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!
Post by cold volume on Jan 20, 2014 4:58:14 GMT -5
God she felt like an old cunt as she squinted at the panel of buttons that decorated the Professors door. These gadgets weren't her business. She was a mortician. She peeled the skin off of dead things, and then, sewed it back up over handmade skeletons. They went on walls; they were trophies of the wild mountains.
Zinaida pressed all the buttons because her hand was a demanding beast. With her other claw, she gripped her son's small hand tightly. The boy didn't protest although he seemed to have caught on to which button his mother should have pressed instead of them all.... He didn't care enough to mention. His face was still pale.
So many new recruits, so little time -- Cypress has been busier than ever, and as the months pass the amount of work (and paper) being dumped into his lab only seems to increase.
It's times like these when he's happy to have Krauss and Sibyl around. It's also times like these when he realizes just how lost he is when they aren't.
He jumps in surprise when someone starts messing with everything outside the door, and nearly trips over his feet trying to reach it. Cypress pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before they fall into the abyss that is the lab floor, taking a hold of the knob and swinging it open.
"H-hello!" he says, smiling. "You must be -- um, no, you?" He glances at the small boy in confusion. "No, that can't be right, it's a -- oh! Yes, um, Miss Zan -- Zanga -- just come in, c-come in." Cypress looks at the child again. "Y-you, too?"
He shuffles away from the door. "Um, here for a -- a pokemon, r-right?"
Post by cold volume on Jan 20, 2014 14:20:31 GMT -5
She sweeps in, regal, dragging the two large eyes of her cub behind her. "Indeed, my comrade," she said, sharply looking over the professor's white smock. "You need to curl your tongue for the first letter," she smirked. "Zangalskaya." A cold, hissing noise. Her haunting face lingered on the professor, amused. "Are you distressed? It is all right," she cooed. "I am not my husband..."
"But yes, I would very much appreciate a Pokemon to begin my work for the institute." She wanted something with fangs. Something great and terrible, something with nightmares in its blood and a sword in its breath. She couldn't help join her son's roaming eyes, looking for the precious gift.
He shifts uncomfortably underneath her sharp, predatory gaze, unsure as to what he should say -- so he opts to say nothing and instead grabs a pamphletd detailing the pokemon he's raised.
Cypress offers it to Zinaida -- then her son -- "Oh, um, w-well -- we only h-have one, you see," he says quickly, "s-so -- so, um, maybe share?"
Post by cold volume on Jan 21, 2014 12:54:22 GMT -5
"Oh, do not tease him, comrade. He is far too young for such a responsibility," she growled, rubbing the boys hair with affection. "Perhaps one day, though. It is in his blood.". The wine of her lips was soft and smooth, with a slight cackle of vinegar. With a floating smirk, Zinaida swept to the horde of pokemon, tiny things, infants, and she sneered down like a tyrant.
The haunting flame of the litwick captured her. Its queer, blue glow cast a cold light that reminded the Aurorian woman of her homeland. She plucked it up. The little candle of wax could fit in her hand. Her son watched her inspect it. He would learn the game too, eventually. She lowered it for him to touch its waxy, warm skin.
With a satisfied, brightened expression, the tiger mom glanced at the Professor.
"This one will do," she said, her velvet, aristocratic voice melting like the thin beads of wax that slid down the litwicks body and onto her palms. "Is there any other business, professor? Or may I be excused?"
Cypress nods. "Oh, y-yes, I see -- yes, that d-does make sense. One day, m-maybe?" He glances between the Litwick and the woman before pushing a bag into her hands. "No, there's -- there's n-nothing else."
The professor smiles. "G-good luck out there! You'll, um ... you'll n-need it."
