nachtmusik” Isaac nodded in agreement once he finished the Allegro, happy that someone recognized one of his favourite Wolfgang pieces.

     Jim turned around as several ‘mons applauded by the little show, his mouth quirked upwards. “Oh, look. We have an audience.” He chuckled as  Isaac gave a small bow to the applauding crowd, grinning slightly.

    “So it would seem.” Came the reply.

    A thought occurred in Jim’s mind as they went to regroup with the other musicians. “Hmm... How’s your Sight Reading skill, Isaac?”

    The grass type grinned brightly in response. “More than adequate I suppose. Why do you ask?”

    With a sideways glance, Jim went to reach inside his satchel pocket and pulled out a thick manila folder. He then gave it to Isaac. “I composed this piece from an idea that I had for a while, and I haven’t had the time to test out the duet part. Would you mind playing the second violin?”

    Isaac stared back and forth between Jim and the composition he held with shock written on his face. He found himself at a loss of words. It was a waltz. Slow, melodious, and hauntingly beautiful. He did not need to read through the whole composition to guess that Jim had put a lot of passion and pieced the melody brilliantly.

    “I’d be honoured.” He managed to choke out.

    Jim’s grin was blinding.

    The sports competition went well into the night.

    Tristan had never felt this spent in his life before, or feeling extremely invigorated as well. The soccer match he and Tor had participated went off and finished with a blast. Some of the participants are young ‘mons were between mid-teens to 20 year olds, but it was very fun indeed.  It was too exciting that the Prinplup couldn’t recall how many goals were scored by his team that day, but he did remember Tor being a very effective and fearsome striker.

    Around three in the afternoon, an exhausted Tristan decided to retire and went to get some refreshments inside the bar, while Tor –who somehow had an impossibly large amount of energy today, went to exert his remaining energy by playing a rather intense game of Dodgeball. The shaggy haired Buizel who had initiated the game had invented some really interesting variations. One of them was called Sulagest if Tristan recalled correctly.

    “Right then lads! Th’ rules are simple. Anythin’ goes in this game.” The Buizel shouted, sporting a rather manic grin. “Gather dirt to throw at yer enemy's eyes? Have something to knock’em off ther’ feet? Use Protect to shield yerself? Heh! Anythin’ goes as long as yeh dun’ go maulin’ the other team!”

    Needless to say, it was quite the brutal game ever.

    Tor came out victorious, which wasn’t really surprising, for Tristan anyway. He supposed that his teammate’s military training and Special Ops background had helped on his timing, reflexes, and power . But the Shinx did not walk out without a scrape. Tristan counted a swollen eye, at least a dozen bruises and cuts all over his chest and legs, and a mildly sprained ankle.

    And their resident doctor was not amused.

    “Good gods Tor! Did you get into a bleedin’ bar fight already?!

    “Dodgeball, Leo. It’s Dodgeball.” Tor replied with a loud groan as Leo forced him to sit down on the nearby bench.

    The Vaporeon’s eyes widened. “And since when did a simple Dodgeball turned into some barbaric game?! No, don’t tell me. It’s the freaking Stone Age! ‘Course a harmless game would be quite brutal.” He remarked, flapping his arms about. “Vest off.” He added.

    “You would want to direct that question to Slick.” Tor remarked.


    “That pirate wannabe Buizel who invented the Sulagest mode.”

    Leo blinked. “Sula– what?”

     “Brutal mode, if you prefer,” Tristan butted in, but Leo directed his glare to the Captain.

    “Hey, hey, hey,” Tristan found himself shrinking away from the angry water type. “I can’t just–“

    Leo interrupted him, his paws clenched. His voice was deathly calm. “You know what? Just shut up... and let me work.”



    Less than five minutes later, and a lot of hisses and yelps from Tor’s part, Leo stowed away all of his rudimentary pastes and ointments into his faithful medical bag and shooed the disgruntled, but much better Shinx and their Captain away. Packing his bag up, the Vaporeon made his way towards the bar. “Stupid, adrenaline crazy officers and crazy detectives.... I really need a break.” He muttered, straightening the hem of his jacket.

    He went pass the ice sculpting corner, pausing to gawk one particular structure that was slowly taking shape. A tower, he realized.  It was a detailed replica of a Renaissance bell tower. Well, it looked like a cross between a bell tower and a watchtower when he took a closer look. Leo had to admire the amount of detail that were carved into the ice blocks. Two Houndours were busy carving the tiny windows and tiny details of the façade while a Quilava and a shiny Noibat, both had at least three layers of clothing, was carefully cutting the ice blocks into smaller pieces. Leo also noticed that there was a circular hollow dent in the unfinished structure. A quick glance to the side revealed that the three fire types had planned to place two white and blue coloured lanterns inside, which would illuminate the tower in bluish white light.  

    This should be quite the spectacle.

    The Vaporeon soon found himself sitting by the bar, conversing with the many healers and scholars from the Researcher guild while enjoying several cups of warm Iaponese beer. As Leo reached for his third glass, soft music began to waft through the lodge, drawing everyone’s attention to the stage. A quick glance told Leo that the dancing competition had started, with a Dusknoir in a formal suit announcing the rules and whatnot. Anyone could enter provided they wore suitable clothing. This is to say, formal wear.

    “Hello there. I was wondering if you would be here and there you are.” Someone giggled. “Mind if I join you?”

    Leo turned to face the owner of the voice. “Hmm? I don’t mind– oh.” His eyes were suddenly drawn towards the eerily familiar blue eyes which belonged to a familiar Braixen. “Ah, hello again.”

    Matsuri’s face broke into a broad smile. “Hi there, doctor.” She slipped to the seat next to Leo’s. “How’s the Researchers doing for you?”

    “Oh, well. Lots of experiments and pouring over old documents.” The Vaporeon shrugged. “Beer?”

    “No thank you.” The Braixen replied politely, running her paws through her immaculately curled red hair which fell down through her backs in soft waves, framing around her face perfectly. And there are her brilliant blue eyes, like a storm brewing in the midst of a bottomless ocean–

    ‘Get a grip Leo.’ He berated himself. ‘There’s no use, and there’s definitely no chance for an old ‘mon like you.’ He sighed, slowly realizing that the Braixen had been talking for the last five minutes.

    “...and I had to drag Toshi out from his room. He wasn’t so happy when I had to levitate him out.” The vixen giggled to herself. “Well, that’s old grumpy Toshi for you.”

    “I see.” Leo nodded absently, sipping his beer. He blinked when he realized that Matsuri was not regarding him with a rather wistful smile. “What? Something on my face?” he wiped his mouth with the back of his paw.

    “Oh, nothing, nothing.” The vixen quickly replied, looking thoughtful. “You know, I was wondering... well, it’s really out of the norm, but... would you like a dance?”

    Leo choked on his beer so badly that Matsuri and a Banette had to pound his back. After he calmed down, he settled back on the stool, still coughing, and took calming breaths. “Thanks.” He muttered to both ‘mons.

    “You’re welcome.” The Banette replied. Leo was trying hard not to stare at the Unown that had somehow become the ghost type’s necklace. It blinked back.

    “A-anyway.” The Vaporeon turned his attention back to Matsuri, who was now looking at him in concern. “You said something about d-khf-ancing?”

    “Well, if you don’t mind.” She smiled brightly.

    Leo did not know what drove him into saying yes. He was quickly dragged over into the dance floor by the most beautiful Braixen he had seen in his life and was quickly engaged into a mysterious waltz with her. They twirled around, passing a tall and lanky Stunky with sharp, pinched features dancing with a rather muscly looking male Charmeleon with deep crimson scales. They had to avoid the fire type's abnormally large tail a couple of times, but perhaps it was her smile or something, but the Vaporeon was really enjoying the waltz. Though, his clumsy moves contrasted with Matsuri's gracefulness. Leo never really had the time to think why he had accepted in the first place, as he was now at the receiving end of an amused, yet inquisitive smile from Jim, who was leading the lively tunes with a Grovyle in a violin duet.

    Groaning inwardly, Leo realized that Jim would be pestering him with the most embarrassing questions for the next two weeks.

    But... he guessed that he could enjoy the moment. For now.

Of Sculptures, Games, and Dances
EDIT [20/10/2014]: Updated the cameo team links and their respective owners. NO CHANGES MADE TO THE STORY WHATSOEVER I SWEAR


Working on two stories with one of them as a collab, and trying to figure out which cameo would go into which is not fun. Buuuut I guess it's worth the work. Well, here it is, my personal Frosty Festivities entry. And please ignore the title. I have no more ideas. My imagination is spent. 

Anyway, you could say this is a continuation or a companion story to Frosty Festivities - Part 1, which is a collab between me and Senso... well, the first part only. The ending differs slightly from what I had planned, due to time constraints and my brain had other ideas, so yeah. 

Welp, hope you enjoy this silly little story of mine. Quarteon out.

NB: Apologies for those I did not manage to cameo at this contest. I simply couldn't find any space for them. And special thanks for Mytew for the help with the Italian terms. You are really great, buddy. XD


Stessa cosa = Same here / Likewise
Le Grandi Torri di Guardia = The Great Guardian Towers
Sì = Yes
Dei boni! = Good gods! 
Sei un maschio?! = You're a guy?!

NPC Cameos:

- Ambassador Ayami the Froslass © ChillySunDance  

- Cael the Honedge © Quarteon01 

- Nicolo and Alessandro de' Furnocci the Houndours © Quarteon01 

- Miles the Charmeleon © Quarteon01 

Cameos (in no particular order):

- Lapis the Shiny Noibat and Grayson the Zoroark, Solemn Vow © Setsuna-Senso

- Gray the Banette and Enigma the Unown, Eroteme © julioblah 

- Slick the Buizel, Briny Buccaneers © TheTravelinBuizel

- Zenneth the Lucario and Ven the Honedge, Truth Hunters
© SpeckulativeDust

- Mytew the Braixen and Hiro (with Orih) the Doublade, Might and Magic © Mytew

- Zachary the Frogadier and Drew the Togepi, Perfection of the Cards © JoseCelada & Numbuh1234

- Isaac the Grovyle, Animus © MuriArts

- Matsuri the Braixen, Icefire © cailas-moon

- Nan the Phantump and Comet the Frogadier, Wraith © DeathByGnome 

- Thomas the Stunky, Name © writercoda & UltimateSassMaster

Team Applications:

Scorch Recon


  • Mood: Euphoric
Anyone interested in collab or cameo for the Festival can put their teams  and what will they be doing in the comments below. Tell me if you're interested for collaborating or just a cameo. :)

EDIT: Thank you for all those who have submitted the teams. I won't be able to cameo them all though, sorry. I have some Deviants who will possibly have a collab in my mind. Once again, thanks!

    You jolt awake, groaning from the pounding headache that hammers the insides of your skull. It feels like your head is going to split into two. You moan as you slowly turn on your warm bed, trying to find the source of the blaring noise that had robbed you out of your sleep. Your whole body is aching. It hurts just to open your eyes, and everything seems to spin around. The insides of your mouth feel like sandpaper, and it feels like it is burning from inside out. The beeping noise from the alarm is like a blaring fog horn in your ears. A groan escapes your mouth as you tried to shake away the headache from your head. You don’t really want to open your eyes, but you suppose you must...

    ...Now where’s that gods-be-damned alarm?

    The first several things that you see are the stark red numbers on the clock. Your fist slams down on the snooze button right at the next second. You sigh at the ensuing quietness and groan at the soreness that ran down your arm. The pounding on your head worsens, and there is this vile taste in your mouth that you couldn't quite place. Blinking in the semi-darkness of your room, you lean over the bed to reach the glass of water that you had placed on the end table the night before. In a one big gulp, the water washes down your throat, along with the familiar bitter taste. You sigh.

    Last night, you suppose you never should have accepted Sullivan’s offer to hit the bar after the graduation ceremony. It’s not like you can deny your Persian comrade. After four years in the Fort Virtus Royal Academy –being with the alcohol ban and all– getting some beer seems like a good idea to relax, but… well... it doesn't seem to be a very good idea now. You had forgotten how bad a hangover can be...

    Groaning for the second time, you flop back onto the bed, feeling the soft mattress on your back. As you recall, your bunk in your dorm isn’t this soft, or large, or having two sets of thick pillows for that matter.

    So... where the hell are you?

    It took a while, but with a faint smile, you realize that you are back inside your own bedroom back at your home. Sighing, you lay back on your bed, trying to enjoy the peace and quiet of your own room. It was always a rowdy morning back at the Fort. You can't remember a single peaceful mornings during your days in the academy. It was always with the trumpet morning call or the general buzz of conversation in the 8 'mon room. You suppose the quietness is a good change... best get back to sleep before...Wait. You bolt right up (wincing from the pain that followed after). Something’s not quite right...

    You glance around, eyes falling on the clock once more. The glaring red numbers tell you that it was 5.35 in the morning. You blink. Is there something you should do? You rack your brain for answers, but you find nothing. It hurts just to think. Instead, you turn to the side of the room, where a set of sturdy looking uniform lay on the chair, along with a light grey duffle bag (ladden to the brim) on the side of the chair.

    You stare, than you blink very slowly as a horrible realization dawns upon you. You slowly turn towards the clock again, which now reads 5.37

    “Holy shi-damnit!” you bolt out of the bed and dashed rather dizzily towards the bathroom. Since the whole house has an automated system, the lights turned on once you entered the white tiled room, blinding you slightly.

    Hissing from the sudden light, you reached for the sink, feeling the cold water rushing through your paws on the next second. You quickly splashed it on your face, effectively drawing the webs of sleep away from your mind. Then, you quickly slip into the shower, pressing the ‘Quick Shower’ option from the waterproof panel to the side of the cubicle.

    A blast of cold, soapy water and dry hot wind later, you exited the bathroom, freshened up but woozy from the hangover. You stumble back into the bedroom and hastily don your uniform. Your paw fingers slipped on the upper button twice.

    “Damnit, I’m late!” You mutter to yourself as you managed to button and zip your uniform up. Looking into the nearby mirror, an agitated looking Vaporeon with bloodshot light brown eyes and short, spiky fins glared right back. You can see yourself wearing a crisp, double breasted, dark grey military dress-uniform with a series of silver colored diagonal stripes adorning the sleeves. A single diamond shaped badge with on your left side chest. The four pointed star engraved on the badge indicated your division -Medical Sciences.

    “Right.” You breathe, putting the dark grey cap on your head. “Now where-“

    “Good morning, sir. Would you like some painkillers for your hangover?”

    You nearly jump from the sudden sound that emitted from the bluish grey device that lay on the side table. You glanced to your left arm, noticing the lack of Gear on it. Cursing softly for your forgetful mind, you took the gauntlet-like device and strapped it to your arm.

    “You are late for the first train, sir.” Said the voice again as a holo-display pops up from the rectangular screen, displaying a Jolteon in a form fitting white and grey suit with bluish-white trims that seemed to pulse with energy.  A pair of green tinted comm-goggles has been propped on his neatly styled, spiky hair.

    “I recommend taking the 06.15 Express Flash-Line, sir.” It said again in its distinctive, crisp Brethonian accent.

    “Proton...” you growled, addressing the AI Navi. “Why didn’t the alarm go off at the time I’ve set it?”

    Proton blinked, several times. As if he thought the answer was obvious enough.  “You were drunk, sir.” He said slowly. “I’ve taken the liberty to set the alarm to go off thirty minutes later as I calculated that you would have a severe hangover from the amount of alcohol you consume last night.”

    A growl escapes your throat. “Next time, notify me when you've change the settings! Now be quiet.” You flipped the Gear’s display down, effectively shutting off the hologram projection and headed downstairs. The door slammed shut behind you.

    “Notified, sir. Would you like me to book the tickets for the 06.15 Line?” The display screen slid open by itself and Proton’s holographic form popped out again.

    A wave of frustration hits you. Your AI doesn’t know when to shut up sometimes. “That would be helpful thanks. Now shut up.” You close the display for the second time and stomps downstairs, dragging the duffle bag behind you while muttering less than impressive things about your AI Navi.

    The AI Navi system, which was introduced several decades ago, along with the invention of the Gear gadgets by AethelCorps were a huge milestone in technology development. The Cross-Gear (or more commonly known as Gear) is basically a super computer with the ability to do almost anything: phone calls, mails, internet, digital transactions, digital storage, GPS, TV, Radio… you even can use it to repair busted machines, book tickets, and many other things by a simple command through a simple string of commands. Almost everyone had the Cross-Gear nowadays. You couldn’t think how you can live without the device.

    The AethelCorps didn’t stop there, however. With demands rising throughout the world after the commercial success of the Cross-Gear, the company then released they released three new versions of the Gear, which are called the iX-Gear, nX-Gear (a business-oriented line of the X-Gear) and the rX-Gear, of which the latter is strapped on your arm.  

    The rX-Gear is basically a super X-Gear equipped with integrated extensive radar and scanning capabilities (which allows for efficient streaming of vast amounts of battlefield information), enhanced comm. systems, a nano-processor with hypercomputation abilities, as well as the newly developed sonic technology and the ability to fully integrate with the systems of the latest Tactical Combat Armor units. And, as an added bonus, it had a holographic air-display instead of the curved flat screen found on the regular Gears, and an Artificial Intelligence Personal Navigator program. It’s like having your own personal assistant anywhere you go. It was reserved only for the Royal Federation officers and troopers, given to them at the time they graduated the academy. You can already see how it outshines the regular iX and nX versions.

    You are lucky to have the rX-Gear, though you can’t say the same for your AI Navi. When you first activated its program two days ago, you had a sinking feeling that you and your Navi wouldn’t get along very well. Although you knew how AI Navis weren’t programmed with complex personality code, it would seem that Proton (PROTON-XA20.EXE) was specifically programmed to annoy you. If you recalled correctly, his first words after the obligatory introductions are: “Are you a nurse?”

    Freaking unbelievable.

    It took hours to get Proton understand the difference between a Junior Medical Officer and a Nurse.

    Exhaling loudly, you entered the kitchen, intending to have a quick breakfast before you beam over to the station. The lights switch on by themselves, which is no surprise as everything in the house is fully operated by the central computer. Well, perhaps not the curtains and the antique, fully functional fireplace in your living room.

    With your head still swimming around, you took the seat by the counter, and came face to face with a male Flareon, clad in a pair of boxers and army green tank top. You jolt slightly in surprise. He had made himself comfortable on the kitchen counter, with a steaming cup of coffee on his paws. He flashes a grin at your way as he takes in at your uniformed state.

    “Aidan? What?” you blinked at your brother.

    Aidan raises his cup as if to say ‘Cheers’. “Mornin’ big bro. Lookin’ good at that.”

    “What are you doing up so early?” you said in incredulity. “And what the heck are you doing here? I thought you were still at Fort Spes. When did you come here?”

    Aidan grins before sipping his coffee. “Everyone got several days off for the graduation, remember? Don’t tell me you’re getting senile, Leo.” He chuckled. “I arrived last night. You won’t remember since you’re drunk as hell.” He added, sniggering. “I didn’t know you had a talent of singing so well.” He teased.

    “Shut it.” You snapped in annoyance. Turning to the food replicator right on the wall next to the counter, you choose ‘Breakfast’, then ‘Tea’, and ‘Toast’.

    “And aren’t you a little late for your appointed train?” your Flareon brother raised an eyebrow.

    You flash him your Gear. “Blame my AI Navi for that.”

    “Deepest apologies, sir.” Proton’s voice answers you, popping out into his holographic form. Again. “But I’ve booked the tickets to Ridgekelt Base Station. Would you like to book a seat as well, sir?” he turned to the Flareon.

    “That would be nice, yeah.” He nodded, admiring your sleek and streamlined Gear. You question your brother’s intentions, but you let it slide. 

    As a cadet in training, Aidan doesn’t have the rX version of the Gears yet. He will, after his graduation at Fort Spes and accepted at the Royal Federation Special Operations Unit. Unlike you, who opted the academic path, your brother had chosen the direct path to be trained as a Royal Fleet officer directly by attending the Boot Camp at Fort Spes, several hundred miles off your town; City of Couston. So, his bulky iX won’t be replaced by the sleek rX anytime soon. You can’t help but fell slightly satisfied to have an AI Navi while Aidan didn’t.

    Your thoughts are interrupted as the food replicator off with a pleasant ‘ding!’ The hatch under the control screen opened and come out a tray of buttered toast and a mug of warm tea.  

    “So, you will take the Express Flash-Line?” Aidan inquires as you munch on your food.

    “Yes. Why?”

    The Flareon drinks the rest of his coffee and checks his Gear. “It’s now 5. 50.”

    “So?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering what your brother is trying to imply.

    There is a moment before Aidan speaks again. “Our transporter’s broken.”

    “Oh, I see-WHAT?” You nearly spit your tea out. “W-what?” you choke.

    “You hear me.” Aidan shrugs. “It’s been faulty for years. It’s only time before that old thing breaks down.” He nods to the small alcove on the corner of the living room, which sports a large circular pad which could fit four adult ‘mons and a control panel mounted on the side. “It sizzled out just as I beamed in. I got some connection problems back at the Fort too. Tried to fix it, but the interface said that the systems are not compatible.” He sighed. “Tough luck.” 

    You stare at the Transporter set. The system’s been there as long as you know. It’s probably over than 20 years old by now. You sigh, trying to drown the building panic inside you as the implications dawns upon you.

    “Proton, are there any trains within 15 minute range?” you ask. There is a slight pleading and hope in your tone. 

    There was a pause as the Jolteon AI does his job. “Apologies, sir, but the next Express Line is at 6.30.”

    “Damn...” you mutter beneath your breath. The regular Flash-Line won’t be fast enough, and your appointed squadron will be boarding towards Air Base Nine at 0630 hours, just enough time if you take the 16.15 Express-Line.

    “Well... there is another way.” Aidan said slowly as he folds his arms. You look at him curiously. A grin slowly formed on his strong features.  Then, you can feel your eyes widening as you hear his next statement.

    “I’ll drive you there.” 

Fall of Aetherium - 1
A completely remade Chapter 1 of Legion IX, with a new title.

Now I'm sure that everyone had noticed the tenses that I used in this. Since this whole story will be using second person point of view, I thought I'd try the present tense that was used in some interactive stories I found. I think it should give the 'being with the character' feel. Hopefully. 

Well, here's some explanation. This story takes place about 400 years in the future of the current PMDU timeline. The Leo you read is the same Leo that teamed up with Jim Holford, only younger. A lot younger. Confused? Consult my Explorers Team's apps. And a few warning. There will be some extensive world building in future chapters, some are based on real world locations and such. 

Anyway, this is also my first attempt on military science-fiction, so forgive me if there are some weird parts in future chapters. Well, enjoy! Tell me what you think. 

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Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
I'm a writer, but I also occasionally draw and sketch things, but I lacked the hardware and software to upload it here. My scanner is not good enough, and I only have my laptop and my mouse at disposal so.... I stick to writing.

Anyway, I have joined DeviantArt for 2 years. I've never been active until I joined PMDUnity. It sparked my interest seeing all these good writers there. I'm mostly in, but I got into a long writers block so... yeah. The group I joined really helped to lift my block somewhat.

I'm still learning in my writing. I have grammar issues, jumping at tenses occasionally. But I'm slowly correcting the habit. I might go and write a book someday. I have some random, but good ideas jumping around my head. Who knows?

Current Residence: My house...
Print preference: Perfect printing images
Favourite genre of music: Classical and Pop
Favourite style of art: Paintings and digital art
Operating System: Windows 8
MP3 player of choice: I don't have a MP3
Personal Quote: What the-?!
  • Mood: Euphoric

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I think it's better to have some points in hand. Could be handy I guess.

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TheTravelinBuizel Featured By Owner 19 hours ago  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thank yeh for the favorite dude! ^_^
Quarteon01 Featured By Owner 15 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
No prob~
Mutitus Featured By Owner Oct 11, 2014  Professional Writer
I'm glad that you enjoyed my report on the Tower of Mastery.
Quarteon01 Featured By Owner Oct 11, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Good to know. Your reports are always fun to read. :D
Mutitus Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2014  Professional Writer
Thank you very much. :)
Quarteon01 Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome!
GabladeRunner Featured By Owner Oct 8, 2014
Thanks for the watch, Quarteon! Much appreciated. :)
Quarteon01 Featured By Owner Oct 8, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome! :)
DuskLugia Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks very much for the favs! :D It's not often people like both the drawn AND written app for that team!
Quarteon01 Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome!
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