Avatar of ProPro
  • Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
  • Joined: 10 yrs ago
  • Posts: 2231 (0.59 / day)
  • VMs: 0
  • Username history
    1. ProPro 10 yrs ago
  • Latest 10 profile visitors:

Status

Recent Statuses

7 yrs ago
Current Starting new YouTube show, Hell Yeah Gaming! Lots of work to do still, but getting me to 100 subs for a custom URL would be of tremendous help! youtube.com/user/DarthGlamd…
2 likes

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

Marque de Bourdeaux




They had appeared. Growling, hungry wolfborn, monsters constructed from the nightmares of the human mind. Certainly no natural wolf could be so large or voracious, and no natural creature combust like paper to the flame. Yet despite these beings of nightmare so close by, so threatening, Marque could only concern himself in the matter... Of Dreams. The warmth, the passion, the key radiated such light that could only come from a burning human soul. It spoke to Marque, but not with words. It spoke in a more natural way, a primal way. The young man, he was connected. Connected with the dreams of his master.

Gardevoir, heed my thoughts! Heed my feelings! Our lives stand upon the precipice of death! Aid is what we require, in whatever can be mustered! Please, your student beseeches you, aid us where death has overtaken so many before! Marque poured his heart and soul into the key, he bared his emotions, his fears, his desires, his longings. Without help, they would certainly perish. He came into these woods searching out Gardevoir, longing to meet up with his master more than anything! Now that desire only intensified at the doorstep of death...

@BCTheEntity

The man grunted and groaned as Dirk tried to take the tiger print coat. "Uuugh... Don't even... Think about... It." He gripped the coat with surprising strength for someone clearly in danger of bleeding to death and battered from head to toe. There was no doubt he held strong conviction... At least toward his coat.

Smith suddenly appeared in the room as though he had always been present. "What seems to be the hubbub?" he asked rather nonchalantly, before noticing the man injured on the ground. "Oooooh. Eeeeh. Ouch."

That's when the man's eyes suddenly shot open, completely red with bloodshot veins, pupils dilated as far as they could expand. "So they missed a couple of ya," he grunted, slowly rising up into a sitting position. Each movement was made with great effort and through gritted teeth as he fought back against the pain. "Hey. How'd ya like ta... Help take out Bullet Bill?"

The injured man tore off a piece of his button-up shirt using his teeth, then wrapped it tight around his shredded leg, knotting it with considerable skill. The bleeding seemed to stop. "Help me get command of my men back, and we'll let you go without any more of these stupid ridiculous challenges. Whaddya say?"

The man paid no attention to Smith, asking Dirk directly. Well, he hadn't yet seen Smith, despite the man standing right next to Dirk. Ninjas, man.
Satisfied with the woman's confused but agreeable reaction, Leonard shrugged off the gathering of rabble rousers. It had been a fun distraction, but a distraction all the same. That's when he felt his phone vibrate. Squeezing out of the crowd, Leonard plucked the device from his pocket and read the text sent from an unfamiliar number, signed by Blue. A quick smile flashed across his face as he quickly sent a reply back to the group text.

Noted. Will rendezvous immediately to provide backup. Mieke, meet back where we parked.


Soon as the text was sent, he began to jog back through the garden pathways toward the entrance. No sense in taking his time if he wasn't being paid by the hour.
Alright everyone, good hustle! So this GM update I just put out today will be the last one before the next timeskip. Everyone feel free to respond/react as you like, then we'll go on short hiatus while I get things ready for the next story segment. That means I'll be getting the news media updates, writing up the next interlude chapter you guys voted on, and everything else that needs to be prepared for our next jaunt into Denver's cape community. It'll be a big one, guys. That said, just like the last timeskips, feel free to make your own interactions and collabs acting as your own interludes bridging the gap between now and the next timeframe. The game just wouldn't be the same without them.
The Cereal Killer


As soon as the gentleness of stirring devolved into a panic of thrashing and hyperventilation, Runch regret his decision to let Cyril come to his senses by himself. The pirate rushed in to take hold of the man's arms in an effort to hold him still, hopefully to have a chance at calming Cyril down. Erina had much the same idea, and rushed in to grab the knight's ankles.

"Can you use your spirit magic to calm him?" Runch quickly asked.

Erina shook her head, no. "My domain is over the dead."

The captain's eyes widened for just a moment, then he rolled his shoulders and refocused on Cyril. "Let us hope it never need come to that. Sir Boniface? You are ok. Good sir knight, you are fine. Breathe easy, and know you are safe. You are among friends."
Open Attendance for Protectorate and Ward Aligned Heroes Processing the Rockers

@Old Amsterdam@yoshua171@BCTheEntity


A silent frustration fell upon the room as Evelyn laid bare her ultimatum. Protean didn't see why she was so hard pressed on the issue, thought she needed to loosen up and try to understand others better, but of course he didn't want to say anything. He preferred when attention was away from him. Captain Morales held a very similar viewpoint to the young Ward, hardened from hundreds of life or death battles. There was little empathy left in his war-hardened PTSD mind. Still, he felt her outburst and position to be childish and poorly thought out. Sometimes command made decisions you didn't agree with, but raging against the machine only made things worse. Inkscape, he felt everyone was getting ahead of themselves. After all, first they would have to take this proposition to Dexter Quintana's parents, and to Dexter himself, before anything else. The paperwork involved was truly mountainous, not to mention all the red tape and hoops to jump through... The only reason they were even having this discussion was because of a poorly timed eavesdropping, and now an already headache of a situation became an absolute migraine to deal with.

Director Kens though, he wished more than anything for everyone to see eye to eye on the matter. A hard man he was, yes, but nobody could deny his soft spot for kids, and that included troubled teenagers. Truth be told, he understood Evelyn's objections quite well, and he could work with them, but he still wanted her to at least be able to look at things from the other side of the fence. He sat before the room, hands folded in front of his mouth, deep in thought. Finally, his posture relaxed as he let out a deep sigh of resignation. "I understand. Causing friction in the team is the last thing we want in this organization. Assuming everything works out, and Mr. Quintana accepts the terms, we will facilitate his transfer to another location. Inkscape, I would like you to check in with Aurora, see if they are able to take any openings. They specialize in reforming and retired heroes after all. The environment would be... More suitable than here."

Inkscape nodded to show he understood his task. "I believe that is it, then. You are all dismissed. Wards, make sure you get plenty of rest tonight. After all, you have school tomorrow."





A Mysterious Message for the Lone Wolf

@Lugubrious

The Margrave had hoped to have a quiet afternoon, something to wash down the excitement of the earlier mid-morning. The lone warrior of darkness had it, for a time. The simply pleasures in life could be enjoyed, save for the ever growing pressures of the ignorant masses closing in from all sides, yet that was the usual omnipresent situation. Once he had decided to return to the headquarters did the Margrave's peace go interrupted, for at a particular crosswalk did he spot her. A beautiful woman with long, red hair.

The woman looked to be about ten years his senior, somewhere in her mid-twenties, with crimson strands of hair down to her shoulders. She wore a baseball cap with no particular logos or decals, bland as it was, alongside a gray cotton hoodie and blue jeans. She would have been just as unremarkable as the rest of the ignorant fools, the sheep that populated the streets, and Elliott would have had no reason to pay her any mind, except...

"Hello Toy-Man." The woman's words had clearly been meant for him, and her eyes locked onto his for just long enough to confirm this fact. Then she slinked away into a nearby apartment building, four stories tall, completely out of sight. If he chose to pursue her, he would not find her, but that wasn't to say she left no trace, for upon the door was a plain white envelope taped up, with his name written on the front in pink ink and girly writing. The i had been dotted with a little heart, and back was sealed with lipstick. If he chose to open the envelope, he would find a letter typed up in comic sans.

To whichever Protectorate hero I can find first,

Sup? Been a while since I've seen any of you. Has Decoy built any better cells since I broke the last one? Probably, but it wouldn't help. Anyway, I've got some important information for you law and order types. There's a new kingpin of the city's underworld, or at least he fancies himself as such. All the organizations and villains were pulled into a meeting by The Jacks, but I have a feeling it's this new guy pulling the strings. As soon as he wandered in, he completely took over. Claims to be a normal human, but I don't buy it. Parahuman for sure. Thing is, he also claims that he stole one of Epsilon's power dampening devices, and used it to cut off our powers that directly affect other people during the meeting in order to put everyone on equal grounds. He didn't count on my tinker-brain. I know for fact he didn't have any tinker technology on his person, plus I have it on good authority that none of Epsilon's devices have gone missing. I can't tell you his name. Every time I try to type it out, my head feels like it's about to split open. Keep an eye out for him. He's definitely some kind of trump, and I'd bet all the money I made in my last twelve heists that the Jacks are on his payroll. Above all else, be careful. This man terrifies me.

With love,
Sabotage.
”Trickshot” Jo’ Vs. Chaka Ram “The Silencer”: Paintball Begin!


Chaka stood tall above the honey badger that would be their opponent, rifle draped over their chest. The red lenses of their gas mask gleamed as the sunlight struck off them in just the right angle. ”I have no time for boasting and insults,” they said rather matter of factly. As they spoke, two men approached the duo carrying cartridges and bullet boxes, presenting them to the contestants.

”No live ammunition, paintballs only. We can provide shots for your revolvers if you want, or you can borrow one of my rifles.” Chaka opened up their trenchcoat, revealing a veritable armory hidden just out of sight! Multiple rifles, shotguns, pistols, grenades, and other assorted tools of death and maiming! Joanne Schrodinger could not help but admire the collection, her eyes growing big and wide. Still, a moment of admiration could not alter her stubborn nature.

”Bitch, shut yo punk ass up, I ain’t need no handouts, foo’. I gots everythin’ I need right here.” Jo’ pulled out her revolvers and gave each one a kiss, then grabbed a box of ammo from one of the grunts. ”Soon as I load’em up, I can knock you down, honky!”

To their credit, Chaka was not the least bit agitated by the badger’s constant baiting insults. Or at least if they were bothered, their choice of attire prevented any signs from showing. Once both competitors had loaded up their weapons, Chaka looked down at Jo’ once again. ”Two fully loaded six shot revolvers. Only twelve shots to beat me with. You sure you don’t want to carry a reload?”

The offer seemed genuine, or at least neutral enough to be non-threatening. Joanne shrugged her opponent off. ”Only gonna need half as much to take out yo pansy ass.”

”Very well.” And without another word Chaka marched into the left opening of the hedge maze, rifle slung up by their shoulder. Joanne scurried on as well, through the right opening.

From their seats on the elevated bleachers, all three pirate crews could easily make out the action… For Chaka, at least. Truthfully even standing on her hind legs Joanne was too short to be seen anywhere in the maze, making it quite the show for surprises.

After a minute of walking, Joanne stopped in her tracks. Carefully she peered around the only corner in view, but nobody was on the other side. A grin began to spread across her animalistic face as she took a step back and began to sniff the air. Sniff sniff sniff sniff. Twenty-two meters to the left. If that jerk thought that a maze was going to confuse her animal instincts, then he had another thing coming! Joanne took off in a charge, both pistols drawn. She didn’t bother navigating the maze like some stupid human, she was an animal! A walking, talking, rootin’ shootin’ animal, but then that just made her all the better! Honey badger don’t care about no maze rules! She wormed through the brush, dodged between branches, and chewed anything in her path too troubling to charge around!

Finally, she saw her opponent. He was standing in the middle of a pathway, looking like a total moron, not moving. Without thinking she burst from the brush in a surprised attack! ”SKREEEEE!” she cried out, letting loose two bullets, one from each pistol, and each struck true to her target: straight into the back of the head. Chaka was more pathetic than she could have hoped for, falling to the ground instantly! Ha! And from two little paintballs!

Wait, the head shouldn’t be rolling away like that… Click.

Joanne’s fur stood on end. The bastard was behind her. A decoy! Thanks to her well-trained instincts, Joanne twisted around and rolled to the side just in time to hear a gunshot. Blue paint splattered right next to where she happened to be standing a mere second ago. Chaka stood but four feet away, no longer wearing that large overcoat. Surprise morphed back into confidence as she let loose two shots. Just as before, they struck true: red and green splatter appeared on Chaka’s forehead, scoring a total of 100 points.

”I underestimated you,” Chaka commented, diving into the bush wall. ”It won’t happen again.” Unlike Pike, who sounded indignant when he spoke those words, Chaka Ram sounded factual, as though they were simply reading from a school lecture.

”Come back here!” Jo’ shouted, taking off through the same hedge. She immediately regretted it. Her left leg caught on a trip wire of some sort, yanking loose a pin. A quick glance at the source of the pin revealed something terrible: a grenade. The trap immediately began spewing forth a thick black smog-like gas, enveloping the honey badger. Joanne coughed, tripping through the brush.

Cough cough! Bitch you said no live ammunition!” Joanne fought to regain her sense of direction, to see where she was, but the smoke was blinding and stinging. Her eyes swelled up, red, puffy, and then shut entirely. She was blind. Immediately she switched up to rely on her smell, but all that she could smell was a tar-like scent. The smoke grenade had robbed her of both vision and smell.

”Smoke doesn’t count,” echoed her opponent’s voice from within the maze. Well, at least she could still hear. ”It doesn’t target. It doesn’t kill. You can’t shoot with it.”

”Yeah, it don’t target, but ain’t it just convenient as shit that you ain’t affected, what with that stupid ass Halloween mask?” Normally Joanne hurled insults because it was simply in her nature as a crass badger, but this time there was reason to it. Keep them talking. Have to listen.

”Preparation is key. Every battle is decided before the first shot is ever fired. Like so.” BANG! Joanne suddenly felt a soft impact against the left side of her head, followed by a splatter. So the asshole was already halfway caught up in points… But now she knew where he was at.

She fired a shot from her left pistol, not caring whether or not she actually hit Chaka. It only needed to act as a deterrent. Distract Chaka, let them hide or dodge long enough for Joanne to get her bearings back. She fired two more shots, interchanging pistols, charging out and away from the black smog. A second later and she charged headfirst into a hedge bush, the rustling throwing off all sense of her surroundings once more.

”Mother FU-” But the badger never finished her curse, silenced by a sudden epiphany. She grinned. There was one more animal sense this bastard hadn’t taken away from her, and she’d use it to win.

Meanwhile, Chaka patrolled a nearby path with vigilance. They had dodged out of the way as soon as Joanne began to return fire, taking cover behind a separate path. The first shot she fired off, miraculously, hit Chaka square in the left chest. Had that little pistol wielding animal really that good hearing? It was a possibility, one that the sniper of the Buccaneers couldn’t so quickly write off. If it were just luck, then there wasn’t any action to take, just hope that luck had run dry. However, if true, then there was something Chaka could do about that…

Chaka returned to their original position, ready to engage the honey badger once more. The opponent had rushed directly into the brush in her blind stupor, so this was the perfect opportunity to strike back! Chaka examined the point of entry, then cocked their head in confusion. A hunter and tracker for nearly twenty years, they had the skills to determine that this was indeed where Joanne had jumped through the hedge, and yet… Zero signs pointed toward an exit. The badger hadn’t left the hedge from another side, nor did she come back from where she came, yet there was no badger here. How?

”SURPRISE, HONKY!” Chaka jumped back in shock as Joanne leaped straight up from… The ground?! Before the Buccaneer knew what had happened, Joanne latched onto their face and began firing shot after shot right into the side of Chaka’s head. ”KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE! Badgers burrow, bitch!”

Oh. Oh. Of course. What a silly oversight. Well now that that was done, there could only be one thing Chaka was to do. They fell forward. ”UGH! Wha’chu doin’?!” But Joanne didn’t get another word out. As soon as Chaka’s face pressed Joanne into the hard ground like a piledriver, the sniper thwapped their opponent in the head with the butt of their rifle. The force wasn’t enough to knock Joanne unconscious, but it did a great job dazing her.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Chaka unloaded every last shot they had in their rifle on Joanne’s head. With each concussive force, soft though they were individually, the built up pressure only worsened Joanne’s thought processes. Then, when all the ammunition was gone, Chaka dropped the rifle and wrested Joanne’s pistols from her paws. Those paint bullets found their way into Joanne’s skull as well, though only two shots remained. By the time the onslaught was over, there could be no question as to the winner. Chaka had a single paint splat on their chest, and seven around their head. By contrast Joanne had been splattered no less than fifteen times in the cranium, and could barely comprehend where she was or what she was doing.

A few minutes passed, allowing Chaka to carry Joanne out of the maze, holding onto both of their weapons. The badger was carefully placed down in the grass, where the referees took to counting both of their battle wounds, despite it being obvious who the victor was. Joanne was only just coming around when the announcement was made.

“At 750 points to 365, the winner is Chaka Ram!”
Leonard continued his conversation with Arthur quite cordially, jotting down the information as it was presented whilst keeping an eye out for the target. He was just about to call it quits when a large crowd commanded his attention. Well, more specifically the woman leading the crowd in anti-government chants. Very curious. "Most splendid. I appreciate your efforts, Mr. St. Anger, but it appears my attention is required in the immediate present. Good day to you." Leonard hung up and pocketed the phone as he found himself drifting closer and closer to the congregation.

"Ladies, gen’lemen, and those of unspecified gender! Do you know how much tax the average American pays in the modern world? Lemme tell you, the average American household pays four’een thousand, two hundred and ten dollars in tax every year! Nearly fif’een thousand dollars per year, folks - and that isn’ even including sales tax! Supposedly, that’s only four’een percen’ of the average American’s income, but how can that be when the average American household’s income is as low as fif’y seven thousand dollars? Fif’een thousand dollars into fif’y seven thousand does not add up to four’een percen’, fellas!"

Leonard had to admit, she had some compelling arguments, at least for the common man. Truth be told, he had no idea whether or not the numbers she gave were accurate, what her sources were, or anything about the situation. What he did know was that the US government happened to be one of his best clients. Almost even got to meet Mr. President once, but circumstances forced them both to cancel. Less government meant one less nest egg for Leonard.

Well, it wouldn't be that big of a deal, would it? Plenty of other clients that could fill the void. And her concerns seemed to come from a place of love for her country and fellow citizens. As a patriot himself, Leonard could at least respect her posturing, if not condone it.

Before he knew it, Leonard had wandered near the front of the crowd. Wait, when did that happen? Shouldn't he be focusing on the job at hand? He shook his head, slightly frustrated. He knew he could be flightly at times, wandering from interest to interest. Well, the chances of finding his target here seemed totally zilch anyway. What harm could there be in humoring this rabble rouser a bit? He approached a bit closer, pulling out one of his hand-designed business cards.

"If I might command your attention for but a moment, miss!" he attempted to shout out over the crowd. "A lady in your position is certain to arouse enemies of a particular variety." Just what variety he intended, even Leonard didn't know. Truth be told he was playing to the woman's paranoia. Her imagination would fill in the blanks. "Should you find yourself in danger, contact me. My consignments are reasonably priced."
Open Attendance for Protectorate and Ward Aligned Heroes Processing the Rockers

@Old Amsterdam@yoshua171@BCTheEntity


Director Kens and the three assembled heroes turned to face Lillian as she offered her own input as to the situation, each one apparently taken aback. They hadn't expected someone else to be showing up, much less offering their own input. Normally this would be the sort of situation that Kens would say was nothing the young girl need worry about, but truth be told he felt elated his motives were vindicated by one of the Wards. After all, they should be comfortable as well with the situation, should they not? Otherwise it could create a problematic situat-

"What?"


Just like that all eyes were on Evelyn. The pure, undiluted fury in her gaze was unmistakable. The director's sharp, eagle-like features braced themselves for an instant, an old reflex from his military service, before softening again when conscience thought caught up to the situation. This was one of his precious Wards, the kids he couldn't let suffer.

The heroes had entirely different reactions in mind. Whilst Protean slunk back against the one-way viewing glass cell wall, his left arm already a goop of raw protein liquid, but not yet reshaping, Captain Morales and Inkscape took a far more action-oriented stance. The captain had a hand on two pistols and switched the safeties off. Everyone knew them to be containment foam pistols, but the threat of intent was quite clear. Meanwhile Inkscape held up a single tentacle-arm as if to gesture to relax. She's expressed an interest in her own ideals above orders in the field before. If this truly crosses the line for her...

"Down, Morales. Evelyn, you've wandered into a situation you don't entirely understand. Why don't you relax and listen before jumping the gun?" the octo-man suggested, his voice firm and even, but cautious. He clearly understood the ramifications of Evelyn's power if she were to go on a rampage.

Then Alessa made her presence known, further attempting to diffuse the situation. As she spoke, Captain Morales headed the command of his C.O., relaxing his stance and removing his grip from the pistols at his side. Still, he never took his eyes off of Evelyn. She showed herself to be a clear and present threat. His lifetime of training, his experiences, simply would not allow him to ignore this. Not right now.

"This has gotten out of hand entirely. The matter would best be discussed behind closed doors, so as not to make a scene. Any who wish to join me may do so. Conference room three, please." Director Kens breathed out a sigh of relief as Evelyn appeared to be backing down, at least for the moment. Whether or not she chose to follow and participate in the discussion, well, was another matter entirely. Regardless, the director led Protean, Morales, and Inkscape, along with whoever else chose to come, until they entered the room in question.

Kens straightened his tie, taking a seat at the head of the table, then dropped the two dossiers onto the center of the table. "Decoy?" he inquired aloud. Despite not having pressed any sort of button or activating any communication device, a familiar hologram of the portly, overweight Japanese man appeared nearby.

"Yes Director Kens?" the hologram answered.

"Have you compiled the data regarding the young Mr. Quintana, at least enough to project it in this conference room?"

Before he received a verbal answer, the deed was done. A holographic display of Dexter Quintana, both in costume as Shatterpoint and in civilian clothes, appeared in the center of the table for all to view. A brief bio hung in the air nearby, ready for any to read, at least in cliffnotes. It covered a great many details, including his date of birth as July 7th, age of 15, born in Jacksonville. It went on to include his diagnosis of moderate autism, as well as the Boulder hospital record detailing the extent of the injuries he received from a beating at his middle school. Highlighted beneath was the police arrest report: Three fellow students, and one teacher.

"As you can see here, Mr. Quintana has had an unfair go at life. I'd bet my life that his trigger event was caused by the abuse of his fellow students and teacher. The first appearance of Shatterpoint occurred six days after his release from the hospital. Instead of understanding and nurturing for his disability, he was met with ridicule and violence. Can any one of you tell me that you'd react any differently in that situation? It's too late for Mr. Jacks, but Mr, Quintana can have another chance. He's still young enough to be re-educated, and once he's free of the influence of his boss I'd be surprised if it weren't a positive influence." The director gave pause to read the room, then sighed. "That's why I want to induct Mr. Quintana into the Wards. It's the best chance he has to turn his life around. The process is complicated, of course. He has to consent, his parents have to consent, pass various psychological evaluations, the Youth Guard will need to be involved... And of course, the Wards will be interacting with him daily. Therefore, we would need to be able to ensure everyone can work together."

Protean nodded in understanding, clearly entirely on board with the idea. He didn't need to say anything. Inkscape also approved. "He needs to finish processing first, of course, and go through interrogation with Decoy's lie detection software, but I do belief this to be the best course of action."

Captain Morales said nothing. He merely sat at attention in his most professional stance, ensuring to keep Evelyn in the corner of his eyesight at all times, though one couldn't tell with his helmet and mask on.







[Feel free to continue discussions amongst yourselves, no further GM events will occur unless requested or until the next timeskip.]
Marque de Bourdeaux




Marque steadied himself against the etching of Gardevoir's key, the literal pillar to his metaphorical structure at this time. A biting wind carried with it a chilling howl. Somehow, beyond all reason and logic, mother nature bent to the will of another, changing in such an isolated place as to only affect the immediate area surrounding Col and Bastian. Col called for aid, yet Marque dared not to move any closer. Perhaps the squire would remember why Marque could not approach again, an explanation given only moments ago. It likely slipped the warrior's mind in such a dire situation. Or perhaps the truth was that he simply disbelieved in his associate's empathic ability. Marque knew such would not be the first time he was considered a liar for his capability, yet if he did not find a solution, it would definitively prove to be the last.

The actor took comfort in the warmth of the etching against the biting wind. So much so that it demanded his attention, despite the imminent danger posed by more attacking wolfborn. He had been attracted toward the swirling torrent of anguish before, distracted, but now at this opportunity the etching finally registered to him as having significance greater than originally perceived. A perfect match for his master's key, yet the wear of the stone proved to be ancient. Far more ancient than a simply playwright could be, yes? Words of the past stuck out to Marque in this desperate moment, words uttered by Gardevoir with the greatest of jubilence. To unlock the emotion of Milborne. There would appear to be some manner of magic at work, of that much Marque was not certain, but felt could be reliably assumed. Felt.

Yes, perhaps his unique ability would be of aid in this mystery. Marque did his best to shake the despair from his mind, for he needed to concentrate and complete the task before dangerous predators tore them each to shreds, only for the purpose of fun. He concentrated hard on how he would feel to see Gardevoir once more, to be reunited with the man who completed his life. Doing so, a single index finger traced along the key marking as he poured all the joy he could muster into the action.

© 2007-2026
BBCode Cheatsheet