Daily Pokemon Stories

[Gef]

Spoiler:

His shoulders hung as heavily as they had when he'd begrudgingly entered the room—"What the hell is this?"—and his eyes dropped down to scrutinize like seared, black coals still hot from contempt. The hint of fire sustained in his voice and, as usual, the world about him could only meet his utterance with uncomfortable silence, as palpable as a smoke cloud.

After seconds of him scanning the creature, and it ogling back, the archaeologist in the room seemed wanting to bite back, but was too bright to do so. "He's a slice of history, sir."

"It's a slice of absurdity." The fact that the she bit her lip after this was inane; anyone in Unova who prioritized aestheticism over science could not see anything more beside her than a foot-tall rubber chicken, cherry-red beak and all. It was a fabulous clash of colors overall: sunny-yellow feathers with the presumed consistency of hash browns, accents of vibrant blue, almost sickly-seeming and how they didn't belong. In-addition, it appeared as primary mind-wise, its eyes so large, they goggled dumbly against the creature's discretion; the assumption it would be intelligent enough to prevent its own stupid expressionlessness was absurdly large, however.

He recognized the head of the revival effort fidgeting uncomfortably under his lab coat, looking at a desperate loss for words, to which he promptly expressed, "Don't bother", and began laying groundwork for his departure. "Give Lenora my blessings. I have Training to get back to—"

"Mister Champion, you can't leave him—"

"—and I never wanted to be here at all, and dump that atrocity on Aurea or someone else who gives a damn and pretend you never wasted any of my money or time on reviving it."

The Archen gave a rancor squawk. It was not helping its case.

"He's only a newborn!" The worse excuse for lingering in Nacrene any longer he could possibly be plagued with and he decided, then, that there were no other arguments these thin-skinned scientists could proffer. The woman herself was still silent, resembling her own snaggletoothed pride and joy, still biting her bottom lip.

At this point, the baby was no longer acknowledging anyone particular at all. It picked lethargically at the royal-blue carpet of the museum''s entry floor.

He ought not to entertain them with another response but they'd, admittedly, effectively set him alight again, and with his face contorted into a vitriolic scowl, he spat, "Then raise it yourselves, you ***," turned on his heel and sped out into the morning. He cared not of what potential he may have abandoned.

Short and sweet Archen story. Writing is haaaard...