Yagyuu Hiroshi

[Oh, look. It's a Yagyuu, wiling away a rainy afternoon in the comfortable security of the Tennis Haus's library. Given the flashes of tiny paws and bits of fur that keep flickering around the video, it's likely this recording is the product of one of his many Eevees; however, he seems a bit preoccupied with his own thoughts at the moment, lounging in the window seat with a peacefully sleeping Espeon in his lap and watching the rain come down.

Here and there, other flashes of Eeveelutions go by; for anyone careful enough to take a headcount (an affair made slightly easier by the fact that most of them wearing collars of varying colors), there'll be fifteen in all — two of every variety of Eeveelution, with the sixteenth being the one drowsing the afternoon away in his arms.

After awhile, though, he leans over and retrieves the Gear from where it's gone skittering across the floor, regarding the red recording light almost blandly — it switched on, how unsurprising — before beginning to speak.]

I'm afraid I'm somewhat late to the topic of Starter Appreciation Day — it was a few weeks ago now, as I recall — so recounting any such fond memories about mine would be fairly moot at this point, I should think. However, it does pose an interesting line of inquiry, doesn't it? I've seen plenty of speculation over time about the meaning of the starters we're given, why they're the types they are, why they were chosen for us. I've seen some that have fit their trainer...remarkably aptly. And others that haven't.

[He pauses, giving his Espeon a gentle pet, and she purrs a little louder.]

I wonder if that's truly something to be contented with — the thought of being handed one's perfect match. One would think, in the grand scheme of things, it might be all the more rewarding to discover them on one's own.

[Another pause; some paws skitter in the background. And then at last, he seems to come back to his usual, more businesslike self.]

Ah, but speaking of matches, that brings me to a second question I've been considering lately. For those of us who have been designated as Breeders here, our charge is to attempt to produce the best or highest quality Pokemon possible, isn't it? I've become curious lately how people have chosen to define quality that way. Is it from a large moveset? A powerful one? An unorthodox one? And has anyone considered the more mundane practice of tracking bloodlines instead?

[He flashes the camera toward his Eeveelutions, most of whom are happily playing about the room in a technicolor whirlwind of fur and fuzzy feet.]

Speaking as someone with Pokemon whose lineage I can trace back four generations, I suppose you could say it's something of a pet interest of mine.

[Good morning, Johto! How're you liking this lovely view of...well, what appears to be a hardwood floor, some table legs, and a partially ajar closet? Seems like Yagyuu's Gear must've fallen off an end table and turned on by mistake — or, more accurately, got knocked off an end table by a careless Jolteon as he jumped from the table onto the closet doorknob to try to swing it open and then stepped on by a Flareon by mistake. Not that it shows from the recording, of course.

What does show from the recording, on the other hand, is a very nice shot of that floor, those legs, and that closet, and perhaps that's all there is to —

Wait.

There goes an Eevee, rolling a blue egg along the floor with its nose, and after some vaguely haphazard maneuvering involving padded feet and a slippery floor, it and the egg disappear behind the open door of the closet.

Curious.

About twenty seconds later, along comes a Vaporeon, pushing a light brown egg along the floor with sweeping motions of its tail, turning and pivoting with careful precision as it rolls the egg behind the open door and into the closet.

Hmm.

Another few members of this little egg parade follow shortly thereafter — a Leafeon, a Flareon, a Glaceon — each rolling their egg along, and each depositing it in the closet. Finally, a Jolteon comes along with an egg of his own, and this time he's got company with him: a curious Zorua, who comes bounding over and chatters quietly at the spectacle. With a few yips and squeaks of his own, the Jolteon goes back about his business, and like his brothers, deposits his egg into the closet.

Seemingly perplexed, the Zorua appears to consider this, then bounds around the door and into the closet himself. A few moments later, a child that looks conspicuously like a very young, childish Yagyuu (albeit one with a delightfully furry black tail) comes toddling back out, rolling the light brown egg along with it — just as footsteps begin to sound against the hardwood, and a set of legs in Rikkai-yellow warm-ups and tennis shoes appears.]

...And just what are you up to?

[The miniature Yagyuu looks up, tail wagging almost guiltily; as Yagyuu bends down to retrieve the egg, he seems to notice that his Gear has fallen (and more importantly, that the light that signals it's recording is on), and quickly reaches over to shut it off.]


[OOC: And here we have an IC egg post! There are still eggs available at the OOC roundup over here, for anyone interested in snagging one! Also, please assume this post is forward-dated a few hours to Monday morning. ♥]

[This video opens, perhaps a bit oddly, with a shot of the library in the Tennis Haus — or what would be a shot of the library in the Tennis Haus, if it weren't for the fact that Yagyuu is currently blocking the view as he makes adjustments to the camera, shadows playing over the out-of-focus image as it shifts back and forth until he gets it the way he wants it. He's being rather meticulous about getting this just right, actually, and fusses over it awhile until it's the way he wants it — perhaps a bit odd in itself.

At last, though, he steps back, appraises his handiwork for a minute, and then leaves the room with a slight nod of apparent satisfaction. But he isn't gone for long; within a minute or so he's back, carrying a small box, and with his Vulpix at his heels.

He sits down on the carpet, holding the box in both hands, and then sets it aside as he withdraws a brush from his pocket and pulls the Vulpix into his lap, beginning to groom her with familiar ease.]

You'll be eight months old this month, Masako.

[He works slowly, methodically, bringing her fur to a healthy sheen with more care than Yagyuu is generally inclined to show toward anyone.]

I'd planned to leave this to Kirihara-kun, you know. It's part of the responsibility of being a good captain, knowing your players' capabilities. Their strengths, their weaknesses. When to nurture them and when to take a firm hand, to better push them toward their full potential, and when to demand more still. When to ask them to surpass their own limits.

[A gradual pause.]

He'll be a good captain, once he comes to the realization that he can't be our junior forever. But that's something he'll have to do for himself.

[He finishes up, then sets her back on her feet in front of him, and reaches over for the box. There's a Fire Stone inside, one he bought a few months back, that he's been holding in anticipation of this moment — and so now he brings it out, holding it loosely in his upturned palm.]

Now that he and Fuji-kun are gone, I suppose this is something you'll have to do for yourself, too. When you're ready. When it's what you want.

[He holds the stone out for her inspection, then sets it on the carpet between them, well within her reach.]

We all have to grow up sometime, don't we.

[And for a minute, silence hangs in the air between them as they look at each other, a boy and his Vulpix together in a sunlit library, and then at last the Vulpix moves — running right past the Fire Stone on the ground to jump back into his arms instead, nearly bowling him over in the process.

And the last thing that's visible before the video ends is a pair of clawed purple hands descending on the Gear, and a smudge of ghostly fuzz at the edges of the camera, and — oh, would you look at that, this private home movie just got uploaded to the Gear network, didn't it? Thanks, Hirochii. Thanks.]

[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.]

[No video for you today, Johto, but there is some shuffling of feet, rustling of papers, and otherwise standard white-noise sounds of occupancy heralding you as this post first begins. There's also a light pitter-patter of padded paws across the carpet and, if one listens very closely, the faint trill of a particularly smug, self-important Espeon. That doesn't last for long, though, because soon enough there's a soft thump, and shortly thereafter Yagyuu's voice comes in—]

Lady, this is the third time—

[Another pleased trill.]

What's gotten into you lately? You've been underfoot for days, you've chased Masako, you bit Hirochii, I know you've been harassing Sudoku when you think I'm not watching—what? What is it. What are you trying to—

[Footsteps. A pause. A pause that drags on into awkward, disbelieving eternity.]

...You really felt it necessary to make your point six times over?

[There is a pleased trill from the world's smuggest Espeon, and the audio fades out; later, a text appears on the network.]

~
At the risk of attributing far too much credit to these Pokemon of ours, has anyone happened to notice them occasionally displaying motives that appear to be almost unsettlingly human in nature?

[Oh, hey there, Johto. Hope none of you out there get motion sickness, because today's broadcast starts out a little...haphazard, courtesy of a pair of clawed purple hands unearthing the Pokegear from the depths of a backpack and shaking it around a little in the process of turning it on. But eventually the Gear comes to rest on the floor, propped against the aforementioned backpack, and so the only defect in the recording is that it's slightly off-kilter, tilted to one side as a result of how it's been abandoned.

The scene, as the furry purple blur recedes, is the library of the Tennis Haus; things are looking warm and cozy, illuminated by the yellow light of table lamps. Lying on the carpet near the foot of the couch is the world's saddest Persian, her eyes half-lidded and her tail curled sadly around her as she mopes there in a pile of tawny fur. Curled up next to her is a rather concerned Absol, one who gives her a light nudge with his nose every so often as he relaxes like a protective guardian at her side.

And there, on the couch, is Yagyuu—a notebook in his lap, a pencil behind his ear, and scattered piles of neatly-arranged papers all around. Upon further examination, it appears he's sorting them into some given order, and musing quietly to himself every so often as he does so.]

Contingent on length of time...not likely.

[He sets one slip of paper in one of the stacks, then regards another.]

Contingent on order of arrival...at least some evidence, but. Nn.

[And it goes into a different stack. He retrieves a third.]

Contingent on skill and aptitude of team...

[With his free hand, he absently reaches down to scratch behind the Persian's ears. She thumps her tail once, halfheartedly, in response.]

It'd tie in with the badges theory—incentive to raise strong teams, resulting in a wide and available supply of particularly adept Pokemon. But the bargain was for eight. Eight badges, eight gym leaders—yet there was a gym in Saffron City. To say nothing of the supposed Elite Four...

[As he muses, the owner of those purple hands appears again, creeping around the far edge of the couch, apparently undetected, with a shy and almost hopefully determined look on his face.]

How did you do it? What's the key? What are we missing?

[But alas, that question ultimately goes unanswered, as the Gengar in question chooses that precise moment to leap out from behind the couch, uttering a loud GEN! as it does so, and Yagyuu proceeds to jump a mile in response—sending his neatly-arranged stacks of paper flying everywhere with a rather undignified noise to match, and the last thing the video manages to capture is the Gengar looking both utterly surprised and entirely pleased with himself before the Absol comes bounding over to shut the camera off.]

[This afternoon, on a Very Special Broadcast™ courtesy of Yagyuu's PokeGear, the Gear network is treated to the sight of the Goldenrod Gym's interior, where Yagyuu and Whitney appear to somewhere in the midst of the preliminary discussion that traditionally precedes a gym challenge — except that, given the few small snippets of dialogue that manage to filter their way over to the microphone, this particular conversation isn't quite as traditional as most: ]

Oh, that jersey! Hey, you live here in Goldenrod, don't you?

Yes, that's right. My teammates and I have a house here.

Right, I remember seeing those jerseys around the city! [A giggle.] Some of your friends have come to challenge me before.

Ah, have they really? I hope you found them worthy opponents.

Well, one of them was! The one with the seaweed hair. [Another giggle.] He put up a much better fight than the one I beat a few months ago.

[And what follows that remark is a sharp, dangerous silence as the words sink in, the implications are spun out, and Yagyuu gradually puts two and two together—the figure of a few months, the team members he knows haven't challenged the gym, the ones remaining who it might've been—and finds that no, he really doesn't like the way they're adding up.

There's a oddly different tone in his voice when he speaks again, some underlying quality that's almost impossible to place—unless, of course, you happen to be familiar enough with Yagyuu to know what usually follows his words when they come in a tone like that.]

In that case, I hope you'll find me a worthwhile challenge. Shall we begin?

Okay, but I'm warning you—I'm good!


( And A Gym Battle Commences! )


[Some time later, in the aftermath, there is a constantly-shifting parade of fur, hooves, and feathers obscuring the camera of the Gear, but the soft patter of rain suggests that the scene has moved somewhere outdoors, and Yagyuu's voice is unmistakable.]

The two of you did well. An intentional defeat to achieve the most desirable circumstances for victory...it's an equally valuable contribution. I could hardly ask for more.

[There is a pause, and the familiar sound of a pair of Pokemon being recalled to their balls. And then, shortly thereafter, Yagyuu's supremely satisfied voice comes through again.]

So this is the Plain Badge.


[OOC: Mod-approved badge get! Pink text is, predictably, Whitney, and blue is Yukimura, used here with permission! o/]