"oh, shit,"

big's hands sprung out to protect his cap. money was one thing, setting it on the ground was a second thing, but some amorphous pink blob doing whatever the fuck pink blobs do on his cap was a whole different thing.

he said something about commissions. well, he went apology-explanation-commission request, a flowchart that ran into issue when big hadn't ever considered about calling this poem thing commissioning. "no these aren't commissions. that's bougie shit." its maybe worth considering that the bourgeoisie never existed in the pokemon universe. the full extent of politics might be that some assholes try to blow up the sun or flood the world every now and then.

"i'm not that good, anyways."

wingull approached the jigglypuff, flapping its wings to maintain flight a feet or so above the ground. it spoke out its names a few times, tactlessly spouting platitudes in the language of pokemon that jigglypuff may or may not have been able to understand. either way, there wasn't much there for it to understand. a broken clock is right twice a day type stuff.

"you can donate, though, if you wanna support local artistry. and if you want a poem, i mean, i could. if you've got a girl back home that'd like something, you know, that type of thing." this guy looked very soft. very much not-from-the-city. he didn't seem the type to be offended by an offering of a poem, but he did the girl-back-home buffer anyways.

big thought to maybe stand up to introduce himself formally or something, but instead remained seated to treat this as a business transaction for now.

"sorry if you're here for a pokemon battle or something. its mostly just poems for me."

tagged: Leon Harte

and in the blink of an eye big stood up, dusting his hat and situating it on his head. he made eye contact with the person so kind as to offer him a meal -- a meal which he wasn't even going to try to seem uninterested in. these were hard times, after all.

"see, that's gotta be the strat. i got a lil' bit of a head-start because i never made eye contact as a kid."

he chuckled, reaching down to pat wingull to signify, in far less words than big was characteristic to use, that it was time to go. wingull had been staring wide-eyed at the jigglypuff, trying to ascertain whatever secrets lie behind its big ass fucking eyes.

as far as she could tell? not much there. she squawked and took to the sky above big and leon, circling just fifteen feet above them and, intermittently, looking down at the jigglypuff not-very-slyly.

"trainers have the ugliest mugs, anyways." the man held on to his status as fisherman. it differentiated him, however little, from the teeming masses of entitled i-wanna-be-the-besters. the very way he said the word trainer was the way one might say the word royalty dismissively.

big turned towards the town at this side of the route. he didn't recognize it. he didn't really remember how he got here, either.

"anyway, uh, listen. let's go sit somewhere, yeah? and i can write you something, whatever you want. maybe we'll even exchange names eventually." big shrugged, his smile growing to its maximum - and near permanent - state on his face. he started walking, perhaps a little over eager, but not wanting to get more than a handful of strides away from his... how'd this guy put it? commissioner. wingull picked up on this tiniest movement, following along overhead.

tagged: Leon Harte

the blond whispered about making fun of trainers. he made it clear why: because he didn't want the two of them getting their asses beat for calling an entire occupation ugly people. to big, though, whenever someone whispered it sounded like they were secret agents or, more likely, little kids playing spy.

the two of them walked down the route, nearing the city which he quickly recognized by its outdated (read: garbage) architecture as enju city. it was oriental in a way that made no sense given no frame of reference to japanese culture. "think about it," big said out loud as if speaking to no-one in particular -- though obviously speaking to the only person there. "training is super reclusive. it's a lot of going out, alone, into the wild. building a bond with a pokemon that, really, they treat as tools. weapons, you know? and whenever someone looks them in the eye, boom, its a whole thing. a fight. my tool versus your tool. never look me in the eye again, punk, they must be thinking. i figure ugly people become trainers because it gives them an excuse to handle all social stuff that way."

big adjusted the straps of his backpack. his manner of speaking was lackadaisical, as if what he was saying was non-important and weightless. "i can't imagine going out, alone, fighting two or three pokemon, squirting some healing juice on my pokemon, and then heading back home to do it again the next day." he shook his head. "its masturbatory, you know?" big said this last bit a little quieter than everything else as a bright-eyed trainer ran past them. she wasn't ugly, but also big wasn't keen on being heard saying the word "masturbatory" out of context.

"you can call me 'big,' by the way. everyone does. some kinder than others." big chuckled at his own self-deprecation. they walked past a few ramen shops, marked by their complete lack of doors which big found to be alien as shit. "i can eat anywhere, man, you gotta pick. its your money, isn't it? i'll try not to have my poem be uh... what's the word?" his eyes tracked upwards as he dug into his mind. accidentally, his eyes fell upon the wingull that remained above the duo.

"i forget it. motivated, we'll say, by the quality of whatever place you pick." truth be told, big definitely had his favorites. but he wasn't going to mention it. he looked over to leon. not ugly.

tagged: Leon Harte

"pie,"

big said, musing the quiet reiteration of leon's statement back to himself. it wasn't exactly a whole meal, but this was something given out of generosity in the first place, so he couldn't be that picky. sure enough, as leon continued playing with whatever the hell that pink thing was, he retreated back to being kind and submissive about this whole thing.

he sized up the cafe that was gestured to. he'd never been. but then again the world was so gargantuan and daunting that there must be near-infinite places he hadn't gone. he'd spent so many years going to the same places over and over that, really, if he wanted to see even 1% of things that there were to see, he'd need to start as soon as possible. big nodded and said, "see -- not to rant, please uh stop me if i'm ranting -- but see, the good guys out there are all timid. wanna help the whole wide world but don't wanna step on anybody's shoes along the way." he chuckled. he had to be ranting, there was no other explanation for it. "let's go in."

the cafe was almost comically small. there was hardly an "in the back" area to speak of. a woman washed a small plate in plain view. the size of the plate worried big, slightly. you could hardly get a decent slice of pie on that. maybe it was a coaster? he could only hope.

"hey, missus! can we just take a seat or is this like a..." she gestured some mix of "keep it down" and "just sit" but was maybe a little more entertained than she was upset.

big chose a seat. by the wall. a tiny table betwixt them. the kind of table one person might set at, with a laptop, and a coffee mug, and write 200-odd words of nonsense. he sat at a right angle to the table itself, leaning over to rifle through his backpack to gather his writing supplies and whatnot. "shit, i hope wingull is okay. she's not one for, like, buildings. containment at all, really. weird thing." big turned to look out the window. he didn't see wingull. he knew she took care of herself, though. he said it out loud more to comfort leon, who he weirdly didn't want to think was abandoning his pokemon or anything.

tagged: Leon Harte