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.

[For the first time in quite a while, the video that's posted to the network from Yagyuu's Gear isn't an accidental one; nope, on the contrary, it seems he's chronicling what appears to be an Impromptu Cuddling Day in the Tennis Haus. With the weather drizzling outside, the majority of his roster have taken to either the Haus or the backyard barn for shelter from the weather, and brief glimpses of a lot of them are visible as Yagyuu takes his tour of the house.

In one room, a Cubone and a Slowpoke are leaning on each other, dozing peacefully near a curled-up Absol and Persian; in another, two Zoruas and two Vulpixes have formed a furry foxpile in the middle of the floor, with a snoozing Mienshao occupying a goodly portion of the couch.

Cutting through the kitchen brings the video to a shot of the backyard, where it seems not all of Yagyuu's Pokemon have sought out shelter from the rain — on the contrary, the backyard is a hot mess of tentacles and noodle dragons, with an Octillery snuggling happily against a very contented Dragonair, a hovering Carnivine standing sentry over a carefully-tended garden, and a giant mass of pink, tan, and blue that is probably two Milotics wrapped around each other.]

I'm almost beginning to wonder if Karkat-kun doesn't have the right idea after all, breeding his Pokemon every so often simply for the sake of getting it out of their systems.

[He muses, keeping his voice down so as not to disturb any of the napping critters. The guy owns eleven Eevees, do you have any comprehension of how rare an occasion it is that everyone appears to be napping?]

That said, I'd prefer not to wind up with a crop of eggs without already having an adoptive home set out in advance, so I suppose this also constitutes an offer to anyone interested in a new egg — please feel free to contact me, and perhaps we can work out some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement. ...Ah, Lady, you're up. What —

[And on that fairly cryptic note, he switches the feed off and proceeds to follow his insistent Espeon upstairs, where he'll find a few select members of the Eevee Battalion have already gotten a head start on that plan. Whoops.]


[OOC: Gratuitous Pokemon post to help facilitate some of the shenanigans discussed on the Wishlist Meme! Also, if you want Yagyuu to breed something for you, this post is open and fair game; feel free to hit me up on the meme or any other form of contact if you've got a request! o/]

[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.]

[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.]

[Fortunately for everyone who might be watching this feed, Yagyuu took a minute or two to attempt to familiarize himself with his PokéGear prior to switching it on, so when it does finally turn on to reveal his face, it's from an appropriate distance and at a deliberate, steady angle. Given the wall that's currently forming his backdrop, it's fairly obvious he's in his new bedroom in New Bark, sitting on the edge of the bed as he broadcasts.]

Ah, hello. From what I can tell, this recording will be transferred directly to a network of sorts, correct? I apologize for my inexperience in the matter, but the workings of this...device are still somewhat new to me.

[He takes a moment to glance around his surroundings, then clears his throat, adjusts his glasses, and continues.]

As are a great number of things, at the moment. Consequently, if anyone would be willing to provide me with some information about my current circumstances, I would greatly appreciate the assistance. My name is Yagyuu Hiroshi, and I appear to be...rather lost, at present. That is, I'm quite certain that this bedroom does not belong to me, and I'd rather not impose on its legitimate owner any longer than absolutely necessary. [A pause.] Also, where, precisely, is that music coming from?

[His lips press slightly together as his gaze flickers off to the side, landing on something currently out of the camera's range. It is, as it turns out, a red and white Pokéball with his starter inside, but at the moment he's still a little apprehensive about touching it--or anything else in the room, for that matter.]

...Yes, it seems quite a few explanations are in order, if anyone would be willing to provide them. Thank you for your time, and I apologize again for any inconvenience.