Ooc|| I don't own pokemon, and all creative rights go to Satoshi Tajiri. I do own all the OC's though, as they are a product of my own imagination.
Do you ever create characters, and then feel the need to make sure you have their personalities right? Do you ever write stories to make sure that your characters are just the way you want them to be, to fix any flaws and work out any kinks? The stories in this story, Litium, are all about my OC's. I'm writing them in situations, trying to do exactly that. I don't know how many stories there will be, and none of them will ever follow an order unless it's like, "part 1" "Part 2". I just want to get my characters in order.
Plus I just like to write from topic prompts and what better way to do a prompt than with a story?
Anyways, this first story is about Gus Maxwell. I wrote it a while ago, and it's pretty bad. But oh well. (:
The man with scars.
There was a certain fear instilled in the twelve year olds eyes. It was dark that night; there was no moon to speak of. If there was, it must've been hidden well behind a pillar of clouds. The world was dark, and the only light in that small, grassy clearing was the illuminating glow of bug pokemon, taking shelter. The boy had been stupid enough to ignore his elder's and disobediently snuck off into the night. He was told how dangerous the tall grass became at night, the pokemon more vicious and blood thirsty. Even so, the boy had heard they lurked around here; he was determined to catch one. The time, it slowly passed. He lay crouching in the grass for what seemed like an eternity, trying to ignore the feeling to itch. The grass was rough on his skin, and even though he didn't like it, there were no complaints. All he wanted was that one pokemon, and he would be finished.
Suddenly, there was a howl that pierced through their air, and he flinched slightly. Letting his eyes adjust, he peered through the grass, trying to find it. It had arrived, it seemed. It took it's time, slowly making it's way, sniffing. What the child didn't realize was that it was searching for him; a meal of sorts.
Like an idiot, the boy jumped up when it came closer. The dog pokemon suddenly bared its teeth, snarling. He was afraid, but he wouldn't turn back. He was already this far. There was a standstill between them; the dog ready to lunge at him, the boy with his hand hovering over his pokeball. It would take about 5 seconds for his pokemon to appear; there was time. If he could time it perfectly, he would make it. They both moved at the same time, yet somehow he had miscalculated. The pokemon, now in close range could be identified as a young houndour, leaped, his claws suddenly out. Realizing the danger he was in, the boy began to scream, the vibrations echoing through the clearing. Time moved in slow motion. The dog's paw was drawing closer to his face, and was now ripping through his fleshy cheek. Wide eyes, the boy watched in numb horror as fresh crimson spilled in front of him and his screams died down. Collapsing to the ground, the boy found himself wavering through a wave of conscious. He could feel the tug at his pants, then at his shoes. Blood was slipping from his face, and he was growing pale. It seemed like the end for him. The world suddenly went black.
Pale eyes slowly opened, trying to focus on the ceiling in front of him. A cold sweat drenched him as he slept, and he felt himself trembling slightly. Taking a couple long, deep breaths, he reminded himself that it was only a dream. The worst had already happened. Still lying on the bed, he ran both his hands over his face, and closed his eyes. Right, it was all a horrible dream, a memory long since passed. Lying in that bed, he continually reminded himself. The nightmares were now his only weakness.
After about an hour had passed, he reopened his eyes, now steady, his composure back to normal. He glanced at the clock which was bleeding red into the dark. It was seven; time to get up. Groaning, he shifted into an upwards position and stretched his stiffened limbs. Then, in a hasty movement, he pushed the covers aside and hopped out of bed. Moving across the carpeted floor, he noticed a flashing red coming from his phone and sighed. Pressing the button, the messages started and he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open.
"Click. Gus, it's Tracy. Let me know when you get back into town. Taylor and I want drinks, and it's your turn to shotgun. Call me."
"Click. Gus, my man, it's Le'nore! Listen, I know you told me never to call your landline, but I'm going to need your assistance with a, well, a sort of job and I don't know any other way to get a hold of you. Keeping your cell on must be a pain, eh? Anyways, come give me a visit and I'll get you down on the details. It seems like your sort of thing anyways. Call me."
The rest of the messages droned on like that for a while, and after the first two, the man named Gus had stopped listening. The rest weren't important anyways. He would call Tracy later, and he would notify Le'nore that he would drop by if he got a chance. The chance was high, since he was currently looking for work. After stripping off his clothes, he hopped into the shower and finished in less than five. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he disappeared back into the hotel room and glanced at the curtains. They were stifling the morning sunlight, and he was debating whether or not he should open the drapes. After realizing that it probably wasn't a good idea, he moved to the second bed which wasn't be occupied, and opened his suitcase open, pulling out some clothes.
An ebony, collared button up shirt, and a pair of dark blue, washed jeans and a pair of socks. There was a moment of laziness that lingered through him, and he decided to ignore the vest and tie today. After all, if his assumption was correct, he would be making a quick pick-up. No need for serious formalities. Latching on the few pokeballs that he had to his belt, he grabbed the room key and departed from the room. It was time to wander around Goldenrod for a bit.
There were a few words that one could use when describing Gus Maxwell. Most of them would describe how cold-hearted and unattached he was; these would be words from previous lovers. Most, and if not everybody else, would refer to him as the being that stalked the underground night. Most people knew him, and were slightly afraid of him. Those who didn't know the rumors were lucky. The easiest way to describe his profession would be a "retriever", meaning, he liked to help those pesky business tycoons tie up a couple of their loose ends. Mostly, they involved getting money from somebody with a long over-due bill. If Gus was correct, this time would be the same.
Goldenrod City was lively that morning, and Gus took his time maneuvering through the streets. The people here were friendly, if not nice to each other. If only half of them knew what lurked in their streets after dark, he was sure they'd have a heart attack. Considering how Goldenrod was the a main city in the Johto region, it wasn't a surprise that you could find anything. And I mean anything.
It was the nightlife that caused Gus to be here longer than anything else. All things aside, it was a nice town. Gus particularly liked it. Taking one of the many buses into the downtown area, Gus leaned against the seat and let out a yawn. Moments later, he arrived at the stop, quickly hopped off the bus and made his way down the street. Turning into an alley, he placed his hands in his pockets, and meandered his way down a flight of stairs in the side of a wall. Pushing the door open, he walked in and made his way to the top room with no interference. They all knew him there, and they knew better than to mess around with him. On the door, the words HEAD MOTHERFUCKER were inscribed in a gold plating, and Gus paused momentarily to roll his eyes. Pushing the door open, he walked inside, startling the man behind the desk.
Le'nore was a averaged size man, probably in his late thirties. Even during the day, Gus had come to figure out, he liked to wear pinstriped suits made of imported fabrics. The room was designed with mainly earthly-tones in mind; hard wood floors and everything. The room, in Gus's opinion, was too dark. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against the wall and waited for Le'nore to get off the phone; turns out he was interrupting. The moment he was done, Le'nore focused his attention solely on the man in front of him.
"I asked you to call me before you barge in." His tone was bitter, sharp. Maybe the phone call had pissed him off.
"You wanted my assistance, and I'm here. What do you want." Blunt, straight to the point. It was the only way Gus learned to deal with these guys. For some ungodly reason, they liked to chat the male up before giving him what they called him there for; it was irritating. If he wanted to talk to them just for the sake of talking, he would have called them. Not the other way around.
Letting out a sigh, Le'nore shook his head as if he was disappointed, "Straight to the point, as always. Alright, here's what I'm going to need you to do. Some motherfucker has been coming up here with some nerve, trying to get me to cut my act down. Somethin' about new business coming through – I don't really give a shit. Anyways, he's becoming a pain in my ass. Deal with him, and his boss. Smack 'em around, kill them. I don't care. Just don't let it lead back to me, got it?" He paused for a moment, and pulled out a folder and tossed it across the desk. "Details are inside."
Gus stared at the folder with disdain. "Over the phone, you said this was my sort of thing."
"Well, you know. You got some sort of bloodlust in you. Seemed like something you'd be interested in." Le'nore shrugged slightly.
Staring at the packet for a moment longer, Gus moved across the floor with long strides and picked up the folder. "6,000."
Slamming his hands on the desk, Le'nore was suddenly enraged. "Are you out of your fuckin' mind! Why would I ev-"
"If you don't pay me what I ask, then I decline, and the only people you have to deal with this bullshit is your shitty guys, and I've seen what they can do. Whatever it is you see them having isn't worth shit. You called me here, you accept my price." Gus growled, narrowing his eyes at the man.
Holding his arms up in defense, Le'nore nodded sheepishly, muttering 'fine fine.' Nodding with his own approval, Gus turned on his heel and disappeared out of the room. The moment he left, Le'nore ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "What a scary kid. Jesus."
Gus waited until nightfall. It would be easier to get both men at once and stage it as a pokemon attack. They weren't uncommon, especially in large cities like Goldenrod. Nobody really thought twice about it, unless it had been somebody they knew. Otherwise, who cared? It was sad, what the world had suddenly come to. Yet, it was because of this sad state that Gus Maxwell could do his job properly.
Patiently, he waited in the park, tossing a pokeball slowly up and down, his eyes flickering back and forth. They should be here soon, he thought, tossing the ball. Suddenly, there was movement across the field, and even though they couldn't see him, he could see them so clearly that it was almost scary. They were stumbling, two males, average height, average looking. Father and son, it almost looked like. Snatching the ball as it came down, Gus slowly hoisted himself off the bench he was sitting on and let loose the pokemon inside the ball. In a flash of crimson, a large, dog pokemon appeared. From the low light of a streetlamp near-by the pokemon could be seen; a Houndoom. . Before it could dart off, Gus quickly grasped onto one of the horns on its head, and slowly led it across the concrete, his never leaving their target.
Suddenly they stopped at the sound of barking, and they glanced around nervously. Letting go of the horn, the Houndoom sprung into action and bounded off in their direction. Screams could be hear a moment later, the sound of flesh ripping, tearing. Sobs could be heard through all this, as distorted as they might have been, and Gus slowly made his way over, hands in his pockets, as if he was taking a leisurely stroll. Crossing the field, he kept himself at a short distance, knowing better than to get too close. The pokemon might mistake his own master, after all. It took five minutes for the wails to die down, and the Houndoom reared its head back and let out a blood-chilling howl.
Taking a couple steps closer, Gus peering down at the two men, and clicked his tongue in distaste when he realized they were somehow still breathing. Glancing around, he noticed a couple limbs thrown off into the distance, which his Houndoom was now gnawing at. Running a hand through his hair, he figured he was going to have to end it. Their breathing was becoming labored, and reaching behind him, he pulled out a small handgun from a holster clipped to his pants. Gus didn't particularly enjoy using guns; they were messy, and they were loud. They attracted more attention than a pokemon, anyways. Though, they were in Goldenrod; it was the middle of the night. There were bound to be gunshots fired anyways, so Gus knew he was safe. He aimed at one of them, and furrowed his brow when he saw the moving of one of his eyes. It rolled towards him, and stared at him through bloodshot vision.
Despite being on the verge of death, the man made an attempt to speak. "T. . . tho. . . those s-scars. . ." more labored breathing, and blank expression from Gus. ". . . I guess . . . I sh-should have realized w-who my compet-tion was hiring. Gus. . . Nascone. I'll. . . be seeing y-you in hell, w. . . won't I?"
". . .Yeah, I suppose you might." Gus replied, before pulling the trigger. Four rounds were fired. Two men were now dead, and Gus Maxwell was now applicable to get his money. Letting the gun smoke disappear, he placed the weapon back in its rightful place, and whistled for the Houndoom. It returned, and he called it back into his pokeball after tenderly stroking his face. As he stood there for a moment, collecting his thoughts, he thought about his scars; the ones that disfigured his face slightly. Those claw marks were old, and even so everywhere he went, people always knew it was him because of them. Gus wasn't sure if that was good or not; he didn't really care. It had been eleven years since that houndour first attacked him. He was twenty-three now, and ever since that night a certain feeling had distorted his mind.
He spent five long months in the hospital, waiting for his deep wounds to heal. He spent most of the time staring at the window longingly, dreaming of the pokemon that put him there. Anger built itself a home in his tiny body, and the anticipation grew. No matter what, he would catch that pokemon. His brothers theorized that it was this attack that made their brother a little off. They still believe that it was because of that pokemon that Gus went about his business, doing as he pleased, only looking for prey to hunt in the night.
Because the night belonged to him now.
He would no longer be afraid of the shadows or the creatures lurking behind them.
Clicking his tongue, the man quickly disappeared from the park, and into the shadows.