Yagyuu Hiroshi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
usedlaserbeam) wrote2012-01-20 06:56 pm
usedlaserbeam) wrote2012-01-20 06:56 pm
Entry tags:
- always glorious always victorious,
- anniversary,
- charming disarming and quite alarming,
- denial: not just a river in egypt,
- let's get philosophical,
- my pokeymans let me show you them,
- no really i'm the responsible one,
- somehow this is all niou's fault,
- such a nice boy,
- teammates whaaaar,
- ▶ goldenrod city
017 | Goldenrod City | Video / Action;
[It may seem like an odd endeavor, wandering the snowy streets of Goldenrod in such relatively unpleasant weather, but sure enough, that's precisely what Yagyuu's doing today. It's not the first time he's gone over these streets and it almost certainly won't be the last; he's not so much exploring today as he is just walking the familiar byways, his breath making translucent clouds in the chilly air.
There's a Vulpix riding along with him, curled around his shoulders and supported atop his backpack, nuzzled in close to his neck like an oversize, furry, Fire-type scarf. If the weight or the awkwardness of ferrying her in that way bothers him, he certainly doesn't show it; his own scarf is draped light but snug from his neck to his chin, and the collar of his heavy winter coat is turned up as added protection against the cold.
He's carrying a few bags with him, of varying sizes, all unmistakably from the Goldenrod Department Store—evidently, he's been out shopping. And perhaps he still is, because at the moment he's stopped in front of the frosted glass window of a jewelry store, peering in at the display and watching the light catch the facets of the gemstones as they glitter against their black velvet backings.]
Another four days and you'll be six months old, Masako. It is strange how time flies, isn't it?
[He's speaking quietly, more to himself than the little fox on his shoulders.]
And strange, too, how much can change in seven months.
[And he seems to dwell on that, lost in thought, as the jewels gleam bright in the window and the fine mist of his condensing breath drifts and disperses in the cold afternoon air.]
There's a Vulpix riding along with him, curled around his shoulders and supported atop his backpack, nuzzled in close to his neck like an oversize, furry, Fire-type scarf. If the weight or the awkwardness of ferrying her in that way bothers him, he certainly doesn't show it; his own scarf is draped light but snug from his neck to his chin, and the collar of his heavy winter coat is turned up as added protection against the cold.
He's carrying a few bags with him, of varying sizes, all unmistakably from the Goldenrod Department Store—evidently, he's been out shopping. And perhaps he still is, because at the moment he's stopped in front of the frosted glass window of a jewelry store, peering in at the display and watching the light catch the facets of the gemstones as they glitter against their black velvet backings.]
Another four days and you'll be six months old, Masako. It is strange how time flies, isn't it?
[He's speaking quietly, more to himself than the little fox on his shoulders.]
And strange, too, how much can change in seven months.
[And he seems to dwell on that, lost in thought, as the jewels gleam bright in the window and the fine mist of his condensing breath drifts and disperses in the cold afternoon air.]