This world is inhabited by creatures that we call pokemon. People and pokemon live together by supporting each other, but now the scourge threatens the safety of the entire region. Kohaku has become a dangerous place, where children stay at home and only brave souls go adventuring.
Welcome to KOHAKU. Come for the nightmares. Stay for the tea and crumpets.
The season is SUMMER. It is easy for survivors to forage for food from the land, as there are entire abandoned farms ready for harvest. On the downside, you can smell the corpses.
swarms
GRAND OPENING !
Welcome to KOHAKU REGION's grand opening! If you're interested in joining, come check out our grand opening giveaway!
Hours ago, Mustapha packed his life into a leather duffle bag. Minutes ago, he duct-taped “FOR SALE” signs on his apartment’s door and balcony.
Now, he’s purchasing chewing gum in this mini-mart because his teeth won’t stop jittering and grinding. Today might have been the dumbest day to start a career, but if ruthless cold was going to stop him, he might as well hand in the badge right now.
“Thanks a bunch. Take care, now.” Mustapha popped one in his mouth right away, before the clerk waved him away. Today was going to end soon, and hopefully by the night, he’ll be in a city with more bustle and flashing lights.
Just as he walked out the store, a snowball came flying and cleanly took off his turban. It unraveled at once and laid soaking in a mound of the white stuff right next to him. He sighed, and then shot his gaze back and forth like an attack dog. The researcher dropped his bag next to the soaking turban and picked up a snowball himself.
The snow in Juno falls lighter than in Bacchus. Once, the sight of the city blanketed under winter would have made her thoughts turn homeward and distant, re-tracing the steps of her desolate childhood haunts: the paths she had tramped in winter through the alleys and backstreets now walked only by the scourge, a rotted corpse stretched in the grass of the lot where her father had purchased their Christmas tree each year. But no longer--unless the fact that she's thinking about the thought she once would have thought, counted.
Thalia laughs to herself quietly, pushing her snow-damp bangs out of her face on the street corner. The sound is drowned out by the trill cackles of two children as they scream and run down the street, arms whirling in a blur as they windmill snowballs out at random. Thalia barely dodges one, ice catching the end of her scarf, as she ducks to the side. A man across the road isn't so lucky; she watched as his turban hit the ground in a precise trajectory. As he picked up a snowball, she formed her own clumsily and lobbed it at the glass door of the store behind his head. ozy
Daggers. Crosshairs. What you called the grip-like gaze Mustapha used to strangle his pre-teen attackers was irrelevant. The important thing was that they took the glare as a challenge. The two, heavily clothed from head-to-toe, found cover behind a town-car and began to collect ammunition. Mustapha chucked his icy powder bomb at their supposed location just as another snow ball whizzed by his head.
“Wha-“ Crash! Bits of ice cracked through the mini-market’s front window leaving a snowflake asterisk of chipped glass. The researcher snagged his belongings and made a run for the kids’ hiding spot. On the way, he looked over to where the snowball came from and spotted a girl about his age. The two kids pelted snow at him but knew he was not their enemy anymore. The mini-mart’s owner was now the only threat.
A bald, overweight gruff man with 5 o’clock shadow emerged from the shop. With a tracksuit and a cigar in hand, he starting blaring curses at the world that wronged him. Mustapha reached behind the car just as the man saw him making a dash. He looked the two youngsters in the eye and, with quick breaths, extended his hand.
“Truce?” One of them nodded, took grip, and shook: an unwritten treaty. At that point, the other child sent a snowball flying at the poor shopkeep. It hit him right in the cheek – made him redder than he already was. Three mobster like fellows stepped from the store with heat-sealed gloves. This was no laughing matter anymore.
“Ge’em!” The shopkeep barked. A volley of snowballs were at once fired upon the town-car. Fuck whoever owned that thing, it seemed. 2tsunz
The snowball fight had abruptly changed into something rather more serious. As Thalia watched the chunks of ice fly between the town car and the mini-mart, each side struggling their hardest to overcome the other, she realized there was great potential here.
It might classify as an abuse of power but--it would be fun.
Thalia took out Alakazam. Alakazam used telekinesis to dump a snow drift on both sides. ozy
Hours ago, Mustapha packed his life into a leather duffle bag. Minutes ago, he duct-taped “FOR SALE” signs on his apartment’s door and balcony.
