[Shel's Log
Entry 55.
We are three days away from Blashye City, by my estimate. Already, I grow tired of surveying the river that accompanies us as we travel; the reeds and hushedly lapping waves may be picturesque, but I remain dubious as to whether or not anyone could stomach to see naught but these sights staring back at them. I in particular am frequently harassed by the natives of the river; Squirtles and Psyducks and even Feebas all mocking both my stature and accent. At first, the others leapt to my defense, chastising the locals over the inhospitality shown towards me. The peace that followed only lasted until a new band of hecklers came across us.
Yes, I am quite familiar with the sting of barbed words, having been derided and written off by strangers for most all my life. Distaste, however, does not wane at the same rate as accustomization arrives.
It is an odd sensation, being the sole member of a group to be pilloried; ordinarily, at least one other member of my friend group would be insulted alongside myself. Allen, Ditko, maybe even Saul; all fellows I find kinship with, all fellows who are lambasted for their own publically-perceived shortcomings. Here, though? I am the odd pokemon out. Two rivaling emotions fight for supremacy within my mind: bitter moroseness that nobody else shares my pain, and relief that the other Identity Thieves are disparaged alongside me.
To distract myself, I find refuge in looking at the stars tonight, as they shimmer in unison to some melody unknown to minds like mine. A warm breeze wofts all the way from Helios Town, like a rationing of warmth as we head towards the biting cold that envelops the entire span of the mountain range. I have read about how the Ice-types drastically cool the area to an unnatural degree, as well as how the artificially frigid air attracts more of that type of pokemon out of comfort. I had just- I had never seen actual snow in the middle of Summer before, but now it caps every mountain. Even down in the valley we walk through, those of us without fur or cloth find ourselves shivering if we stray too far from the bonfire.
When the fire was first lit, we began hearing eerie howlings; at first, they were like whispers, but they grew louder the longer they lingered. Ripley put an end to that by hurling a rock into the foliage. Ghosts, she told us, caused the noises. And she implied not necessarily the type of pokemon, either. This little utterance of possible humor set us down the path of horror stories told 'round the blaze; my tale was quickly booed to an early grave. Mercy's was rather short, being about two possessed toys wandering through the forest. It wasn't the most chilling fable, but I found it interesting nonetheless. Ripley, though, hers was told with such precision of detail, such exacting of plot, that I am left to wonder if she told a story she had lived through herself. If that is the case, then I can only hope that Garchomp has long since perished.
End Log.]
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I hope you guys enjoyed! If you didn't... could you tell me why? Or tell me what I should do next? Or tell mY WIFE I LOVE HERRRRRRRRR! Wait; I need to have a wife first. Or at least a girlfriend. Or maybe just a crush. Actually, having emotions might be a good place to start for that. Whatever. I'll see you next time!
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