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. ♥]

[So here's an idyllic scene for you: Yagyuu, back in Goldenrod City (wait a minute, how did he get to Goldenrod, he was just in Cerulean a minute ago—) and hanging out in the grass near the Tennis Haus, which has miraculously recovered from the wear and tear it took from the influx of garbage for this temporary weekend and looks as spiffy and well-kempt as ever. The paint job is clean, the grass is trimmed, the tennis court is spotless, and Yukimura's garden is flourishing — and currently inhabited by one rather large levitating man-eating plant, scaring off humans and animals alike who might try to trespass into the domain it's guarding.

And then there's Yagyuu himself, surrounded by a veritable swarm of seven Eevees, one Espeon, one Umbreon, and one Flareon, all of whom are happy and rambunctious and look like they may very well pick him up and carry him off if he should happen to let his guard down.

(Somewhere in the background, a Slowpoke duct-taped to a skateboard with model rocket engines attached to it goes hurtling by, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like eeeeeeeeeeeed.)

Needless to say, Yagyuu is a little perplexed.]

...Ah. How did I—

[But then he looks down again, and double-takes, because those seven Eevees have all just evolved in the blink of an eye, and he is now sporting two Flareons, a Vaporeon, a Jolteon, a Leafeon, a Glaceon, two Espeons, an Umbreon, and one very dopey Eevee who seems to have failed at evolving in general.

He's almost afraid to look away from them again, for fear that more of them might crop up.]

...It's going to be one of those days again, isn't it.


[OOC: COME HIT HIM UP! Anytime, anywhere, he's in Goldenrod by the Haus but he can easily move wherever you'd like him! COME TO ME, FOURTH-WALLERS, I WANT YOU IN THIS POST. ♥]

[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.]