[center][color=6ecff6][h3]Shane[/h3][/color]
Pokemon in Party
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[@Sketcher][@Alias][@Sudkurve]
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[color=6ecff6]"Shit shit shit crap shit.  I'm definitely going to be late."[/color]  Shane muttered to himself, glancing impatiently from the window of the cab he was riding in to the time displayed on the dashboard.  Pouring every ounce of psychic power he wished he possessed, he willed it to slow down just a few more minutes.  Unfortunately, the clock ticked ever onward, inexorably moving closer to noon.  Eventually, the cab came to a screeching halt before the building.  Paying the driver as hastily as he could, he caught one last glimpse of the clock before the cab pulled away.  

12:01.  He was late.

That was it, his life was probably ruined.  He missed the deadline and all the Pokemon would be gone and he would be left out in the street with nothing to show for his trouble.  But no, that was crazy, right?  It wasn't like some super strict iron-clad deadline, was it?  People were late to everything all the time.  He was just being neurotic.  His nerves were taking control of his imagination and running wild on their own crazy adventure.  Putting a hand to the door, he firmly pushed.

Locked.  

Everything was ruined forever, his dreams were crushed and he might as well wander off to the noble profession of the food service industry.  That was when he felt the iron hand of fate firmly clutch his shoulder.  "Scuse me young sir, but this building is strictly off limits to the general public."  The iron hand of fate on Shane's shoulder was accompanied by an authoritative voice.  Both hand (a perfectly normal hand come to think of it) and voice apparently belonged to someone dressed in a rather official looking outfit emblazoned with the words 'Maintenance Staff'.  The man continued before Shane could stammer out a quick apology.  "If you're here for the new Pokemon, you'll have to head on over there."  With that, he aimed a thumb towards another building that was part of the complex.  One that bore clear signs indicating what entrance new trainers were supposed use.  Of course.

Muttering something completely unintelligible, he hurried off to the proper entrance.  It was fortunately neither locked nor barred, which any reasonable person could have expected.  Marching straight up to the front reception counter, he started to stammer out a quick apology for his tardiness.  The receptionist said nothing, but gave him a small smile and an outstretched hand.  Shane fumbled through his wallet briefly before handing over his ID.  Over the course of roughly six hours she just stared at the card, still saying nothing, while Shane stood stock still and barely even let himself breathe.  Still holding her silence, she handed the card back.  On the brink of devastation at the cruel twist of events, Shane caught a glimpse at his ID card and realized exactly what the problem was.

Also maintaining the present silence, Shane shoved the Silph Co. gift card into his pocket and fished out his actual ID.  This time he triple checked to make sure he had the right card.  By this point, the receptionist had a rather bemused smirk on her face.  With that taken care of, he found himself being redirected to another room and wished luck on his journey.  A few muttered apologies and some thank-yous later and he found himself entering the waiting room, where the other three trainers had almost certainly been waiting on him for hours.  Dodging around the new trainer standing just inside the entryway he moved quietly off to find a chair and wait, avoiding eye contact by staring straight at the ground as he went and trying not to eavesdrop on their conversations.