Yagyuu Hiroshi (
usedlaserbeam) wrote2011-07-29 01:21 pm
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Entry tags:
- always glorious always victorious,
- denial: not just a river in egypt,
- i am fifteen and what is this,
- mad pokemon breeding science,
- my pokeymans let me show you them,
- no tennis no life,
- purple = do not want,
- somehow this is all niou's fault,
- the gentleman is not amused,
- the perils of dramatic irony,
- their love is so molecular,
- ▶ goldenrod city
004 | Goldenrod City | Video / Action;
[Well, Johto, in a slight change of pace, this video is not coming to you today courtesy of PhantomCam™; in truth, it's actually sort of more like Lady's-Paw-Landed-On-The-Record-ButtonCam™, and the accidental nature of the recording shows. The vast majority of the shot shows a tilted, haphazard view of a bedroom (a very neat bedroom, an observant viewer might note), and only a small sliver actually manages to catch Yagyuu, who appears to have set his backpack down on the bed and is methodically extracting the contents.
(Every so often, this view ends up marred by what seems to be a tuft of tawny brown fur, or the occasional pink tail feather.)
Yagyuu, however, seems reasonably oblivious to being recorded, his attention fixed on the series of items he's removing from his backpack, one by one: a notebook and pen, a novel with a slightly dog-eared cover, a roll of grip tape, a tennis racket that he places aside with the utmost of care. With an Eevee and what eventually reveals itself as a Pidgeotto bustling around on the bed, he's clearly not taking any chances that it might get damaged.
This patient, deliberate ritual of unpacking goes on in silence for a minute or two, Yagyuu still apparently ignorant to the fact that he's on candid camera, when at last something shifts: he reaches into the bag and his expression abruptly turns to one of surprise and mild disgust. And when he yanks his hand back out of it, a sticky mass of purple goop (which is now partially encasing his hand) comes with it.
Eyes narrowed, he gives his hand a rather adamant shake, but the goo doesn't dislodge; on the contrary, it spreads a little wider and smiles at him.
A harder shake. It remains unfazed.
And then at last, with a long-suffering sigh, Yagyuu turns away from the camera and stalks out of sight, footsteps firm against the carpet as he apparently makes his way toward the room's door.]
Niou-kun...
[The door closes (it's not quite a slam, but it is perhaps a little more firm than was really necessary) and the Pokemon on the bed begin to shuffle around, and somewhere in the commotion another paw hits the Gear and the feed ends.]
(Every so often, this view ends up marred by what seems to be a tuft of tawny brown fur, or the occasional pink tail feather.)
Yagyuu, however, seems reasonably oblivious to being recorded, his attention fixed on the series of items he's removing from his backpack, one by one: a notebook and pen, a novel with a slightly dog-eared cover, a roll of grip tape, a tennis racket that he places aside with the utmost of care. With an Eevee and what eventually reveals itself as a Pidgeotto bustling around on the bed, he's clearly not taking any chances that it might get damaged.
This patient, deliberate ritual of unpacking goes on in silence for a minute or two, Yagyuu still apparently ignorant to the fact that he's on candid camera, when at last something shifts: he reaches into the bag and his expression abruptly turns to one of surprise and mild disgust. And when he yanks his hand back out of it, a sticky mass of purple goop (which is now partially encasing his hand) comes with it.
Eyes narrowed, he gives his hand a rather adamant shake, but the goo doesn't dislodge; on the contrary, it spreads a little wider and smiles at him.
A harder shake. It remains unfazed.
And then at last, with a long-suffering sigh, Yagyuu turns away from the camera and stalks out of sight, footsteps firm against the carpet as he apparently makes his way toward the room's door.]
Niou-kun...
[The door closes (it's not quite a slam, but it is perhaps a little more firm than was really necessary) and the Pokemon on the bed begin to shuffle around, and somewhere in the commotion another paw hits the Gear and the feed ends.]
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Charm isn't quite what I'd call it.
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[ ... hey, it's what Naoto would use. ]
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[For the love of--it's on his leg--and we are kicking--]
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Er, Yagyuu-kun... is this a bad time? Or if you need help--
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[And he is setting the video down, preparing to wrangle this little ball of purple ooze, ready to show it who's boss.
About two minutes later, he picks up the feed again, and it's attached to his hand once more.]
I'm fine, thank you. Though it appears getting rid of my stowaway is easier said than done.
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Really. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. ] You don't see that kind of devotion that often, outside of movies and romance novels.
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[Devotion is for things like tennis and captains and partners. Not purple masses of insufferable molecular ooze.]
Perhaps I'll have to try shutting it inside something.
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[He'll get Lady to headbutt the thing. Surely that'll suffice as "battle" enough.]
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[ fistpump and all. ]
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A trill.
A squeak.
"Lady, oblige me, won't you."
A growl.
A touch of frantic squeaking--
--and the faint ding of a successful capture.
And shortly thereafter, Yagyuu is back, both hands free of purple, though the one is a bit red with what might be the faint remains of bite marks.]
Well, that settles that, I suppose.
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I don't think I've ever congratulated someone for catching a Pokémon they didn't want, but... congrats?
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Congratulations for finally freeing myself of its antics, perhaps. I'd certainly accept those.
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