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About Literature / Student Ian. My nickname is Enigma.22/Male/United States Recent Activity
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Lots of stories to read, ^_^ Take your pick, and have fun!



:iconpmdabsolution: :icondarksoulsvore: :iconliteraturejunkies: :iconliteratureforall:



  • Listening to: Youtube videos
  • Reading: The Martian
  • Watching: Music on YouTube
  • Playing: Nothing, for now
  • Eating: Chicken
  • Drinking: Snapple
Shuyin Infinitus by InsanityStories

This was made by InsanityStories, and it's really neat!  ^^  Go check her stuff out, it's pretty neat.
  • Listening to: Youtube videos
  • Reading: The Martian
  • Watching: Music on YouTube
  • Playing: Nothing, for now
  • Eating: Chicken
  • Drinking: Snapple
Hey, everyone.  That collab I have going with my good friend writercoda is still going, but, lately I've had emotional issues and life stuff happen that've kept a drain on me.  There's a lot of things I'd like to post, but haven't gotten around to finishing and/or doing so.

I'm going to be re-booting my Z/Axel stuff in the future, in a wholly different setting.  Also, my original universe and characters are going to make a comeback, in one form or another.  I'm not satisfied with any of it, because I was incredibly foolish when I first started; I hope to make those characters return one day.

And also, I'm gonna take art classes next semester, so I can finally learn how to draw better and bring my ideas to life, ^^  Maybe now I can feel more like an artist.

Hopefully, maybe, I can stop being so inactive all the damned time, and just post stuff here.
Thomas and Wick, far behind the group, feel that they have no chance of competing- and then see several of the boats idly sailing ‘round the way, still trying to figure out the clues. They discover that they were given different clues from the other contestants, as a third party which is totally not Jockey interfered with all the clues. They proceed to haul ass across the harbour, heading to the second clue. Again, Wick leaves Thomas at the boat (where he monologues for a while, as usual) and goes to get the clue. The scene then switches to Tashi, who meets with an old acquaintance of sorts, and after a prolonged chase after Jockey, he meets with Malcolm and the two (don’t really) hit it off. He meets up with Wick and delivers the clue. At this point, the commentator stops them, giving a few oddly cryptic details and telling them that Tashi isn’t allowed to participate further, as he kind of didn’t sail the dang boat.

During the last hour, Thomas accidentally antagonized another contestant, Tinedore the Mr. Mime of Team Love-Spell. At the end of their interaction, the puppet-like creature vowed to sink their boat on sight.

As they caught up with the last few years, Thomas realized that he’d built Wick up a bit in his mind, and ultimately decided to treat him like any other person.

Finally, the pair managed to complete the race, finishing after a few contestants, but not that it really mattered- after all, the prize was only a piece of paper.
PMDA M1 Carts: Fool's Gold, Part 2 Placeholder
So, essentially, we tried to get this shit done on time.  Jobs and university assignments, though, had other plans.  :<

:iconspacetiredplz:  Here's our placeholder (written by writercoda) to hopefully mollify the requirements, at least for now.  Between my lack of sleep and life in general, this one took longer than we thought.

:iconpmdabsolution: belongs to UltimateSassMaster and its respective admins.  All rights reserved.

Thomas and Malcolm belong to writercoda

Wick, Tashi, and the Gallade belong to me.

Jockey belongs to Wonder-Waffle

"It's called Absolutes Anonymous, can you believe that?"

The Zigzagoon holds the morning paper up to his naturally-forlorn face, disgust rapidly spreading across it. He leafs through a few pages, then tosses it onto the table. "A group that makes you wear its membership like a badge doesn't deserve to be called anonymous. Designer lapels, pockets and things- might as well be printing a target on you."

I reach across the table, taking the paper and looking it over. There's an illustration of a cerulean jackal between the columns, clad in a snug white vest. A band of grayish cloth is wrapped around his right forearm, sporting an insignia of intersecting "A"'s.

"Hey, this logo..." I look up at the raccoon, blinking. "It's kind of like your seal, isn't it? The intersecting "MW" one. Is that why-"

"I'm not a kid any more, Thomas," the Zigzagoon grumbles, "but no, I wouldn't like to be associated with them regardless. They've got too much magical thinking for me." He leans back in his seat, glancing out the window.

"What'd you mean by that?" I ask, unfurling the corners of the paper.

"Well, the claims they're making just don't feel right. They say that they can cure full absolutes by having them attend their support group, and that they have a full eighty percent success rate. Eighty percent! You know where you find figures like that?"

I mumble a quick "no" as I skim over the article, an interview with the Lucario. A branch leader named Cameron-Saint Claire, the jackal had grown up wealthy, far from feral absolutes. In order to fulfill the standards of his ancestry, he'd gone out into the world to try and make a difference. Where had I heard that name before?

"It's where you take a group of five people," Malcolm snaps, bringing me to attention. "Four out of those five results are successful. You see what I'm saying? You'd never get figures like that with a real survey."

"Man, aren't you being too cynical?" I ask, giving a shrug. "Sure, they might fudge their figures, but they're trying to do good. They're providing for the absolutes, just like the Samaritans are."

"I just don't like it. The whole tone of the article is off." Malcolm crinkles his nose, glaring out the window. "They're the kind of people who think that if you say something enough, it'll start to be true."

I reread a few sentences, glancing back up at the Zigzagoon. "Man, shouldn't you read what they preach first? I mean, I can't find it in
here, but-"

"That's another problem," the raccoon replies, his voice going flat. "It's written like a product advertisement, and doesn't say their methods or philosophy anywhere. I'm not trying to be a hardass, but it bothers me, all right?" He lets out a huff. "That, and the column feels even more pretentiously written than usual."

"Man, I think we're doing this wrong." I stand up, shaking myself off a bit. "I'm supposed to be the one that over-analyzes things, and you make the deadpan comments. You doing all right? You've been in a lousy mood since we left the registrar's."

"I'm fine, really." Malcolm averts his eyes, beginning to fixate on a spot outside the window. "I'm just... it's a lot to take in. I'm not used to all this socializing, not being able to take things at my own pace. I have to remind myself three times a day that I don't have to wake Scrapyard up."

It hasn’t been that long since we arrived in Aster, and Malcolm hasn't taken it very well. I don't think he's exaggerating about the transition from routine, and he’s still pretty restless and irritated. Hell, this morning's the first time I've seen him without a burin clutched between his paws, and I've only been awake for an hour. He still hasn't apologized for practically attacking the registrar, but I'll deal with it later.

"You know, the Cartographers are having an event at one 'o clock today," he states, glancing back at me. "I overheard it last night."

"Oh?" I ask, crossing my arms, "What kind of stuff?"

"Some surveying, map-making, and a boat race, far as I know," he replies, giving a small smile. "Not the most glamorous, but if you want to turn your life around, you've got to start somewhere."

I know this is his way of apologizing for attacking me when we registered, but I wish he'd actually apologize. "Oh, seriously?" I ask, giving a half-forced grin. "Awesome, I'll check it out after lunch. You coming?" Eh, a little passive-aggressive, but I've earned that right.

"I might, actually," he replies, blinking. "I don't think I'll do any boat racing, but I've got to get out of this inn sooner or later. I'll watch you go through it, then head to the marketplace or something." He stands up, sliding his chair in towards the table. "Can you save me that newspaper? I'm going to read it over later, see if there's anything I missed."

"Yeah, no problem." I give him a real smile, handing over the paper and swishing my tail to the side. "What're we gonna do in the meantime? Got anything planned?"

Malcolm opens his mouth, then freezes, his ears pricking and fur bristling up. "Wait! Did you hear that?"

"No idea what you're talking about." I walk across and close the window, glancing back to the Zigzagoon. "What'd it sound like?"

"Moment," the raccoon declares, then shuts his eyes, his bushy ears flicking outwards. He opens his eyes, then ducks to the ground, peering back and forth across the room. As I stand there, bemused, he inches across the floor, making his way to his twin bed. He tentatively extends a paw, then pulls the bottom sheet up and looks underneath.

"Oh my God," he exclaims, clapping his free paw to his forehead. "How did you even- get out from there!"

I hear a skittering and the clacking of metal, and a small, silver ant clambers out, tapping its mandibles together. It raises its front legs and climbs over the Zigzagoon's face, up and onto his shoulder. I can see a rounded symbol carved into the top of its abdomen, which looks a bit like "Ԑ".

"Cripes, Malcolm,” I groan, “Why'd you take one of them with you?!" I watch the little Durant climb across his shoulders, wiggling its feelers. "I can't believe I didn't see it on the trip here. Which one is it?"

"This," he states, flushing up a bit with a grin, "is Epsilon, and no, I didn't take her with me. She's part of the original group, one of the youngest of them... still nowhere near full-grown yet. She's really taken a liking to me- I mean, they all do, but I didn't expect her to follow me all the way here!" He reaches across his shoulder, stroking the little bug's forehead and tickling its feelers with his claws.

"What the hell did she eat? You were on the caravan for two days." I make my way across the room, grabbing my canvas-bags and pulling them open. "Don't think I brought anything metal..." I open Malcolm's bags as well, my eyes falling on a heavily chewed on sheet of copper. "Oh, cripes. I should've guessed."

"Whatever," the Zigzagoon sighs, averting his eyes as I take the sheet out. "It's not too expensive. I just brought it so I wouldn't get bored."

"Most people bring a book or something," I chuckle, tossing the chunk of copper over my shoulder. "Can't find anything else missing, all your tools are here. I'm gonna check out the city for a bit, then pick you up at one- that good?"

"Yeah, it should be fine," Malcolm replies, face reddening a bit harder as he continues to pet the Durant. "I'll see you in a bit!"

I grab my grocery bag and head out the door, shooting a glance back at the distracted Zigzagoon as I pass through it. I'm glad this happened- it's a lot easier to deal with a Malcolm that isn't perpetually disgruntled. Sure, he's getting used to dealing with me in person, but there's only so much slack I can cut him.

Malcolm was the second to leave home, and it took a few commendations before he was able to leave. Our parents aren't terrible people, but they don't have much of an appreciation for the arts. They define how worthwhile your work is by how successful you are in it, and it took Malcolm a while to get that success. He is very talented, and some of his older work was straight-up beautiful- but our parents wouldn't look at it twice if it didn't make money.

He'd been told that engraving was a dying trade, something only used by the hyper-wealthy to embellish their jewelry. When he heard of the Scrapyard Scrapyard; a forge where the workers were allowed to pursue their own skills, he traveled there and practically begged the owner for a job. I've never seen the piece, but he made the owner something amazing, and got the job on the spot. After a huge argument with my parents, he moved to the forge within a week.

After that, he started sending me letters, once or twice a month. He'd tell me about the owner's boxing routines, how he'd adopted a whole colony of Durant, how the owner would take him from city to city by caravan to sell their wares. It depressed me a little, because I never had much to tell him in return.

I visited him a few times, and he visited home once, but this the first time we've really spent time together since he left. I know he wants to get back to the forge, but honestly, I wouldn't mind spending some time with him.

There's a heaviness to the air today, a bit of extra pressure coming down from the sky. It's the most annoying kind of weather, where you're sure it's not going to storm, but you feel like it just might rain later on. If you bring an umbrella, the skies will clear, taunting you for your admission of anxiety. Don't bring one and it'll pour down soon as you turn your back- they're impossible, clouds.

A droplet of rain trickles off the awning and splashes onto my nose, beginning to run down my snout. I'm certain it'll downpour if I stand here monologuing.

I track over wet ginkgo leaves as I walk away from the inn, glancing out at the village. The streets are sparse and quiet, and the crowds are gone from the marketplace. I can still see a few people moving from shop to shop, and catch a glimpse of the registrar at rest on his roof. Still, the excitement, the intensity, and even a bit of intrigue have drained from the village. I wonder if this is what it's like, normally?

I scratch the back of my head, ruffling the fur between my claws. Aster isn't going to be some paragon of entertainment- stupid of me to think that it would be. If there were interesting things, I'd have to search for them. With a city this crowded, I'd have to snatch them up before others could get them!

Still, I admit that I'm a little depressed, or at least disappointed.

I make my way to the rows of shops, stopping in front of the first one that catches my eye- a small, cloth-covered stand. I pull back the curtain and step inside, seeing a few cheap, wooden tables covered with silky weaving. Geodes, jewels, and pieces of ancient-looking pottery have been scattered across the tables, in no particular order. They look like they've been thrown on, with gem touching gem and a dangerously sharp-looking quartz crystal pressed against an ancient medallion. A chubby Makuhita sits behind the tables, leafing through his newspaper.

"We have very clear posting rules," he states, with an accent I can't place. "You break, you buy. You scuff, you buy. You do not loiter, window-shop, you buy. You scratch, you bu-"

"Yeah, I get that," I reply, beginning to look over the wares. I can't find anything that's particularly beautiful- the condition of the pottery is too bad, and even if the gems are real, they look like costume jewelry.

I've been avoiding it, but that quartz is really starting to bother me. I've heard enough from Malcolm to know how soft gold is- there's a good chance the medallion would dent if you so much as jostled the table. "Um, excuse me?" I ask, looking up at the fighting-type. "Would you mind moving this crystal, here? You might damage the gold." He either doesn't register it or pretends not to notice, turning the page of his newspaper.

I look over the table for another moment, then reach across and gently lift the quartz up, placing it down a little ways away from the medallion.

"A-ah-ah!" the Mahukita snaps, slamming his palm down on the table, his newspaper along with it. "You damage, you buy! You touch before paying, you-"

"Cut the crap, man. You don't have to be such a dick about it."

I reel around, my eyes falling on a tall, slim Combusken, who pulls the curtain away with a talon as he steps through. He's fairly muscular, with a few small scars on his left leg and the left side of his chest. His feathers are overall poofed-up, especially those over his forehead, which form a rudimentary mohawk.

"You don't damage a crystal just by touching it. You kidding me?" He glares at the fighting-type, crossing his arms. "Now, gold, on the other hand, is pretty damn malleable. That's why it's used for jewelry in the first place, besides the looks. You put that by anything sharp, and you'll have yourself a nice ol' dent." He glances down at the table, his brow furrowing even further. "Wow, even better. Look at this!" He grabs a shard of pottery and holds it up before the Makuhita, seething through his beak. "The detail and the lettering are both illegible, and it's flaking on all the edges. This doesn't have any anthropological value, or linguistic, and it sure as hell ain't
pretty, either. What right do you have to call shit like this an antique?"

The Makuhita sits there frozen, slowly opening his mouth, but the fire-type doesn't let him respond. "Then, you have the absolute gall, to attack a customer for tryin' to keep your stuff in good condition! You're lucky I don't report you for fraud."

I slowly let out a breath, and the Combusken whacks me on the back. "How 'bout I show you some real artifacts, eh? C'mon." He leads me out of the tent, again before I or the Makuhita can react, muttering "asshole" under his breath.

"Cripes, thank you!" I exclaim, once we're outside. "That's really kind of you. Are you an archaeologist, or something?" I shake my head, flushing up a bit. What's strange is, I can't shake the feeling that I've heard his voice before- though it's a lot lower and huskier. I'm probably thinking of someone else-

shit," I gape, the corners of my mouth curling into a huge grin. "You're Wick, aren't you?"

The Combusken turns to me, eyes widening and mouth dropping open, stereotypical as it is. He claps his talons to his forehead, letting out a small chirp. "Fuckin'- Thomas?! My God- shit, like, you were turned around so I didn't see your face, I got really into it- god

He reaches around and pulls me into a hug, grinning as widely as you can with a beak. "God, it's great to see you!" he exclaims, shaking his head as he lets go. "What're you doing in Aster?"

"I came to join the Cartographers," I reply, scratching the side of my head, beaming and flushing up a bit. "I didn't recognize you! I mean, like, obvious, I know- just, you look amazing, that's all." I give a light chuckle, fluffing my fur up. "I wish I could've written to you! It really sucked getting those letters, and not being able to reply. I was kind of worried about you, to be honest."

"Yeah, damn, I'm really sorry." He blows out through his beak, shifting in his step. "God, what's it been, four years? I'm sorry. I just got caught up in my own crap, thought it'd been too long to talk after an expedition... thought you'd have forgotten about me." He squeezes his eyes shut, feathers bristling a little. "Dammit, I really was an ass."

"I said I was worried about you, not freakin' devastated," I snicker, patting the Combusken on the shoulder. "That being said, thanks for apologizing, t'be honest, it means a lot. I'm really just glad you're doing all right!"

you, seriously." He gives a warm smile, then freezes, eyes widening. "Wait a sec, you said Cartographers? Seriously?!"

"Yeah, that's right." I swish my tail to the side, face reddening even harder. "I really liked the concept of 'em, wanted to change my life around, so here I am."

"That's just crazy," he exclaims, grinning. "Well, you're gonna be seeing a lot of me, then. I'm already in 'em!" He registers his comment, his face falling a bit. "I mean, if you want to..."

"I just said I'm not mad at you," I chuckle, "Don't worry about it. Just don't do it again, eh? Come on." I step over and give the fire-type a hug, the tip of my tail flicking out behind me.

I said that I didn't have many true friends growing up, and that was true. Pretty much everyone I found that was worthwhile either changed, or moved away. In Wick's case, it was the latter. He was a lot shorter back then, nowhere near as well-built- guess that's why I didn't recognize him now. He was passing through Monte de Basto, and came into my shop to get some supplies. We hit it off almost immediately- I mean, he was my antithesis! He was adventurous and full of energy, and traveled all over Caelum treasure hunting. This was the kind of guy that'd dive headfirst into unexplored territory (albeit without much of a sense of self-preservation), and come back with something amazing. Although I didn't have his charisma or intensity, I guess I wanted to be like him- hell, that's probably one of the reasons I joined the Cartographers.

"Well, that's some crazy timing, I'll tell ya," the Combusken states, scratching his head with a talon. Now that I think of it, his talons have hugely elongated since I’ve last seen him, becoming more concentric, like ones you'd find on a Sandslash.

"I joined the guild earlier this month," he continues, "pretty predictable, eh? I mean, it's all about charting and going through new territory, and getting paid for it! I'm gonna have to introduce you to my partner, too- whoops, I mean the other member of my team."

"Yeah, same! I started a team with my brother, actually. I'm going to meet him at one, if you'd like to come."

Wick thinks for a moment, then cocks his head, his brow furrowing. "That asshole? You'd better tell me he's changed in four years."

"Malcolm? He's not that bad," I reply, taking another moment to look over the fire-type. He's changed so much, he’s barely recognizable- if it wasn't for his voice, I never would've realized. Of course, I stand out like a Cubchoo with a sinus infection, so he'd have found me.

"Malcolm? I don't remember a Malcolm." He taps his talons together, looking back at me. "It was like, an actor, a really pretentious one. Guy goes around complaining how his talent's squandered, how he doesn't have his own entourage. Er, am I thinking of someone else?"

"Ah, no. That's David. I guess you didn't meet Malcolm when you came to my place." I nibble on my bottom lip, glancing down at my feet. "He's not so bad either, I guess- that, and he's taken over my job."

"Seriously?" Wick's face softens a bit. "Well, glad to hear. I'll have to meet Malcolm, then." I realize my change in posture, and quickly shake my head, meeting the Combusken's gaze. He acts like nothing's happened, but I can see his tail-feathers fluff up a little.

"Are you taking the guild's intro mission?" he asks, after a moment of silence. "It's gonna start in a couple hours. They've got a boat race to get some treasure over in the Skyset Woods, and some mapmakin' if that's not your speed. I'll try and do both- so, uh, if your brother's not coming, want to come with us?"

"I'd love that!" I exclaim, grinning. "I don't know much about sailing, so I was hoping to go with someone."

"All right," the Combusken nods, "I'll get my partner and do the other task, the bird's eye view map. He's a flying-type, so we can get it done pretty fast. Then, I'll come and meet you by the docks, that okay? At that Zoroark thing, the Titenic."

"Yeah, I know the one." I've never made a map before, so I don't mind skipping it. I wonder why they're having us make our own maps, instead of teaching us how to make them? I guess I can put Malcolm on it, if he agrees.

"Got it," the fire-type replies, grinning. "See you in an hour, then we've got some serious catchin' up to do!" He gives me a pat on the shoulder, then breaks into a run, sprinting down the street and turning the corner.

Once I've composed myself, I start to head back towards the inn. I can't help being so excited- I mean, what're the odds? I haven't seen the guy in years, and countless people pass through the village every day. I guess he could've been lying, and saw my name on the Cartographer roster- no, that couldn't have been it. He was too excited to hear I'd joined.

It's not like we were inseparable friends, hell, I only knew him for about a month. When he was in my village, he'd stop at my shop almost every day, showing me artifacts and telling me all of his exploits. The best thing you can do for a person is be genuinely interested in them, and I had that for Wick in spades. I think it must've helped him as much as it did me; it's gotta be maddening to travel the world, doing amazing things, without having anyone to talk to about it.

A week before he left town, he took me on an expedition to the north- a day-trip by caravan, up against a plateau of limestone cliffs. I dug a concentric, ornate fossil out of the cliff-side, dusted it off and polished it. I got so excited when I did it, thought it was something incredible- a new anthropological discovery, something to tell us the roots of our ancestry.

I went back home, and my family told me what an Omanyte was. They called Wick a grave-robber, and promptly chased him out.

I didn't blame him when the letters stopped coming. He must've associated me with my family, or just gotten distracted. He had amazing things to see and do, so why bother with some kid and his dysfunctional family? No, I didn't blame him for it…


Meanwhile, that same Cartographer, Wick, walked past several wooden houses with a closed box tucked under his arm, and a small smile on his face.  His feet briefly meshed with the hard dusty ground, his pace brisk as he noticed a familiar sight nearby: his home. The smile on Wick’s face enlarged.

“Hey you! You, with the stupid mohawk!  I wanna talk to you!”

A furious Makuhita marched through the street, wearing a pewter necklace with gold paint flaking off of it.  He wore pewter rings on his ring fingers, also covered in flaking gold paint.

Wick grumbled a few epithets under his breath,  slowly turned toward the Fighting-Type, and glared at him.  “You again?”  The Combusken’s eyes caught the Makuhita’s fists balled-up, and balled up his free hand. “You’ve got some nerve to sell fake pottery, much less </i>fake gold trinkets.</i>”

“Fake?!  Is not fake!”  The furious yellow ball felt his face burn with embarrassment.  “How dare you!  Is passed down from generations of my family!  I sell it to stay afloat!”

Somehow, Wick remained unimpressed; he raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Uh-huh.  Any treasure hunter worth ‘is salt knows, g-gold doesn’t flake offa’ anythin’.”  He pointed at the ‘jewelry’ the Makuhita wore, and chuckled mockingly.  “Face it, you’re a fraud.  A miserable cheat.  So much for your heirlooms.”

With this last insult, the Makuhita let out a loud cry, and jumped at the Combusken with his left fist primed.  Wick, smirking, dodged the rotund fighter’s Power-Up Punch easily.  He quickly snapped his left leg up and brutally slammed his foot against the Makuhita’s head.  However, this did little to the pudgy fighter, who flew back a couple feet before regaining himself.

The Makuhita rolled his shoulders, then charged forward once again, coming to blows with the Combusken in a furious exchange of claws and hardened fists.  Though Wick easily countered many of the rotund fighter’s punches, he suffered a few Bullet Punches to the stomach and face, even a few Feints.  Though not as agile as the cockerel, the Makuhita put up a valiant effort.

The box, which Wick had clutched in his arm, had long since fallen to the ground, now ruined thanks to their footsteps.  The cockerel took notice, and stared right through his opponent.

Panting, the Makuhita admitted, “You not an amateur.  Where you learn to fight like that?  My training is from skilled fighter back east.  I can’t even keep up with you!”

“You ruined my gift, you little shit,” Wick replied, wiping his beak.  “I paid good money for that.”  He cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, as each sickening sound put the pudgy figher on-edge.

“Since you wanna know how well I can fight...”  He charged the Makuhita head-on again with a cry of, “I’ll give you a first-hand lesson!!”

Then, someone in the crowd let loose a surprised gasp and shouted, “What is that??”  Both fighting-types jerked their heads toward the commotion.

Several fire, water, and steel-types watched in fascination as Tashi descended with stunning grace.  His glare was enough to make one cower; his beak crackled with electricity.  He towered over the beleaguered Makuhita as he glowered at him.

“Okay, who the hell are you?” the Sigilyph asked.  “And why are you harassing my friend?”

“Your friend,” the beleaguered Makuhita spat, pointing and frowning at Wick, “is rude and inconsiderate!  He has the nerve to mess up my valuables, then scuff them up!"  He raised his hands for Tashi to see.  "You scuff, you buy!  You scratch, you buy!  That’s the rules!”

Wick clapped a hand to his face and groaned.

“That’s funny.”  Tashi’s tone turned sour.  His eye exuded a coldness that even the fiercest blizzards could not match.  “You’re the one who’s making a mess of things.”

Seeing the increase in numbers made the Makuhita slide his foot backward, his stance changing.  Perhaps he should've become a clothing salesman, he thought, as his fearful eyes witnessed the bird’s beak ripple with electric energy.

“Y-you don’t scare me,” the rotund fighter stammered.

“That a fact?”

The air was silent, the townsfolk stock still, waiting for the brawl to escalate.  No one dared to speak, afraid to incur the avian’s wrath.  The Makuhita took two tentative steps back; Tashi kept him from widening the gap.

Finally, after a lengthy staredown, the Makuhita fled, yelling epithets at the mosaic bird. Said avian remained stoic, shaking his head.

On the sidelines, Wick, with a hint of concern on his face, shot a glance back at the ruined box and half-lidded his eyes.  He knelt down to retrieve it from the dusty terrain, and stared for a few moments.  He lifted the box open, gazing at the contents before crumpling the cardboard.

“I could’ve handled him myself,” Wick complained as he turned back to his partner.  “He was just a nuisance.”

Shaking his head, the Sigilyph said, “Why do you always have to pick fights like this?  Just like you and that turtle.."

"Hey, we did not pick a fight!  We just had a, uh, mutual disagreement."

“Whatever."  Tashi rolled his eye.  "I owe you a debt and I'm going to repay it.  Can't let you die.”

Wick shook his head in return, then, started rummaging in his knapsack and retrieved a wrinkled map from the depths.  “You take this way too seriously.  Have you found where the clues are?”

The two trained their eyes on the crude drawing.  Wick had to admit, he’d seen road maps drawn by drunk Aipom that were less awful than this.  He’d seen a drunk Aipom do better than this.

“There’s one clue near the Registrar’s,” Tashi said, tapping certain points on the map with one of his clawed hands.  “One’s near the graveyard.”  The Sigilyph grinned.  “We’ll have these found in no time.”

“Agreed.”  Wick then made directional gestures, though it looked more like he was trying to swat bugs away.  “Alright, you take the graveyard, I’ll take the Registrar’s.  Once we find them, let’s meet at the forest entrance.  We’ll have another welcome addition to our group in no time.”  As the two split off to scour the village for clues, Tashi stopped.  He circled back, and shouted.

“Where were you earlier?  I didn’t see you this morning; thought you’d gone scavenging for relics near the Lake again.”

The Combusken stopped.  Slowly, a huge grin crept onto his face, and he turned to face his partner.  “Just catchin’ up with Thomas.  He’s a, uh, old friend of mine, came from a long ways away.”  Wick chuckled.  “To tell you the truth, he’s grown since the last time I saw him.  I remember when we were visiting that, uh, temple back then, he was so nervous!  I’ll tell you about him later, okay?”

Before Tashi could say anything else, Wick sailed off toward the Registrar's office.  The mosaic avian's eye narrowed.  His face presented a fervent anger, a far cry from the smiles around him.


Deep in the lush forest, a Swanna loosed a cry.  Several more fliers lifted themselves from the woods into the sunlight’s embrace.  A navy-blue-and-white Gallade exited the woods with determination painted on his face, gazing at the tiny village below.

PMDA M1 Carts: Fool's Gold, Part 1
A collab with the beautemous writercoda~~~~~

Bleh, not wholly satisfied with my end of it, but, whatever.  Seriously, though, this part was a lot of fun to work on, and I'm pretty excited to keep going (school and work permitting, of course XD; )  I hope you guys enjoy this!

Also, a foreword from my collab partner:

Hey, it’s Coda here! We’ve had this story in the works for quite some time, and have a heck of a lot more to write out. If you applied for cameo in the post I made a while back, there’s a good chance you’ll be cameoed later in this story. If you find any errors, please discreetly send me a PM, and hope you enjoy!

Birds of a Feather belongs to me, ShuyinTheEnigmatic

Team NAME belongs to writercoda

The Fat Makuhita belongs to....both of us I guess--  :iconspacetiredplz:

PMDAbsolution belongs to UltimateSassMaster and all its admins.

Pokemon is copyrighted by Nintendo and Game Freak.  All their adorable creations belong to their respective owners.  All rights reserved.
  • Listening to: Youtube videos
  • Reading: The Martian
  • Watching: Music on YouTube
  • Playing: Nothing, for now
  • Eating: Chicken
  • Drinking: Snapple
Shuyin Infinitus by InsanityStories

This was made by InsanityStories, and it's really neat!  ^^  Go check her stuff out, it's pretty neat.

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Add a Comment:
SilverishStar Featured By Owner Dec 6, 2015  Student General Artist
Hey hey, just letting you know that I've moved accounts! My new account is :icondesamni: !
ShuyinTheEnigmatic Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2015  Student Writer
Many thanks!  Just watched it ^^
Pureadimelograno Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2015  Student Digital Artist
Really thank you for the :+fav:! Watch me if you feel like :la:
ShuyinTheEnigmatic Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2015  Student Writer
You're welcome ^w^
SilverWolfJudge Featured By Owner Jul 31, 2015
ShuyinTheEnigmatic Featured By Owner Aug 1, 2015  Student Writer
Oh, hi!  Nice to see you, ^^
SilverWolfJudge Featured By Owner Aug 1, 2015
Well, what chu doing today?
I'm bored.
ShuyinTheEnigmatic Featured By Owner Aug 3, 2015  Student Writer
Just writing, ^^  Sorry to hear you're bored D:
(1 Reply)
Meta-Kaz Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
hi Shuyin how are you?
ShuyinTheEnigmatic Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2015  Student Writer
^^  Hi!  I'm doing good, and you?
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