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WELCOME TO OKEANOS TOWN
LOCAL INFORMATION
Local Pokémon: Wingull Clamperl Buizel Slowpoke Marill
Okeanos' residential Pokémon are generally very domesticated and comfortable around humans, as all aggressive Pokémon have been driven out of town by the tourism boards. Clamperl, rarely seen in the wild, are harvested here, collected in large man-made basins and kept for their useful pearl-creating abilities. Okeanos' official bird is Wingull.
A vibrant port town, earning capital from large transport ships which service the rest of the island, Okeanos draws in gym leaders, breeders, ranchers, and researchers alike with its variety of shopping options and official -type gym. As a relatively new settlement, many inhabitants of Okeanos are foreigners from other regions, and cultural tension is often high between these newcomers and those who were originally natives of Piscari. Recently settled tourists range all the way from French immigrants to Indonesian newcomers, creating a vibrant and diverse culture that can sometimes boil over with the many cultural differences between new and old residents.
CURRENT EVENTS:
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>  Tough Times for a Thief, Interaction - E.T.
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 Scrap posted at Nov 18 2017, 04:27 AM
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Scrap leaned back against the stone wall, hands in her pockets and scowl on her face. Her blue-green eyes watched the entrance to the Okeanos marketplace sullenly. That stupid guard with his stupid face wouldn't leave. Was he going to stand there all day? Didn't he have a doughnut to eat or old lady to walk across a street? She knew she was stereotyping, but the girl didn't really care. Her best opportunities for filching food and money was in that marketplace. Unfortunately, with the decrease in tourists over the ash fall, she had to rely on the vendors and stalls a bit too heavily. They had learned to not only recognize her, but Scratch and Bones. There wasn't exactly a lot of Purrloin and Vullaby running around, so they stood out. The number of their usual tricks and diversions wouldn't work anymore and if certain people caught glimpse of any of them, the guards were there impressively quickly given their substantial girth--NOT that they could catch her when they ran.

The thief leaned her head back against the wall and groaned. "We can't wait around all day." She mumbled to her Pokemon. Scratch was sitting closer to the mouth of the alley, emerald eyes scanning the people, while Bones was plopped down next to the human looking incredibly bored. The dual type shook their head in agreement to Scrap, rocking herself to her feet and stretching her wings. "We can head toward the beach. More tourists are coming in again, but we'll take the boardwalk." The stretch of town that faced the ocean and housed several restaurants and cafes overlooking the beach was a decent place to try and nab food after customers had left but before the wait staff cleared the table. They were also learning to recognize the trio, but Scratch was fast enough, it didn't matter.

On their way to the boardwalk, Scratch glanced at the girl before mewling. "Purr purloin lo loin purr." She edged, knowing that Scrap didn't like to talk about moving on, but that it was getting to become necessary. Fall was upon them and colder weather would be close behind. Something deep in her wild instincts told her this winter was going to be a harsh one. They needed more food, clothing, and proper shelter. This place was not able to provide that so far, so it was time to look elsewhere. The girl pouted. "I'm not ready to leave. I like it here..."

@E.T. Crowley

((Let me know if anything needs to change or if you need more!))

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 E.T. Crowley posted at Nov 19 2017, 05:09 AM
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QUOTE
user posted image Bootsie the user posted image Sneasel
Level 05 | | Scratch, Leer, Taunt | | 20% Link

The marketplace, sprawled between the largest of the piers - for unloading cruises full of tourists itching to spend on a little local color - and the most immediate entry to the miles of gorgeous coastline - full of sleepy tourists usually looking for something to take the edge off their thirst and the bite out of their hungry bellies - was easily E.T.'s favorite place in the entire, unevenly-layered, city.

Little corners of it were always springing up on every sidewalk: collapsible booths and open suitcases on card tables with trinkets or snacks, but the crowded thoroughfare that ran from the marina to the tent selling beach towels was the best place to stand in the city and inhale.

There was the salt of the sea on every breeze, of course, just enough to tickle the back of your tongue and tip you off to how hungry you actually were, and the bouquets of scents that followed could bring you to tears. Baking bread always hit first, rolling in a warm, pervasive, wave - bringing with it the whiffs of strong garlic and caraway seeds from some stalls, and the boulangerie directly behind them - with the trails of savoury curries and skewered satay and a thousand ways to grill or fry or sear fish, with the promise of a hundred expertly-mingled spices the enormous Orrean girl wouldn't have begun to be able to separate by smell.

And of course there was all manner of cheese and falafel and imported fruit, alongside countertops creaking under all kinds of souvenirs, and enough children running around with sticky faces and gooey fingers to indicate a veritable army of carts dispensing ice cream or cotton candy trundling around somewhere.

One such cluster of giggling children pressed past her in the crowd - not hard to do, considering she was more or less standing still on the outside of it with her eyes closed, looking powerfully like a tourist herself - and a stocky, uniformed, guard she hadn't noticed posted at the entrance was frowning after them like a hawk, seemingly inspecting their pockets.

E.T. sniffed. Pickpockets weren't going to have new clothes, clean shoes, and plump, cared-for, faces only stained with ice cream, unless the standards for thieving were awfully different around here. Bootsie had craned to look after them, though, and E.T. peered down at her, arching a bushy eyebrow.

"Ya hungry, baby girl?"

She took a few more steps outside the marketplace proper, trying to take a wider view and spot a stall that wasn't cooking anything with onions. There was a stall that made tennis-ball-sized bakso with hard-boiled eggs inside around here somewhere...

QUOTE
((BLAAARP, I'm sorry, I couldn't find a way to get E.T. into a fistfight when there are so many delicious things around? ;A; HOPEFULLY I LEFT HER IN AN EASY SPOT TO PICKPOCKET? Or something?))



This post has been edited by E.T. Crowley: Nov 19 2017, 05:09 AM

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 Scrap posted at Nov 20 2017, 07:22 AM
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Spotting another security guy, Scrap stepped into the shadow of a large trash can, sighing in irritation at being slowed down. Bones strained her neck to peek around the container from the girl's arms while the Purrloin was content to sit next to the child's feet. "Purr purrloin loin purr..." The dark type purred, earning a simultaneous eye roll from the utter two, along with a murmured of, "No you don't." from human and Vullaby. Scratch tossed a glare up at the two, her tail flicking in irritation. While waiting for the man to disappear, Bones tapped her beak against Scrap's arm, gaining her attention. The dual type pointed with her beak to a giant of a woman. The lady was positively huge, standing taller than most of the people around her, and she gawked like a complete tourist. Milling slowly through the crowd, pausing and just standing there with eyes closed as she sniffed the air. Scrap was so focused on this oddity, the thief didn't notice when the guard left after a group of kids they were eyes suspiciously. When Scratch alerted them to this, the Vullaby and the girl exchanged a look--to which Bones nodded with a smirk.

"Change of plans, Scratch. We found a mark." The Purrloin didn't look too pleased, but sighed in resignation and peered out. "Loin lo?" The feline inquired, her emerald eyes casting about for an obvious target. "The big gal." When Scratch spotted the person Scrap was referring to, her eyes flew wide. "Purr!? Purr purrloin?" Before the devious Pokemon could get much further or stop her, Scrap released Bones and slipped from her hiding place. The Vullaby flapped her wings to slow her descent and shrugged sheepishly at Scratch's glare. "Lo loin purr, purr LOIN loin."

The child slunk as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention to herself. Luckily, with this woman apparently being a space-case, she wouldn't need to provide a distraction and her pockets were low enough for her to reach. Scrap was sure to come up from behind her, then carefully stretching up to slip her slim fingers into the woman's pocket. Both Pokemon watched from the shadows, both holding their breath while they waited--Scratch from anxiety and Bones from anticipation.

@E.T. Crowley

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 E.T. Crowley posted at Nov 21 2017, 06:21 AM
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Bloody hell, E.T. thought, without turning around, as the hair on the back of her neck prickled at a sudden pocket of inexplicable quiet among the chattering populace that seemed to open up behind her, followed by the unmistakable little shuffle of linen as the corner of her wallet snaked out of her jacket pocket.

Is that th' way they're teachin' kids to pick pockets these days? I must be gettin' old.

There was a moment or two of brief, intense, calculation, before one massive hand snapped backward and closed around a sleeve and -- in an instant of crystallizing realization -- around a wrist so skinny her fingers nearly went around twice, as if there simply wasn't any weight to spare there.

Taking a sharp, pivoting, step sideways toward a tent pole, and shielding the would-be thief behind her comparative bulk, E.T. took a deep breath, and improvised.

"That's right, you run!" she bellowed after the backs of the children she'd seen running in the opposite direction a few seconds earlier, the ones with the ice cream on their faces, and pointed with her free hand, the end of her gloved finger trembling in seething malediction. "You run an' don't let me catch ye tryin' it again or ye'll be gettin' a thumpin', ye nasty little pickpockets!"

The crowd practically jumped sideways, like oil on a hot skillet, at the sudden thunder of noise; E.T. had a habit of using her voice the way some people selected grenades: for maximum concussive impact.

The children nearly stumbled over one another, and upon realizing where the shout had been directed, began fleeing in openmouthed, befuddled, earnest, as every head under the tent canopy swiveled to follow them. The enormous Orrean girl made one more filthy gesture in their direction, and after another few moments - with the entertainment value in the bit of street theater expended - the conversational buzz of the marketplace rose again, as if it hadn't happened.

E.T. snorted, and finally chanced a peek over her shoulder at the owner of the scrawny arm she'd had gripped in her other hand. They were tiny and pale-faced, with an uneven crop of golden hair, and a grubby shirt and trousers that clearly advertised "street urchin, boy", but there was something about the face...

Well, it didn't matter.

"Blue fire, who taught you to pick a pocket?" she muttered incredulously, between her teeth. She stuck out her chin as though such shoddy tutelage presented a personal insult, pulling her flimsy, exposed, wallet the rest of the way out of her pocket and dropping it into her knapsack. Bootsie chirped. "They want ya to get caught?"



This post has been edited by E.T. Crowley: Nov 21 2017, 06:22 AM

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 Scrap posted at Nov 24 2017, 02:02 AM
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Scrap inhaled sharply when a massive hand snatched her wrist and her heart rate shot through the roof. She froze in her initial panic, too shocked to say anything or even move as she was easily lifted from her feet and spun into a corner--not that should could have stopped the giant of woman. The fur on Scratch's back stood on end as she fluffed with aggression, preparing to rip across the boardwalk and launch herself at the woman's face. Then she started yelling? But the street kid was behind her and out of sight. The Purrloin's fur started to relax as it appeared the would-be victim wasn't planning on turning Scrap in. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she watched; maybe she just wanted to handle the girl herself....

When Scrap was shielded from the crowd and the woman was yelling, her heart slowed, the rushing blood calming long enough for her to think and react. She pulled at her wrist in a vain attempt to break the grip, but the giant of woman didn't even seem to notice. When the woman turned her attention to the girl, she froze, blue-green eyes wide and wary. At her words, color flushed Scrap's cheeks and she glared back in defiance. "Nobody taught me. I'm figuring it out..." She mumbled the last bit, her confidence wilting. The girl did note the practically insulted look on the woman's face.

Once things calmed in the marketplace and people weren't looking around at the hollering lady or the supposed pick pocket, Scratch and Bones made their way over to them. The Purrloin got their first, ears flat against her head and releasing a low growl. "Purr purrloin, Lo-purr?" The blond nodded. "Yeah, for now...." The Vullaby pushed their way past the tent flap, puffing a bit from the run, but did her best to look intimidating.

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 E.T. Crowley posted at Nov 25 2017, 04:05 PM
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The hulking Orrean girl seemed fractionally mollified by this, and her scowl softened a little. She gave a severe little upward nod.

"Aye, well. F'r self-taught, it weren't bad. Didn't suck." She snorted. "Bites t' be doin' this beat alone, anyway."

After a moment or two, E.T. turned her eyes back to the towheaded would-be thief, looking thoughtful, just as a bristling Purrloin eeled into a protective position in front of her, ears flattened, hissing like a kettle, and a pudgy baby Vullby hurried across the thoroughfare, with harried flaps of its tiny wings.

"When I yelled that them kids tried ta steal my wallet; ya see which pocket they all went for?"

The bigger woman wrinkled her broad nose, and tipped what wasn't quite a smile. She glanced aside, mimicking one of the straight-faced patrons browsing through nearby stalls, theatrically patting her pockets, as if ascertaining the contents were still inside.

"Nobody wants to be next, right? Shows you where they're keepin' it."

She paused again, and raised one bushy eyebrow, peering back over her shoulder.

"Hard ta sort all that on an empty stomach, though," she admitted. She sniffed the air, and squinted. "You eaten anythin' today, Short Round?"

@Scrap



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 Scrap posted at Nov 27 2017, 09:30 AM
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Scrap's bristling at being insulted on her pick-pocketing skills waned as the woman conceded it could have been worse. She still felt a bit raw an embarrassed by the situation, but at the least she hadn't turned her in. From the way she was speaking.... The girl eyed the brunette curiously. "Do you know how to pick pockets? Are you a thief?" She asked, just as Scratch and then Bones joined them.

At her question, the specialist crinkled her brow in confusion. She wasn't sure what she was talking about, since she had practically seen her life flash before her eyes during the moment she was talking about. When the odorous woman mimicked one of the shoppers, she couldn't help but laugh, nodding. "Right. That's a pretty cool trick!" Scrap hadn't thought of that before. As things seemed to calm down and the girl wasn't as on edge, the Purrloin's fur flattened and she began to relax. Bones, sensing the change, heaved a relieved sigh. Her eyes trailed to the knapsack, cocking her head as she studied it--something was off about it.

Scrap made a face of displeasure. "I'm not Short Round. Call me Scrap or call me nothing." She demanded as she raised her chin higher, a difficult task she she had to strain her head back simply to look up at the tower of a trainer. She straightened her shirt from her brief handling and shrugged as nonchalantly as she could while ignoring the hunger pangs in her stomach. "We first thing this morning...." Most people couldn't call sharing two pieces of fruit between one girl and two Pokemon as a meal, but it was something. A mischievous light glinted in her aquamarine eyes. "Did you want to steal something? I can help for a cut."

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 E.T. Crowley posted at Dec 2 2017, 06:04 PM
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E.T. tilted her head, as if listening for a snatch of a familiar song, and tipped a conspiratorial, lopsided, grin that showed the tips of crooked teeth at the question.

"Beat starvin'," she answered, almost offhandedly, and rolled a leonine shrug, entirely unabashed.

She hooked her thumbs in her beltloops, and pursed her lip, eyes narrowing as she shaded them with her hand, as if scanning the crowd.

Stealing a better, if sidelong, look at Scrap in the process meant seeing the frame that bespoke ten - possibly eleven - years old, tops, with the characteristic oversized hands and feet of any kid her (and she was a her, at a second look; it was something about the snub nose and the cheekbones) age, exaggerated by the fact that the arms and legs they were attached to looked about comparatively as big around as E.T's thumb. Her clothes all looked too big - somewhat disguising the fact that there was almost no weight underneath, like a tomcat fluffing its tail to look more imposing (or, in Scrap's case, perhaps the hope was just 'not undernourished') - and the height might have said she wasn't old enough to drink (even in Orre), but the canny, almost cynical, blue-green eyes looked much older.

"An' you're game - an' that ain't nothin' - but I ain't takin' no teaser on any job where I t'ink their tummy grumblin' is gonna give's away from two floors off t'ground," was all the bigger Orrean girl said aloud, her tone firm. She started meandering at a weird, half-hesitant, stroll, tilting up her chin, as if following her oversized nose. "Walk wit' me."

There was a pause, as if something had just occurred to her, and she nudged the knapsack Bones had been eyeing suspiciously with her elbow.

"Boots, let -- " E.T. just barely caught herself on the word "her", but rolled on without missing a beat. " -- t'kid borrow your hat, huh?"

There was an affirmative parp! from beneath the bag flap, before the squashed, but cheerful, face of a cross-eyed Sneasel emerged beneath the bag flap, holding the brim of a worn baseball cap with the logo of the Anville Bullets (some kind of cartoon locomotive with hosepipe arms and legs, which appeared to be rearing back and rolling up its sleeve) in her snaggly teeth.

"There it is. T'ank ya, sweetie." E.T. took it gingerly, as if nothing were out of the ordinary about carrying a Sneasel that appeared to be part boa constrictor on her back, flattened out the crimp in the cap with one hand, and ruffed Bootsie's ears with the other, before offering the hat between two fingers.

"Cover up your hair, yeah? Always helps t'be a little bit foreign wherever ya go, in any case."

She stretched, and laced her fingers, cracking the knuckles. It sounded like an anvil falling into a box of packing peanuts.

"B'sides, sure ya've noticed people will say they remember faces, but they don't. Eh?" Her cheek jumped over another smirk. "They remember furniture on t'face. Hair, warts, tattoos..." She pulled a face, and ruefully pointed at her own crooked, several-times-broken, nose. "One'a these."

The enormous girl took a few more steps, rolling her shoulders, and glanced back to see if Scrap had elected to follow in her wake.

@Scrap



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 Scrap posted at Dec 6 2017, 11:28 AM
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Having followed the woman's lead and looking out over the crowd she seemed to be eyeing, Scrap missed the side-long, analytical gaze the stranger gave her. Typically, she was a lot more cautious with adults, especially ones who had just had their hands on her, but perhaps knowing that this person was also a thief? It didn't make complete sense, generally there was little honor among thieves, same went with most street kids outside of formed clicks. Even if the girl was lax in her caution, Scratch was not. The Purrloin kept her eyes on the giant tourist and was ready to pounce if needed.

When the woman spoke again, Scrap's brows knitted together as she worked on trying to figure out what she meant. Her accent was heavy and she had ways of saying things the kid wasn't use to. She did pick up enough to start to scowl at the suggestion she would give them away, but stopped as the brunette told her to follow. The blond weighed the options for a moment before obliging, scooping up the Vullaby and falling in next to the strange woman. The Purrloin stayed at Scrap's heels on the outside so she could see everything better.

Scraps eyes widened when an answering call came from the bag, having not realized there was something in there. She watched with child-like curiosity, stretching up on her toes to get a better look. When the head popped out her brows arched up in surprise--she'd never seen a Pokemon like that before, but it had a similar feeling to her own. "Hey, is that a dark type?" Scrap inquired, still trying to get a better look at the Pokemon even as she took the hat and put it on, pulling it low.

Scrap couldn't help but laugh at the term 'furniture' for describing a face. It was silly, but made sense and she nodded. "Yeah, sometimes they recognize me or my Pokemon...but a hat will help? What about them?" She asked, glancing down at the Vullaby in her arms before looking forward again so she could follow the woman.

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 E.T. Crowley posted at Dec 16 2017, 11:10 AM
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"Hey, is that a dark-type?"

E.T.'s eyebrows went up.

Bootsie was - recognizably - a Sneasel, yes, idiosyncrasies aside, but she'd been nearly entirely concealed in the knapsack before, making noises that weren't overly obviously anything, and Scrap had only glanced at her. Even if she hadn't been able to name the species, the kid was clearly sharp as hell.

"Aye, that she is!" the bigger woman agreed cheerily, and nudged the bag again. "This's Bootsie."

Bootsie peeked out from the flap again, and gave a sneezy little whuffle that was probably a greeting.

"Usually from up north, her kin' is; them claws are no joke, though. Can make folks a mite nervous if ya turn up wavin' knives around." She paused, and added, conscientiously, "In this town, anyway."

E.T. cocked another smile, voice brightening.

"So she gets to ride incognito-like when we're out'n public sometimes, is all."

She flicked one pale eye back at the chubby vulture being carried in Scrap's arms, and her brow furrowed, clearly mulling the other question over.

"Hrrm. Usually havin' one Pokemon on ya won't draw much attention, unless it's somethin' big... ya had a second one aroun' here somewhere, though, didn't you...?"

She trailed off, peering around. There had been a Purrloin, she was almost sure, she remembered bristling purple fur and mistrustful eyes...

... wait, there it was. Flickering around a perimeter of Scrap's feet like shadow cast by firelight, using the tiny bits of shelter and shade in the bright market to disguise itself, with the lighter spots in its fur convincing even gazes that passed right over it that there was nothing to see, its eyes gleaming like coins.

E.T. was impressed; it was broad daylight - crowded with people, besides - and the thing still moved silently as smoke.

"Havin' someplace ta let 'em ride aroun' in can help," she went on, as if she hadn't noticed it. "Folk don't pay 'em much mind if they think they're a pet. 'Specially if it's somethin' small, y'know? Just gotta make sure there's room enough for them ta get comfortable, an' they gotta have some time ta run about when you're not tryin' ta be sneaky..."

She pursed her lip, taking the measure of the vulture again. It wasn't from Orre, although there admittedly wasn't much that was. Alolan, maybe? Could have been from Hoenn, they had all kinds of deserts out there. Where was the kid from?

"Dark-types not real common aroun' here, or is it jus' this one?"

@Scrap



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 Scrap posted at Dec 20 2017, 04:48 AM
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The girl stretched up onto the tips of her toes to get a better look at the feline(?) poked her head back out of the bag. She smiled at the unusual noises coming from the Pokemon and gave a little wave in greeting. "Hi, Bootsie. I'm Scrap." The furball's slightly bulging and crossed eyes didn't seem to bother the child in the least--she thought the dark type had character! Her eyes moved back to the towering woman and widened. "She has claws as large as knives?" The child asked, awe clear in het voice as she looked back to the Sneasel. "So cool." She commented more to herself than anyone else. Maybe she could get one? She made a mental note that they lived "up north."

Scrap nodded at her inquiry about having a second, her eyes moving to locate Scratch quickly since she knew the Purrlion so well. "Yeah, usually one of them hiding, but when it's Bones I gotta go back and get her cause she's not very fast and can't fly yet. A pack would be great." The dual type looked up at the girl, turning her head at seemingly impossible angle. "By vulla?" She inquired, getting a giggle from the child. Scrap nodded, her halo of golden hair flopping--it was getting too long. "Sure, Bones. It can be a nest. But no dead things." She added the last bit with a crinkled nose.

The girl dressed as a boy returned her attention to the odorous woman, brow raised. She didn't quite understand the question. "Huh? Um, nah. There aren't many wild dark types around here. I'm not sure where Purrloin or Vullaby are found, honestly. Scratch found me when I was stuck in Piscari and then we both found Bones. She was part of a Poacher's haul, but we-uh kinda freed her, so...." Scrap trailed off, suddenly unsure that it was a good idea to be telling this stranger about stealing from a poacher. Sure, the woman seemed to be a thief like her, but thieves all had their own codes--some if which included not stealing from others like yourself. Not that she was a poacher...so surely it didn't count? She glanced at Crowley warily, worried she'd said too much.

The Purrloin was cautious as well, slipping back from the shadows to trott quietly at Scrap's side. The feline was hopeful, however, thinking she was getting a feel for this strange person.

@E.T. Crowley

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 E.T. Crowley posted at Dec 24 2017, 02:03 PM
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The enormous woman's face broadened into an almost-nostalgic smile at the younger thief's reverence for the collective eight feet of cutlery Bootsie typically carried around.

The techniques for picking pockets might have changed, but some things were evidently timeless.

"At least!" she agreed at once, beaming, and almost unconsciously shucked up one sleeve, pointing to her elbow. "Half the size've your arm, more like."

Crowley dawdled at a four-way intersection between stalls, waiting for the passing crowd to thin, and thoughtfully went on, "Seen Meowths leave bits've face all over t'walls, though, an' their claws ain't hardly bigger'n yer toenails. Figure your pal Scratch likely has some of t'same, eh?" She grinned again, and ghosted a sidelong wink in Scrap's direction. "An' a'course Bootsie's surprised t'bejesus out've a few folks thought size was all'at mattered." She shook her shaggy head, ruefully, crooked nose crinkling. "Hah. Still can't go back t'Mahogany Town."

She strolled in affable silence for a bit, scanning the crowd, and listening to Scrap compromise on the idea of a portable nest with the oversized hatchling in her arms. Not native to around here, then, at least, but she wasn't surprised Dark-types like the Purrloin and vulture chick (Vullaby, a part of her brain tried to commit to memory) were popular in the regional nooks and crannies where nobody particularly wanted cops and their Psychic-types nosing around.

She could relate to the feeling. Some things were private.

Scrap started describing the circumstances under which they'd all met, though, and - with even her notoriously slow-moving brain immediately nudged from this train of thought - E.T.'s expression went carefully blank.

"Scratch found me when I was stuck in Piscari and then we both found Bones. She was part of a Poacher's haul, but we-uh kinda freed her, so..."

There was a contemplative pause as the smaller thief trailed off, and darted a momentarily-guarded look askance from under her floppy golden bangs, obliquely probing Crowley's face.

Got in close to a Poacher's haul, did she? the suspicious voice in the back of Crowley's head that remembered being nine years old muttered. And made off with something as rare and valuable as Dark-type breeding stock that you can't find around here? All by herself? She's got partners somewhere around here, or at least a minder she doesn't know about. You're gettin' fished, and probably for Bootsie.

The fleeting, sidelong, look hadn't looked like a professional inspecting her emotive handiwork, though -- E.T. remembered what that looked like -- and another part of her brain pointed out that 'rescued an orphan from a Poacher's den' was still a bloody brave lie, considering there was no way to know who was being paid for by whom in this town.

For all Scrap knew, that voice insisted, E.T. could be a poacher, just one who worked by sneakier means than most.

The momentary, hidden, glance in Crowley's direction hadn't looked like someone measuring up a mark, it had looked like instinct; something that had caught the wrong end of enough fights that it braced for them ahead of time, now, and was quickly, warily, trying to read if it was about to have to fight or flee.

E.T. stuck out her chin, folding her arms behind her mass of bushy hair, and nodded slowly.

"Aye, well. She seems happy," she said, judiciously, as if that explained everything, and showed her teeth again. "So good on ya, eh?"

"Prrap!" Bootsie agreed, and Crowley barked another laugh.

"Damn right!"

She tilted her head up, sniffed deeply again, turned halfway, and spotted the faded muslin flags flapping over the stall at the end of a winding, crowded, aisle.

"There ye are," she murmured, and ambled in their direction, with even shoppers engrossed in rifling through colorful scarves or boxes full of vinyl records shuffling from either side of her path.

(She elected to believe it was because of the shadow she cast, and not the smell.)

@Scrap



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 Scrap posted at Dec 29 2017, 01:42 PM
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If it was possible for Scrap's aqua eyes to go any wider, they did just before she looked down at her arms and just tried to imagine them blades from the elbow down. She had to get one of those! The girl looked curiously back at the bag. How did claws that big fit? It was all very fascinating and exciting. "You said they're from up north? Is that where you got Bootsie?" She inquired further, wanting to know as much as she could about finding one. She paused with the large woman at the intersection, only partly paying attention to their surroundings as she was still focused on the dual type. Scratch huffed, keeping on eye on the people around them and the stranger Scrap decided to follow around.

The girl nodded, glancing at her feline companion. "Oh, yeah. She'll shred you up." She agreed seriously, reflecting back on the blood she'd seen the dark-type draw. The Purrloin tilted her head up a bit pridefully--she wasn't usually one to gloat, but the praise was nice. The Vullaby nodded her head in agreement--she'd been on the bad side of that before. The girl's brows creased in question at the stranger's mention of not being allowed in some town, then laughed. "She got you kicked out of town? That's great." If her arms hadn't been full of Bones, she would have wanted to high-five the dual type. That probably wasn't a great idea anyway, given her knives.

Scrap didn't see or sense anything amiss with the giant woman's pause. The Pokemon, yes, even Bones, did and they both watched the odd stranger. The Vullaby was a bit more curious, but Scratch, as usual, was on alert. Like before, the moment passed and the woman spoke again. The blond waif nodded, looking down at the dual type again. "Yeah, I think she is. At least...she hasn't told me otherwise.... Are you happy with me, Bones?" The vulture gave her an incredulous look. "Vul vullaby by! Aby vull vullaby?" The avian squawked as she feathers fluffed. Scrap giggled. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

The street kid stopped moving when the woman did, raising her brows when she sniffed the air like some sort of poochyena. She did take a moment to glance around to see where they were on the boardwalk. The were colorful scarves and fluffy hats at one stall, reminding her that the woman had said something about getting her own hat. She made a note of the stall before returning her attention to... "Hey, what's your name? Or what do I call you?" She dropped her voice little lower and leaned in. "And where are we going?"

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 E.T. Crowley posted at Dec 31 2017, 12:58 AM
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"Feh. Was a borin' town, anyway," E.T. snorted decisively, at the mention of Mahogany Town again, as Bootsie peeped her head out from beneath the backpack flap, and added a sort of extended raspberry as an exclamation point.

E.T. hesitated, and a corner of her lip turned up in what wasn't quite a smile.

"As f'r where we met... flames an' frost, Boots couldn't've been more'n a few hours old then." The tension drew back out of her face as she glanced back over her shoulder, and crinkled her nose. "Were ya, darlin'? Just a bubbleheaded little blob'a mischief, fit in t'palm'a my two hands."

Bootsie yawned hugely, but evidently as a matter of assuring the enormous Orrean girl that she did still love her even if she wasted time telling meandering stories, gave the hulking woman's broad nose a meaningful, slimy, lick, before retreating into the warm knapsack to sleep, purring like a snowmobile trying to drive through a swamp.

"Huagh."

E.T. good-naturedly pulled a face, and wiped drool off her nose with one hand, flicking it off into the street.

"We're ol' friends," she summarized.

The Vullaby's - Bones's, she remembered - insistent protest, feathers fluffing defensively, in response to Scrap's question made the bigger girl grin again, showing a crown on a crooked tooth. Humans - even small humans - could be difficult to read, especially when they had accomplices, and the time to get in a lot of practice, but the hatchling's cross indignation felt more like family.

"Hey, what's your name? Or what do I call you?" the little urchin asked, as they started moving again, and E.T. heard the familiar street-savvy edge as her voice cannily dropped. "And where are we going?"

"We are goin' to make you a bett'r teaser in half an hour than I wager ye've been in a long time, is where we're goin'," E.T. murmured back, and her voice lightened again. "C'n call me Trips, if yeh like -- Trips Hickory's what they used to call me in Driftveil, 's how Denny knows me, too. Ya let him see Scratch's wit' you, he'll warm right up."

With this unhelpful caveat, she slowed, approaching an unremarkable little stall adorned with tattered colored flags (including one that announced, in careful, cramped, block letters 'ALL-U-CAN-EAT FOR 10₽'), crowded with several huge, steaming, silver tureens on a tiny creaking stove, and practically filled by the shape of a huge bald man with coffee-colored skin and an aging white apron, leaning on an empty wooden counter that had nonetheless been painstakingly polished.

The man looked up from his magazine, rising slowly, and if Crowley looked as if she had been assembled perhaps a tenth over scale, he looked like he'd been assembled like an industrial freezer. He nearly took up the entire space behind the counter, all wide shoulders and giant hands, and his sculpted brow made him look like a monolith coming to life out of a boulder, or an island emerging from the sea.

"T'kid's wit' me, Denny," E.T. snapped, and a measure of the imposing man seemed to deflate somehow, as he regarded Crowley with something like long-suffering familiarity.

"You could let me spoil my own mystique," 'Denny' sniffed, in a deep basso accent nearly as thick as Crowley's, but somehow richer and more refined.

"Yeah, but you're such a delicate flower, Denny, awe an' fame'd spoil you," Crowley drawled, hitching over the counter to peer at the tureens.

Denny picked up a ladle and smacked it across the big woman's knuckles. Crowley scowled at him, and straightened, unabashed.

"This is Denny, an' the best - an' t'only - stall on the boardwalk for saimin," she pressed on, loftily, and leaned down to frame Scrap's shoulders, her eyes meeting the huge man's skepticism head-on. "An' this is -- " She stopped to think - Scrap had mentioned being recognized in town before, and 'Scrap' definitely sounded like the kind of nickname one was given by other people - before plumping for vagueness. " -- a dear, dear, friend of t'family."

"Ho? A family?" Denny echoed, bemusedly, and flipped his magazine (now visible as 'CAT FANCY', with a cover featuring a capering Delcatty) closed. He rested his chin on one brown hand, watching as E.T. busied herself wiping down a stool with her coat sleeve. "And where did you come by one of those? Did you steal one?"

"That hurts, Denny," E.T. said levelly, raising her eyes enough to flash him a haughty, wounded, look over the counter. "That's hurtful."

Denny tutted, and after regarding Scrap curiously for a moment or two, turned and tilted the lid off one of the tureens to inspect the contents.

The savory scent of barbecued pork, cooking egg, and something faintly fishy billowed up past him, and noodles swished and fizzed as he prodded them with the ladle.

Bootsie's head peeked up from Crowley's knapsack almost immediately, like a flower turning to face the sun, and her tongue lolled out as she shimmied up onto the shoulder of Crowley's coat like a ferret, dragging the aforementioned several feet of gleaming steel cutlery with her.

Denny either hadn't noticed or had seen them before, as he didn't look up from where a fat, silver-furred, Alolan Meowth had slithered out of an empty cubbyhole somewhere to lounge beside the stewpots. Denny scritched it beneath its chins.

"Both of you?" he asked, noncommittally, and Crowley rolled a shrug, swiveling to face the right way around on the stool she'd claimed.

"Had a big lunch." She hooked her boots on the stool's bottom rung, gesturing at an empty one. "Climb up, pop a squat. It's a lot've whatever he finds what's edible to put in it that goes in there -- " - Denny waved a ladle, and E.T. finished loyally - " -- but it's hot an' it's good, an' it'll fill up the hole in your belly. Brain food, keep folks from hearin' your tummy grumblin' from halfway up t'Milia."

@Scrap

QUOTE
((WHEN IN DOUBT: DENNY'S.))

((I -- I'll show myself out.))


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 Scrap posted at Jan 5 2018, 11:47 AM
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Scrap covered her mouth as she snickered at the interactions between this giant of a woman and her rather derpy looking Pokemon. The way she cooed at Bootsie reminded her of over-indulgent mothers pampering their usually bratty kid. This instance did not leave the usual bad taste in her mouth, since the Sneasel was both a dark type, adorable, and not a bratty kid. She crinkled her nose at the wet kiss, but was still obviously amused.

The blond girl was starting to get use to not really understanding what the older thief was saying--better teaser? What did that mean? But half an hour was not long to wait and it didn't sound bad. She could always bail if things got weird. "Trips Hickory." She repeated to herself, trying to commit it to memory. It was an unusual name, but such monomers were common among street-goers and alley-duckers. She glanced at hte Purrloin then back at Trips and nodded in understanding. "How'd ya get that name?" She asked, assuming it was given for a reason, much like her own.

Scrap slowed as they approached the vendor, lingering on the edge as she watched Trips stroll right up like she lived there. Her aquamarine eyes widened as the man stood, revealing the bulk of himself and by Arceus he was was huge. Normally, she'd glimpse that man once and stay the hell away form his shop. The kid was likely faster, but she was certain he could throw one of those cast iron pans with deadly speed and accuracy. No. Thank. You. At their exchange of words and his deflating, she scowled a bit. Jerk had been messing with her. As their banter continued she stepped up next to Trips. Scratch leaped up onto one of the stools.

Family? Scrap hadn't considered anyone family beside Scratch and Bones, but it sounded like some sort of code, so she let it slide. She snorted when Denny asked if Trips had stolen her--the woman was certainly big enough to pluck up a child and walk off. Maybe shove them in the bag with Bootsie. What would she do with a kid? Make it groom and pamper her Sneasel? She was not disappointed when she finally got the chance to see Bootsie's claws--polish them. That's what a Bootsie servant should do.

The Purrloin waved her tail in greeting to the other feline as Scrap plopped Bones down next to her and climbed up onto the next stool. She inhaled deeply--it smelled delicious. The blond scowled at Trips. "It wasn't that loud." She retorted, only to duck her head in embarrassment as her tummy grumbled very audibly. "That was louder than before...." She mumbled. The girl would gladly partake in the meal, taking large mouthfuls for herself in between some for her Pokemon.

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 E.T. Crowley posted at Jan 8 2018, 02:27 PM
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E.T. stopped spinning her stool, and her nose crinkled in a lopsided grin at the urchin's heated insistence that the grumble of her stomach had been less noticeable the last time, but Denny almost seemed to triumphantly swell up a little larger, and his voice glowed with pride.

"Hah! Your cousin has good taste -- " Something rolled off his tongue that definitely wasn't "Trips", but that rolled and stretched like 'low-toe-lee-kwee-toe'. "Listen to that!"

It admittedly wasn't difficult to see the reason; Denny was ladling still-boiling broth and skeins of soft, steaming, noodles into a chipped ceramic bowl with familiar ease, and somehow found room to scoop extra slivers of barbecued pork - there was a little sizzle of smoke that smelled faintly like honey and ginger and fennel - atop the tiny floating slices of green onion and cabbage leaves, stuffed won tons, and an entire fried egg. The enormous man tipped a flask of soy sauce, sniffed, then stuck out his chin and gently blew the cloud of steam off the top of the bowl, before setting it on the wooden counter, without spilling a drop. It was a bit like watching a bulldozer balancing a Beautifly on a single tooth.

Evidently satisfied, Denny replaced the lid on the saimin tureen, and his gaze slid over to where E.T. was slouched against the counter, as Bootsie shimmied up over her shoulders and onto the bigger girl's mass of bushy hair. The Sneasel's protuberant eyeballs were curiously far apart - and it seemed unlikely both of them could be looking at the same thing at the same time - but both of them swiveled in Scratch's general direction, and her tail feathers rattled.

"Mrrt!" she chirped, cheerily, before the top half of her weirdly-rubbery body sprang forward in a flash of movement like an Ekans snatching a Pidgey, and she snapped a slice of cured fish cake - which Denny had idly tossed off a spatula as he stirred the other pot - out of the air. A little frisson of pleasure prickled all the way down a spine that had to look like a coiled spring, and Crowley wrinkled her nose.

"What, I don't get a fish cake?" she asked, sounding affronted, even as she stroked Bootsie under the chin.

"You had a big lunch, remember?" Denny retorted, peering over his shoulder and flipping a slice in Scratch's direction. E.T. harrumphed.

"Trips Hickory was 'cause'a me grandmother, in a manner'a speakin', since ya ask," she answered at last, as the question re-occurred to her, as Bootsie attempted to climb down her nose. "An' Denny's short for how he's movin' out ta Dendemille Town once he stops hangin' out in dumps like this -- ol' port tradition where we're from to call yourself where you're goin' till ya get there. S'posed ta let t'gods know where they're helpin' ya get to."

"Lucky you aren't from t'Port," Denny said loftily, with a rumbling little chuckle, without turning around. "Isn't a town on t'planet starts its name with Nowhere."

"I'm a free agent, me," Crowley sniffed, bringing up both hands and narrowing her eyes as Bootsie dropped bonelessly into her lap and peeped over the counter. "Offa t'god grid."

She propped her elbows on the counter, and regarded Scrap curiously again.

"Why, who gave ya yours?"

@Scrap

QUOTE
((aaaaah now I just want a big thing of noodles aaaaaaaaaah))



This post has been edited by E.T. Crowley: Jan 8 2018, 06:25 PM