Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six.
fwump
From the skies something fell. It wasn't too large, but it was something. At the very least something with weight. Grunting and heaving, whatever it was shuffled around after the rather uncomfortable landing. Well dammit. Twenty-six seconds, apparently, was enough for his sister to push him off the cliff and send him crashing down onto the ground much to the amusement of the ring of Pokémon gathered around him. They didn't look that hostile to him, but with his currently blurred vision it was hard to tell. The next thing he knew his brain was already alert but his senses were struggling to keep up; glasses glasses glasses glasses, his brain was drilling into him while his effectors started flailing around to find his pair of spectacles. That fall off the cliff, though it wasn't too deadly of a drop (but still enough to place him in braces) was still fresh within his mind. Somehow he was splayed out like a cat that jumped off a fifteen-story building and maintaining the pose while he flailed around. He heard snickering from the lower right corner. Turn, head.
With much effort, he managed to get his atlas to move and subsequently, his head. His eyes settled on a blurred out figure; black, clawed and smirking, it was. He had no idea what it was supposed to be, and his legs were hurting too much for him to move them. They probably weren't fractured due to the mound of leaves he had landed on with several trees breaking his fall, but they hurt so much they might as well have. It flexed its claws, incessant snickering leading the way while it made its way over to him. Flinching from the effort to get away, he found himself lying in a position even more painful than before - and threatening, for a claw was now held to his throat. He gulped. Bad luck was almost synonymous with his name. This situation called for something, something to help.
His hand flew to his waist.
It's gone.Dammit. Damn you, Lachesis.
His sister had taken the only item he had thought of as precious, as something to pull him through all the bad luck he had faced. His Pokéball. The Pokémon within was probably at the mercy of his sister, turning into a monster as the very same twenty-six seconds passed for the poor little thing. Sadistic and a tad masochistic, Lachesis was what they called sadomasochistic. However, her angelic appearance simply denied the fact ... but he knew better. Very much better. Okay, calm down. You're at claw-point. You can die. His mind wasn't helping though it clearly was trying to help. He tried inching away from the claw, but whoever it was, it wasn't keen on letting him so. What seemed like a group of friendly Pokémon had just turned into a murder of Pokémon. With an intent to kill and see him die, no doubt.
SNEE-EE-EEsnee.
It cackled, running a claw down the side of his neck in glee. Lachesis. The first thing he thought of was his sister; there was nothing else, nothing else in this world that would take pleasure in ruining both his body and life. However, from its cries it would turn out to be nothing but a Sneasel. A nasty, horrid Sneasel that would lead its band of friends to destroy him. Rather bloodily as well, he might as well have added. The scent of blood wafted through the air as the claw carved a small slit where it ran across his neck. Soon the claw was upon his cheek, head possibly lowered so close that he could see its features, most notably its eyes clearly. Warm breath cast upon his neck while the Sneasel made its mark a second time upon its face. It leaned in so close to lick the blood off his face, he swore he could listen to its heartbeat before words rang out clearly within his mind. The weasel was apparently, talking to him? No way. I need my glasses. I need. My glasses. He was trying to convince himself, but:
Slow as always on the uptake I see.
That drawl. That attitude.
The group of Pokémon slowly retreated after hearing a hiss from the Sneasel. What drove them off left him with the mingling emotions of confusion and bewilderedness. Yet there was a Seviper, still lurking around; the lethal fangs primed to strike, tail slowly curling around the teenager's leg. By now he had managed to get up into a sitting position but hadn't noticed the tail slowly curling around his aching limb. And it broke out, the fight between the ice-type and poison-type.
Hissing and spitting while at the same time shaking from laughter, the Sneasel pounced on the Seviper, energy surging through its veins, giving it that extra bit of energy to cover the remaining ground between snake and weasel. The sharp claws of the black-furred Pokémon sank into the serpent, drawing blood with every slash and hack: one-two-three-four! times total. Not satisfied with what it had done, the Sneasel dug its claws into the snake's long body. The fang snake Pokémon had certain distaste for a particular creature of white fur, with similar weapons like the weasel had on it. Viewing it as a distant relative of the Zangoose family, the snake was eager to not lose what seemed like a wonderful prey to the Sneasel. It also went without saying that the sharp claw Pokémon absolutely hated giving up what was rightfully its and so, fought back.
With the poison glands secreting droplets of poison, Seviper lashed out with a powerful offensive utilizing its tail. In terms of speed and agility, it was no match for its speedy foe, but as long as it was anchored upon its fleshy body, there was still a chance. The bladed tail shot through the air, threatening to pierce the furry skin of the weasel, only to have its assault halted by a loud cry from not one, but two. Weasel shrieking; human screaming.
The frequency of the Screech was nothing like he had ever experienced before. It rang through his brains, overriding his senses. His body trembled so; were his poor hands going to give from holding his ears shut? Even his ossicles were vibrating within the safety of his skull. Feeling like he was a mere inch away from blood spurting out from his ears in a gruesome manner, his feelings were soon replaced by minor pangs of relief when the snake finally backed off to nurse its wounds and jittery hearing. It's not even slithering straight. He felt like laughing, but even a smile seemed to elude him.
Snakes don't slither straight, you doof. They do it all bendy-like.
He glanced around. The Sneasel, was indeed, speaking to him. But how? he wondered, almost too innocently. Out of fear for what might have possessed the weasel before him, he inched backwards, only to have his hands touch the cold water of the lake. Any further, and he'd fall right in. He wasn't eager on taking a swim with both his legs in this condition; Lachesis, help me. It was the only thing he was good at. Asking for help when his fountain of bad luck provided him with even more situations to get out of. As much as he hated enlisting the help of his sister ... there was no choice but to. He hadn't spoke to her since yesterday and wouldn't divulge the reason behind it. That drove her to push him off a cliff, laughter echoing around her while she sat upon her heels, head resting on hands while she hummed an innocent tune to go with her equally innocent face.
That's probably what happened.
His face obeyed orders and his mouth curved into a grim smile.
The Sneasel appeared oddly indignant, crossing its arms and tapping its feet upon the ground. Almost nonchalantly (he wondered how its emotions changed so quickly), it proceeded to inspect every single one of its sickle-like claws.
Nuh-uh-uh. So not true.
The creature climbed up and trotted with the balance of a feline across his sore legs, up his waist and dug its claws through his shirt and into his body. Leaning its head upon his chest, it gently ran a claw down his jawline. He soon noticed a smirk with accompanying snickering, the expression upon its face oddly familiar.
I didn't even get to laugh. So I'm going to do it, right now. Right in front of you.What?
He blinked. Could not compute. Error. Abort program, Y/N.
Guess I'm here to stay. You can start by looking for your precious Titus. I left him somewhere to fend for himself ...
He was jolted to his senses, his hand grabbing the weasel roughly by the scruff of its neck with a growl in a series of uncharacteristic actions on his part.
Let's go, then. Oh, did I mention that I love that expression of yours, dear brother?
He dropped it - no, her and nearly fell into the water.
Dammit. Damn you, Lachesis.