the very best quality [junk]

[ozy]

“Cheap tarp. Cheap, cheap, cheap.” He mumbled horrid curses. The goddamn covering managed to not work at all. He woke up thrice in the night with water finding its way to his face. Karp didn’t even once consider his ineptitude as a survivalist. Nah, everything but him poisoned his one chance to get a good night’s sleep. He folded the blue waste of money and neatly slipped it in his bag. On the road, again.

The trainer wished he could put some of these fallen leaves into a boiling pot and make some tea. They weren’t the special ones Cura used to have. Back then, he grew caffeine on his windowsill. His mom taught him the whole tea-making process. His cups were bittersweet like a superb Proserpina transvestite. Those were the days. Briefly, he wondered if his mother was making a pot of the stuff right now.

Lethargy caused him to release his machop and have her carry his bag. Eh, Sandra enjoyed the exercise. Karp slid his hands into his pockets and started down the path. When he got to the caverns, he’d get a few more winks. cold volume

[cold volume]

Who knew there were an abandoned train cars deep within Ceres forest. They were all eaten out now by weedle and mankey, but junk found a nice one - still locked - that he'd kicked open. It was pretty nice inside, a real rusted over metal bucket that a crab like him could scurry under. The last thing he would do is tell Amelie about it.

He was sitting outside the junkyard when he saw another dude coming up the path. Kid looked familiar but still was a square. Junk tossed his shroomish up and down in the air as he boredly waited for the person to get closer.

“Aww man aww man. It's Karp. Dammit, aren't we all fucked now,” he said grinning. "Yah fart-eating bastard." The Shroomish landed like a sack of beans, having not been caught as Junk stood up. ozy

[ozy]

Karp found himself juggling his pokeballs (not euphemism) as he meandered down a random Ceres pathway. His machop was giving marching orders and he played her little game by walking to the beat. All this distracted him from the unfolding of the surrounding pokémon, the forest, and everything the world had to offer. Ah, well. In his book, he’d make up a few tales to retell his story here. Or, rather, he might wander over to Messor Rock is see what the hubbub was. If he died there, like some old lady said he would, it’d save him from the horror movie that was life the scourge.

His directionless walking found him passing a junkyard meadow. Sandra peeked to check out the scene and stopped in her tracks. Karp tripped over the machop, who didn’t move an inch mind you, and dropped all his balls in the dirt road. About then, he heard his old mate talking shit. He scooped himself up, dusted himself off, and took in the sights. Departed machines had this childish vibe to them. Like how little kids would mess around with empty boxes. Yeah, well, Karp was going to be a child in t-minus 3…2…

“Ya dropped your shroom, you pleb. Is that how you treat your hallucinogens!?” Smiling, Karp signaled his machop to pick up its colleagues and started towards his old friend. “What brings you out here, atop all the junk, Junk?” When it came to Junk, he didn’t need much explanation really. Small talk was valued in atomistic societies so stop complaining. cold volume

[just woke up. off to end foods and finish 'in bruges']

[cold volume]

Junk swiped a look at Heshur, then prodded the mushy spore with his foot. "He'll get off eventually, you know, like my old man did. Why am I here? Hell, I don't know, but the fucking princess did it somehow."

Folding his arms, he approached Karp and punched the loser in the shoulder. Kid looked so tired he might fall down from it, but Junk would only find it hilarious. "Fuck, man, you stalking me? What gives? Fuck what is that?" he asked pointing at the machop. "I thought your grandma was dead?" ozy