Blackjack Gabbiani

blackjackrocket @ 2021-01-18T21:54:00

2021-01-19T05:54:31Z

I'm actually here. Let me know if you are too.

blackjackrocket @ 2017-03-05T04:21:00

2017-03-05T12:21:04Z

If you want to display a lot of small/medium figures, get a spice rack, the "stair" kind.

blackjackrocket @ 2016-04-02T23:56:00

2016-04-03T06:56:22Z

I'm still here I promise.

Just...this site is getting harder to use and I don't know why. When I went to type that first line I couldn't SEE it because the top bar with the options on it was covering it.

I still think this has the best layout of any blog site. COMMENT TREES! Not having to see everything in a single row! That's such a simple feature and yet it's so incredibly rare. But it's like the coding is falling apart and I can't figure that out.

I got parakeets! Their names are Lawrence and Lugia and they've been here for almost two years so yeah it's been a while. Despite the names, they're both girls.

blackjackrocket @ 2014-03-08T18:18:00

2014-03-09T02:18:35Z

Well, I'm still here. My head's been all sorts of blah lately.

I moved! And my housewarming is in a week, the 15th. So of course my mom is not only taking over everything even remotely regarding cleaning and putting stuff away (how SHE wants them, of course), but also invited people she works with that I met all of once even after I specifically told her not to. Then when I told her to uninvite them, she acted like I was out of line even though she disobeyed me in the first place.

So when does the whole "your parents will respect you more when you move out" thing kick in? Because so far they've continued to be controlling asshats.

blackjackrocket @ 2013-09-20T00:23:00

2013-09-20T07:23:30Z

Big news~! I'm moving in with an ex-model!

...or rather I'm moving INTO an ex-model--model home that is! I got myself a house!

I haven't moved yet but I'm in the process of getting it ready like painting and stuff. The kitchen is mostly set up though, and I have a dining room table in there and a couch comes next week.

So it's going to be me and Theener! Whoo! Though aah there's so much to do! I have to get things like phone and internet and stuff set up, and I have to get everything set up and finished and figure out how to do a ton of stuff and aaaaaaaah!!!!!

It's scary to think about! And I have to do everything around the house when I move in and I have to get so much in order and wow

I do have some registries going if you're so inclined. I know there's a date on them but nothing's really set--they just had me give a random date.
https://secure.williams-sonoma.com/registry/fbt2qxcbrt/registry-list.html
http://www.bedbathandbeyond.com/store/giftregistry/view_registry_guest.jsp?pwsToken=&eventType=Housewarming®istryId=12639839&pwsurl= (this one I made a while ago so ignore the cutlery and water filter since I have both of them now)

Aah I'm so excited but so nervous!

I'm going to have a housewarming when I get ready but I have no idea when that will be.

blackjackrocket @ 2013-03-02T19:18:00

2013-03-03T03:18:02Z

Dear god someone help me I can't stop buying Sims expansions

Obsession 24! aka "Jirarudan Is Aspie As Fuck"

2013-01-08T07:10:56Z

A note first--I finished this a week ago and posted it to Serebii, but my other two places had issues. I can't seem to post to Bulbagarden because I can't log in for some unknown reason, so if anybody connected with them is reading this, please alert someone. I can consistantly read the site so I know what *isn't* going on, but it doesn't accept my login information--it doesn't even reject it, just doesn't do anything at all. I've tried to send messages but haven't recieved any replies. And as for LJ, well, I just plum forgot.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! I mean, it's been over a year and all. I wish it came faster. And I have no idea what to do in the next chapter! So ideas are very welcome.

I realised, as time went by, that my perception of my surroundings changed with experience. The familiar small town of Seafoam was dull and listless, but passing through a small town where I had never been brought my mind alive, and I wondered about all the people milling about, what filled their lives. Even the routes we took through the big cities had become tiresome, those scenes that had once magnetized my attention now mapped out in detail in my brain, but to take another path to even the same location reawakened me.

One thing that I never grew weary of was the destination, because it was always art. While I would be bored to tears with the same view, the same street, the same buildings, I could stare for hours at the same paintings, the same sculptures, the same silverworks.

I muddled through my schoolworks, barely paying them any of my distracted mind. What we were taught had nothing to do with my path in life, and I almost pitied those who it did. Almost, of course, because they had every opportunity to break from their grey paths and open themselves to the full colour of the world.

How foolish, to live willingly in that place! No, my world would be far distant from theirs, although we would occupy the same space. A world apart, on the same planet. How silly to think how simple it all had been so far, and how far I'd come in just a short time.

I reflected a lot on that of late, the ease in which I'd been able to achieve what I had. Surely this was destiny! I was meant to be a collector, and the thought was quite divine. Divine, of course, in the most literal sense. Such objects filled me with a fervor, knowing that I held around me something so immortal, so far beyond the everyday sphere.

And none was the wiser. That tiny room in my father's house, outcropped over the sea, contained the works of the world. Or what little of the world I could obtain, with my comparatively limited funds. Yet even that small fragment was a spectrum of wonder far greater than anyone around me could ever concieve.

Though surrounded by dinge and fade, I had my sanctuary. Along all walls, every space filled with treasures present or distant. Those I had truly garnered fanned out along the east wall, the single window there illumininating them at the day's dawn, that image the first thing I would see upon waking. My bed lay along the south wall, a simple thing beneath the window overlooking the ocean, so I disguised there and the west wall with images snipped from magazines of the finest things in life. To dismiss those as simple pictures! Alas, I remembered from what seemed like ages ago when they were remarked on as such, and couldn't help but chuckle. Even Helen was ignorant to their true nature, as I fully intended on acquiring each one of them in the future.

The closet, tucked away next to the door, was graced with a neat row of my new, more sophisticated clothes, with those my father had foisted on me hidden on a shelf across, so that they wouldn't sully my prefered wardrobe with their unwanted touch.

Perhaps an aside is in order. I kept them for appearances, how ironic! I would gladly be rid of them in an instant were it not for my father expecting to see me in them on certain occations of exclusively his own interests. He knew the importance of dressing well to meet his clients, but there it ended! A gentleman must be at his best at all public times, yet he clung to the excuse of simply not being at his office to explain away why he continued to wear such atrocities as tank tops and ripped shorts. Those things that he wore during construction! Their purposes ended at the factory door, yet he insisted! How terribly backwards. Simply the thought of it sent my spine shuddering. And I had to don similar wear despite discomfort from all angles at the act. Ah, how funny that even something as common as cotton could rise from the coarseness of those simple garments to the softness and elegance of a fine button-down with the proper guidance.

Ah, I digress. I had a goal for the day.

I closed the closet door behind me, sitting amidst my finery on a chest that held my out of season garments. This unfortunately meant that I was facing that which I described, but I wasn't looking at it. Taking out a hand mirror--a cheap purchase at a drugstore--I began to speak.

"Ahaha! Of course, the use of white conjures the idea of cold."

"Why my dear such-and-such, you look divine! It's been ages, darling."

"Charming, charming!"

Such pithy statements! Even Asaph knew that. But small talk and meaningless comments were an art onto themselves, one that collectors were expected to master. It was like a verbal dance, with the main movement of the body being unimportant and all meaning in the hands and face.

He told me to watch my tone, as it was often flat. I would be percieved as passionless if that continued, so I practiced the ups and downs of my voice as though I was a singer or a stage performer. I may well have been a stage performer, for all the rehearsal it required, but without a script to rely on. I would have to write my own script, with a mind to the rules that the dialogue be inane.

Whatever purpose it served, it seemed to be effective, for whatever strange reason that was beyond my understanding. People seemed to respond better to me when I said such things, so I had no reason to stop.

I think it was some sort of code. By saying things that no one would normally say, I established that I spoke their secret language.

Some of my pictures were held in that tiny room as well, integrated into this process. I moved one of the repulsive shirts aside and took up a stack of photocopies. This was what the mirror was for, in whole.

On the back of one I had written "happiness". The front had the image of a young woman with her mouth curved up to where her teeth were visible, and her eyes were narrowed from the movement. I wasn't sure what indicated happiness about it, but the photograph, taken some fifty years before and held in high regard among those who collected such things, was said to be exemplary in the subject's joy. And so I mimicked her smile, though to me it looked like any other. Adjusting my face to take on these unfamiliar expressions was strange, but it too seemed to have its purposes.

How odd though. I expressed myself, and obviously at that, never trying to obscure myself. This seemed as though I was exposing too much of my heart, yet Asaph called it sublety. Did other collectors expend all their energy and observation on their pursued pieces with no room in their minds for anything else? Perhaps that was why their special code was so simplistic.

Maintaining that smile, I examined myself in the mirror and spoke again.

"The reds give such a vivid, lively feel to the otherwise boring landscape." I redid it. Collectors don't say things like "boring" when speaking to other collectors. "The reds give such a vivid, lively feel to the otherwise drab landscape." And I still wasn't sure if that was right.

Another picture, this of a frowning old man. It was what I would term a scowl, but others said that it was merely an effect of ancient photography requiring the sitter to remain still for quite a long time. Perhaps he was simply an unpleasant fellow to begin with, or perhaps it was his unfortunate resemblence to a granbull that caused the assumption.

"I think so-and-so's suits are quite overrated for the price." No, I had to do that again, we didn't mention price either. "So-and-so's suits are quite common," with "common" stressed to imply that it was beyond mere number, but rather something that the great unwashed would wear. Inflection was important as well, as it could change the meaning of a word through implication.

Changing back to the first image, I repeated her smile and closed my eyes, thinking of the position of every muscle in my face. I wouldn't always have a mirror close at hand, so I had to memorize these things from feel alone.

It was arduous work, trying to maintain this artificial facade. But I looked on it as an art in itself. To exaggerate myself to that degree was to be literally larger than life, and that was something that lent itself quite well to my desired path. I would be among so many pieces that were more than the sum of their parts, so I had to project myself accordingly.

Although that didn't prevent it from being irritatingly repetitive.

"The empty space summons up such a hollowness in the piece." Collectors, for whatever reason, loved to attribute deep meaning to white or black spaces, thinking them truly significant. While certainly they could draw the eye and could make a piece more aestheticly pleasing, surely sometimes they would simply be what was in front of the artist! Yet no one seemed to consider that basic possibility, no matter how drawn from life they recognized the piece to be.

As I grew, I became increasingly aware of the absurdity of life. Children encouraged to leave into the world and bond with animals, while adults created meaningless lives for themselves, devoid of any interest or colour. Both wedged themselves into their tight roles and refused to budge, as stubborn and listless as Ursarings in winter, and any outside the tiny scrap of the world left visible from their select view was something ignored.

I had been set on the path through that grey world once, not knowing anything else. My father had saved money for a trainer journey, and doubtless I would be settling into that life in some other world where I had not discovered art. And yet that discovery had been so simple that it was a shock as to how rare it was to live with color and spark. A brush had been drawn across my life, painting across it the finest things, while those around me remained colourblind.

And it baffled me. Nothing had stood in my way, I realised, and there had been nothing special about me. How many others would there be if they simply looked around?

But it was best this way. Shining stars and all that, as we had been told. As I had been told all that time ago.

I missed her, of course, my dear mother. But with more and more to fill my days, the grief had faded.

With some sense of irony, I had to chuckle at the next photograph being marked "sorrow". Perhaps this was what I had looked like when first brought to this place, mouth turned down and corners tight, eyes squinted and watery, brows like thin wings wavering above.

I had trouble imagining this face on anybody. It seemed distant, something almost comical, contraindicitive of the specified emotion. Asaph, perhaps. Both his parents had passed, yet I couldn't picture him grieving in any such way. Lucrezia had worn a kimono that marked her as a widow, but her jolly, boisterious presentation made it impossible to imagine her otherwise. Even having seen her wrath was still seeing her in bombast, an overwhelming wind surrounding her.

Her son either, the notorious ground trainer. Following that thought, he had lost his father, and yet his smooth and even manner remained in any image I could summon.

Someone closer; Helen perhaps. I'd witnessed her in cheer, in irritation (mostly directed towards my father), in seriousness, in wonderment, but never in sorrow, not like this. I knew she experienced it, thinking back on a story she had told of a failed attempt at breeding her Ninetales that had ended in a stillborn Vulpix of a deep yellow colour. It upset her still, though this had taken place before I was born, and she had paused to wipe away tears many times. Yet that past sadness looked nothing like this image, despite the photograph's pedigree. It had been messy, with unmentionable fluids and a sickness to her, though at the time I had simply wondered, silently of course, if a Fire Stone would have still forced evolution.

Ah yes, the sciences. My studies--my own studies, far from my classes, of course--had fallen on the display cage that had shown the Omastar to all. It was remarkable, and I wondered if there was a way to alter it to display pieces in suspension. Something magnetic could be isolated to display a work in metal while not interfering with anything around it, but that would leave any works of other matter. It was a puzzlement that perplexed me, and I wondered if I could contact the engineer.

Of course, I would have to. I couldn't figure it out on my own. Even as a collector, I was beholden to those who had trod that path before, those gatherers, those artists, those merchants, those patrons. The entire of the art world would be mine, and the thought was intoxicating. I would be an intrinsic part of the very culture of everything. Ah! but that didn't matter! To be a movable part of something eternal, to know that I possessed a collection of true immortality, and to dwell amongst it for as long as I could, those were all I cared about.

Every thought led back to that far too distant future. Time flowed far too slowly, as if testing my patience and resolve to reach that grand goal. But I didn't care. I'd reach it eventually, no matter what my present situation threw at me; no matter the monochrome of my environment, I would burst into the full spectrum!

I realised at that point that I was laughing. When that had happened I wasn't sure, but I was glad that it was a soft, gentlemanly laugh. It had been a rather funny thought, I mused, though the sentiment in it was the absolute truth.

That truth must have been why, when I saw myself in the mirror, I looked nothing akin to the pictures of mirth. Which only complicated things. I felt happy, silly even, and none of that was reflected in pictures supposing to showcase those very things.

Of course, I'd seen those features on others; those shining eyes, those broad smiles, but it was so different that had it not been entirely situational, I wouldn't have seen it at all. How odd, how strange, how confusing! But that was the way of things, wasn't it?

"Of course, it's all part of the game," I chirped merrily at the mirror. But that just made me think of when I'd played chess with Asaph. It had been so long ago, and I suddenly wanted to again. I set the mirror aside and stood, tucking the pictures under the clothes again and carefully arranging things before closing the closet door behind me and heading for the phone to ring him.

I knew from experience that the telephones in his home were fancy things, modern yet in the more ornate style of old movies. There was a certain glamour element in the mystique of old Hollywood that many collectors found themselves emulating, the idea of a subtle world of grandeur all around us if we simply knew how to seek it out. Even the everyday was glamourous when captured in that unique way, and even collectors had everyday lives. Of course, that was what I sought, to have that majesty at my fingertips at all moments. So by the time it rang, I was a bit envious already.

"Asaph's residence, may I ask who calls?" That was his butler, who only came on occasionally. It was an odd arrangement, very atypical, and led to me having no idea of the man's name.

"Yes, this is Jirarudan. May I speak with the master of the house?"

There was a shuffling of papers, and I suspected he was turning pages in a notebook. "Master Asaph is unavailable."

I thought as much. He was still refusing my calls, after the impromptu jaunt through the city. "Ah, very well. Thank you."

"However, he does have a message for you."

"Oh?" That was surprising. I didn't expect that he would want to have any sort of communication with me until later. Though in honesty, I felt he was vastly overreacting.

"Master Asaph wishes to inform you of his representation in the upcoming exhibit of collectors of the Kanto region in Fuschia City."

Ah, so that was why he had spent so much time in Mr. Higuchi's company. Such fortune being minted at that party! It was beautiful, how everything came together like that, my star shining amidst the light of his. "Thank you for informing me."

"Have you anything further?"

I had the suspicion that at an earlier, uneducated point in my life I would have simply hung up at that. "Tell him I await hearing from him. Thank you."

After ending the call, I rested the phone on my bedside table and leaned back on my bed. Such a beautiful thing it must be to lend to an exhibit! To have so many view that which you'd brought together!

But how many of them would understand it? How many would see it and move on without any impact? I frowned. That simply wouldn't do. It was a distressing thought, but I did trust his judgement. I'd have to ask him the next time we spoke.

"Master Asaph wishes to inform you--" I repeated. Something had unsettled me in that when it was said, but I wasn't sure what until I heard it in my own voice. Why, it was a benefit that I hadn't caught it at the time, else I'd have thought he was dismissing me! To do so without a word would be inexcusibly rude, after all. I was grateful that it hadn't been the case, but how strange that I would worry of it after nothing of the sort was said.

I sighed as I reached over to pull the shade closed, taking a look at the sky as I did. A storm was coming, and in those months it would bring with it some bitter cold far removed from the season. I wondered briefly what Articuno did on its rumored nearby island in that weather, where it took shelter. Though the cold was meaningless to an ice type, and nothing compared to what would come in a scant few months, the wind and rain were sure to drive at its land.

And they did me no favours either. Such weather only reminded me of my position overlooking the ocean, already no doubt heavy with thick-capped waves and grey swells. Someday I would overlook it all, the stormy grey of the world never touching me, but for the time, I burrowed under my blankets in anticipation.

some image sources for someone

2012-12-15T07:50:43Z

Some Athena!

2012-12-01T09:18:09Z

It's been a while since I posted some Athena here, hasn't it?

blackjackrocket @ 2012-11-28T13:06:00

2012-11-28T21:06:44Z

I HAVEN'T SLEPT AND IT'S 1 PM. MY BACK ITCHES SO BADLY FROM THE INCISION SPOT AND HAVING BANDAGES OVER IT FOR A WEEK AND I'VE BROKEN OUT IN A RASH so someone please tell me a bedtime story or something

blackjackrocket @ 2012-11-26T05:59:00

2012-11-26T13:59:39Z

SO YOU'RE AWARE!

I had back surgery on Wednesday. Turned out my leg pain was being caused by a bulging disk that was pressing into my nerve and so I got that taken out. My leg feels better but my back is now in terrible pain and I've spent the time basically high on pain meds and getting nothing done at all (as in, far less than I usually do!).

But I'll be back soon and update my sales and get to everyone seeking to purchase and etc. Plus as stated before, I'm on my phone so if you need to contact me, I'll see it.

DPA MONTH!

2012-11-02T11:53:07Z

Thaaaaat's right, a whole month devoted to Pokémon Diamond and Pearl Adventure!, a terribly underrated Sinnoh adaptation by Shigekatsu Ihara. More focused on the villain plot than a badge quest, DPA is noted for its clever storytelling, impressive depth of emotion, great artwork, and classic characters. It's found a special popularity among Team Galactic fans for treating them as fully realized characters with their own development rather than simple obstacles. And it has the rather pecular distinction of being one of only two Pokémon manga series to be fully translated by Viz (the other being Electric Tale of Pikachu over a decade ago!). All eight volumes are still in print.

We've set aside the month of November to celebrate this unique comic and hopefully get more people reading it. Post discussions, fanfics, fanart, theories, fanmixes, or even just follow along in our handy meme!

This post will serve as a hub for anyone who wants to follow along in the fun! If you participate even just for one post, put the link here so everyone can join in the discussion. Links to other sites are welcome too! If you're joining us on Tumblr, please tag your posts "dpa month" so people can find them.

Thank you and have fun!

HOLY SHIT BLACKJACK WROTE A FANFIC

2012-10-15T13:46:46Z

And holy shit it's about Team Plasma! Now she's written about all of main Teams!

First a little background. So in BW2 there are some bizarre implications about N not being Ghetsis's actual son despite, you know, them looking exactly alike, and it somehow makes it even LESS likely that they aren't somehow related because the story now is that N was abandoned and raised by wild pokemon and Ghetsis found him. Now, Game Freak, you're gonna look me in the eye and tell me that a guy who plots to take over the world and needs a pure heart to awaken the power to do so and is far too corrupt to accomplish this on his own JUST HAPPENS to stumble across a kid that suits his needs perfectly AND looks so very much like him? Yeah no. So anyway here's my fic. It's called Those Lost Days.

He came into my life like the crashing tide, a force that couldn't be ignored. Oh he was handsome then, his flowing hair and casual smile and dangerous, glamorous bent making it impossible to attend anybody but him.

His words, though, were the true pull. He had such a beautiful, lyrical speaking manner, and everything he turned his attention to was enrapturing. I'd lived here all my life and I never knew the Unova region was so rich in history and legend! Of course I had heard of the ancient princes and their war, but only knew what had been necessary to pass a class. He made it feel as though I was there in the castle, hearing their arguments, witnessing the final division between them.

"I am a descendant of that royal line," he told me one day.

"Mister Harmonia, are you trying to seduce me?" I asked in return.

He smirked in that way that he had, narrowing his scarlet eyes. "Perhaps."

I clung to our time together. We were frequently apart, as his business kept him busy and traveling, no doubt to some exalted location. When he would come to me, I was in a constant trance. A spell, from his words, from his very being, as though he was a powerful sorcerer. Unsurprisingly, as the world has its ways, I soon found myself expecting. I couldn't wait to tell him, but he was away.

He was always unreachable during those times. I suppose I could have asked where he went, but it never occurred to me to do so. Everything he told me was so entrancing that some part of me believed that he went through history.

I remember the strange day I told him. He had returned from meeting with his fellow scholars, those he referred to with a dance in his eyes as the "sages", and I sat him down to tell him that he was to be a father.

It was the only time I was ever afraid of him. The only time I ever had reason to be.

He stared at me, his mouth tightening, contorting, his brilliant eyes narrowing into a glare, his hands balling into fists, and I instinctively shielded my face with my arms. It couldn't be! I had never known him to be violent, and had he been I cannot say for certain that I could have opposed him at all.

He bolted from his seat and I backed up so quick as to nearly tumble over, but he caught me. "This is wonderful!" As he enveloped me in his strong arms, I chanced a peek at his face, and all traces of that horrible expression were gone, replaced with unbridled joy. "A child! An heir!"

There was that historical wisdom again, present even in his sense of humor. I felt like everything would be all right. That hideous rage, maybe I had just imagined it.

I didn't think that much changed between us over the next several months. He continued his distant research, returning to me only sparingly. Over time I had come to conduct my own studies on the time in Unova's history that so enraptured him, and though I never uncovered anything new to him, he always met it with engagement and attention. And he had begun to address me as his queen. Of course, who wouldn't find that charming? So I in kind called him my king.

And he began to share with me his studies! Not merely the ancient princes, but so much of the court that would otherwise be lost to history. There was a curse on the family line, he said, that would lead to its ultimate ruin. Long before those fated young men, there had been born a child of unusual presence, of an unholy power. Though in body it had been human, it was in being a pokémon. Unova was beset by an overwhelming plague, he said, because that child had turned its fellow creatures on humanity. That phantom child had been scrubbed from history, even its fate unknown, but he had determined that the story was carried in the royal family for generations. It was an ill omen, he said, that reared up again the generation before the lost princes. That child had been snuffed out within days, but perhaps its very manifestation had been enough to call the attention of the fates.

Oh, he told me many other stories of those lost days, but nothing that remained with me quite as much as that, nothing that was nearly as important.

The birth was at home, attended only by him and his pokémon. Pawniard had taken to cutting Bouffalant's mane and arranging it into a nest, both glancing up at the father-to-be as if to ask him when the nest would be occupied. It was a merry time, so I thought, and I was glad to welcome the child, my child, our child, into the world.

Newborn cries rang in my ears like happy bells, and I remember sighing out "My prince..." as his father cleaned and swaddled him. Such a glorious day! Such a beautiful baby!

And then Pawniard knelt down.

I hardly noticed at first. I'd just called the baby my prince, and perhaps Pawniard had as well been entranced with those ancient stories. But Bouffalant have a minimal understanding of human language, and would never be able to understand such details of human life, so when it as well bowed, we stopped.

"This child..." he muttered, staring down at the infant in his arms. "No, it couldn't be." But the scholar in him, the student, pushed his motions. Zweilous materialized, bowing its two heads low. Then Tynamo, then Tympole, lowering themselves as best they could, then Yamask. When he turned back to me, his face was pale, shock written on every line, and a single word all he could muster. "...no..."

For longer than I care to figure, neither of us spoke. We knew full well the implications of this recognition. Our child, the newest remnant of that ancient bloodline, was cursed.

"He will bring ruin on us all." Those words hung heavy in the air, and the chill that must have been shared by the past queen, mother of that doomed second child, as she realized her infant's fate ran through me.

We couldn't bear that our baby would die as well. I leaned against my king, my sage, as he pondered our course of action and I cursed the morality and laws of the modern era.

"They will obey him," he said at last. "If we leave him to be raised by wild pokémon..."

It was a chance at survival, a chance I clung to, a chance that would have been viewed in ancient times as selfishly staking the kingdom itself. For the first and only time, I held my son as we made our way away from the city and into the surrounding woods under cover of night.

We left him there, our child, as his cries, hideous knells, filled the air.

Within a week, I had made the decision to leave Unova. My king and I parted ways then, his work binding him to the area. I was in exile, and I tried to banish the demon child from my thoughts.

The swells of time passed, and news floated in of the brief reign of Unova's young self-proclaimed king, and the sage who had masterminded his rise to power as a means of propelling himself to a mythic role.

But I was no queen. I was simply another vassal of the twice-fallen king.

And yet, I believe that what he told me was the truth. The royal bloodline was indeed cursed, doomed to fall and rise and fall again and again until they lay dashed around the ruins of that region.

But it was not the beast child that held their fate. It was the the true king, the sorcerer who enraptured others with the lies he spun so easily.

Even still, knowing this all, feeling my body ache when I think of what he took from me, I still long for my king to regale me once again.

blackjackrocket @ 2012-09-26T15:32:00

2012-09-26T22:32:47Z

OK so long story short I have an intense pain in my leg and thus can't sit at my computer for very long. I can get on tumblr because they have an app but LJ and DW are more complicated.

This weekend I'll be selling at the Retro Gaming Expo in downtown Portland and I'm not sure how I'll handle it, since I made the reservation months ago. But if you're there, stop by! It's at the convention center.

Anyway that's where I've been, sorry.

blackjackrocket @ 2012-06-13T02:05:00

2012-06-13T09:05:51Z

So my birthday is today

and if you really want to get me something

you all know what I like

although if you insist I will make a list of suggestions for writing/drawing since most of you are like that.

-I’d love to see something with Shaymin being Cyrus’s therapy animal. Complete with a little vest proclaiming it as such. Plus it would probably blow soot in his face if he started getting those “must destroy universe, become god” feelings again.

-Jirarudan. Just…there needs to be more with him. There is so little out there that I must demand more.

-Something with Jupiter and Mitsumi. Not necessarily shippy, although I certainly wouldn’t turn that away.

-I admit, I have a but a single ship for Mars and it’s with Koya. There is literally nothing for this. Fix that oversight?

and something that would be super nice would be some positive memory you have of me. I need some stuff to read when I feel down (which isn’t now but I can tell it’ll be a difficult summer for me).

blackjackrocket @ 2012-06-04T18:00:00

2012-06-05T01:00:14Z

Do you like Blackjack? Do you like birthdays? Do you like bbq?

Then YOU ARE INVITED to my Birthday Bash, this Friday and Saturday at my place!

Although it’s less a “bash” and more a “we’ll hang out and probably play video games most of the day and if on Saturday we’ll go for ribs” event, but hey.

Can you get down to Beaverton? If so, you can even stay at my place! Just let me know if you can make it~

(disclaimer--my actual birthday is the 13th but we're having the celebration this weekend because my mom couldn't get off work, which is why the rush announcement)

blackjackrocket @ 2012-05-11T02:06:00

2012-05-11T09:06:25Z

So as you may have noticed! I've been sorely absent from LJ and even from DW, basically using Tumblr because it's on my phone (why don't the other two have apps? They're pretty hard to use from a phone).

And it's because my motivation to devote myself to any tasks has been very limited. And today (well, yesterday now) I found out why. Turns out I'm a bona-fide insominac with restless leg syndrome to boot! Of course, I suspected both of these, given that for about a year or so now I've been unable to sleep for a few hours after getting in bed, and I'll lie there for that time tossing and turning and sometimes it'll be well after dawn by the time I finally fall asleep.

So what I've been told to do is to go to bed at a set time every night. Which sounds standard until you consider that the specific time he set, given that he recognizes I'm a general night owl, is three thirty am.

So I've been medically ordered to stay up till half the night! And get up promptly at noon, which may seem super late to a lot of you but that's roughly when people in my house get up (mom works till 11:30 pm so we tend to have different hours than most houses).

I'll let you all know how it goes. I hope that it settles things! I'm sick of being so unmotivated and unfocused! It's really unsettling.

I'll be filling that time with some other stuff now. I'm going to update the sales some more, hopefully...

blackjackrocket @ 2012-04-17T03:15:00

2012-04-17T10:15:19Z

Man idk why I haven't posted in so long. I've been feeling really distant lately, over the past few months. Haven't even touched my sales since the con, even to update them.

I need someone to kick me into shape here! Get on me to do things! Can someone do that?

blackjackrocket @ 2012-01-19T18:17:00

2012-01-20T02:16:59Z

Hm. So I'm still here. Cyrus isn't though. He's moved to DW like the rest of Smash Academy.

I've been feeling especially nolstalgic lately. I keep thinking about things I experienced in childhood. The sound and feel and smell of dried leaves half a foot thick as I walked down the street, kicking them out in a loose arc in front of me. How we'd go to the state park for the maple syrup festival and have a pancake breakfast with syrup made on-site from trees still tapped and bucketed. The smell of the lilly of the valley in the thin strip of dirt between the walkway and house in our backyard. Sitting in class with everyone else. That feeling that only lying in bed under thick covers knowing that it's snowing outside can bring, that sort of wayward romanticism that it conjures in our minds. Riding my bike well outside my boundries to speed past my friend Mike's house three miles away and shout some random clever thought so he'd know it was me, even though I don't think he ever heard it. Or riding my bike the other direction to the big church at the end of the block whose parking lot was about ten times larger than it ever needed so I could take my feet off the pedals and coast down the perpetually deserted area at far faster than my feet could ever take me.

I'm using those feelings a bit to work on the next chapter of Obsession. Perhaps it's a bit odd to have a nine year old character muse about his past or surroundings, but I did so even at that age. I'd think about the house I moved out of when I was six, and the surrounding area. The playground that was about a quarter mile away but that it was such a treat to go to because we rarely did. Crossing over the railroad tracks to get to the store, and how when we moved I couldn't sleep because I couldn't hear the trains any more (I still sleep with a white noise machine).

The other day I got fired. I'm still not sure that I did anything wrong, but I do know that I'd been considering quitting even before that.

I got approved for a house today. I'm not looking forward to it at all. It's a fairly recent convention to insist that offspring leave the house at a certain age, or at all, so I don't understand why I can't stay here, why it's considered unusual for me to be here. My parents have become insufferable, but surely that's nothing new in history.

My dad spent Christmas in the hospital. He had a fever of 107 and nearly died, but he's ok now. Turns out that his lungs are corroded from swallowing acid reflux at night, to the point where they look like he's smoked for 25 years (he smoked once and only once, and that was when he was a kid, as kids do).

I'm able to reply to comments now. I'm not sure what the issue was, but even now the reply button is greyed out and seems unclickable. Maybe I was able to all along and the grey was only psychological? I have no idea.

I'm going to update my sales more often. I'll have to, if I live on my own. I haven't updated in months, and I've really got no excuse for that. I've let things go unanswered, even knowing that I need the money. I've had such lethargy lately, to the point where I'll put off doing things I know I want to do. I got Skyward Sword for Christmas and I haven't opened it yet because I've got a blockade against starting something new. It took me a few days to read Phantom Thief Pokemon 7 even though I'd wanted to read it for years (I wound up being somewhat underwhelmed although that's probably for a different post). I didn't even log into this account for a while.

My sleep's been disrupted lately. I keep taking forever to fall asleep no matter how exhausted I am, I'll wake up at all hours, and when I get up it takes me over an hour sometimes to get moving. I talked to the doctor and she thinks I have a vitamin D deficency, but I'd already been taking suppliments (apparently, due to the lack of sun out here, it's very common in this part of the world).

I've been taking some steps towards doing things. I got a sewing machine and some cookbooks. I've set up a housewarming registry. But I keep thinking about the isolation. I'll have Athena and you online people and sometimes Kelly and that's about it. I'm not good at making friends in person.

So um...any advice?

blackjackrocket @ 2011-12-21T00:15:00

2011-12-21T08:15:27Z

So LJ. Please to stop being a bag of dicks right now.

I can't even reply! I'm trying to reply in the Release 88 thread and none of my journals will let me do so! I was before, but all of a sudden the "Add comment" button remains greyed out and won't become clickable.

I was initially on Cyrus's account, but when that happened, I switched to Jirarudan's account. Same thing. Then to my own. Also same thing.

The hell, LJ. I wasn't posting near enough to qualify for a flood filter.

Anyway, I sent this in to the California BBB:

Complaint Description:
LiveJournal issued a beta test wherin some of its core details changed dramatically. Beta testers advised it not to proceed yet the administration did anyway. Now, loyal bloggers are left unable to access basic functions such as comment previews, subject lines, and other things of use. Additionally, the agent known as "igrick" mocked beta testers in Russian, assuming they wouldn't understand him. LJ has not listened to its paying member base, and refuses to provide any way to return to the original format that we signed up and paid money for. Finally, the new default color scheme, used on administration blogs and unchangable therin, is causing headaches, eyeaches, and migranes in many users, and this strikes me as a medical issue.

Your Desired Resolution:
Their attention, basically. We pay money to blog with them and it feels like they don't take any of that into account.

I know there's probably a million holes in it but I don't care.

How can LJ be so awesome in some regards and so buttfuck stupid in others? Like when they supported the controversial Russian bloggers who were targeted by the service attacks? That was pretty badass and I wanted to high five them all. But then they turn around and do this? What the cheese is going on in your heads, LJ?

EDIT: I'm still unable to reply, including to my OWN POST HERE. I can MAKE a post but I can't comment to it? That makes no sense!

ANOTHER EDIT SEVERAL HOURS LATER: I can't change to custom comments because I'm on S1 which apparently doesn't have that ability. But I was able to comment for years, including several times in that thread just earlier tonight. I can think of no valid reason for my comments to suddenly stop working.

blackjackrocket @ 2011-12-16T05:15:00

2011-12-16T13:15:34Z

So I'm back. I never even planned to go anywhere but for some reason I just...didn't log into this account for a month.

Which is a bit strange, considering that I haven't even been using my RP account. I'm still in SBG, but I sort of wrote Cyrus out for a while until a plot got mostway written.

Which leads me to be...well, frankly, upset. So many people wanted to be a part of the event I'd come up with, but so few of them posted. I even had to make a different post for the climax of the plot because I have to get him back in the game (mod approved action, I might add).

But it's disappointing. For the longest time I've felt like I really belong with them, and now suddenly it's like no one wants to hang out with me. I know it's "pretendy funtimes" but this isn't about the game. This is about the people. When you tell someone that you'll do something with them and then you don't show up for it, of course it's going to shake their faith in you.

Yeah, I know some of you read this journal. But I've said all this before. It's really frustrated. I divided up the thread like that in order to cut down on confusion, and yet all I hear is "it's confusing to have it divided up". I don't want things to end up being contradictory or anything, which is why I did that. I explained it.

I'm really not sure what to do. I want to keep playing Cyrus, and I want to keep playing him in SBG. But right now I'm not feeling any spark to play him, and it's because I've spent the past month sitting around waiting for comments that never came, for plots that were discussed and planned but never happened.

And I'm tired of being dismissed when I bring it up. I want to do this because I want to keep playing, but I feel like I'm being ignored.

I really do love you guys though. I'm just frustrated.

I've also been sick for quite a while. I'm not sure why, and it keeps changing around. Most of the time I'm extremely lethargic and feel borderline feverish, even though no fever has manifested. Right now I also have a sore throat. Oh yeah, and despite the lethargy, I can barely get to sleep. I'm up all night and can only sleep when I'm absolutely exhausted. Right now it's 4 am and I'm wide awake.

I've been so confused by a lot of things lately, moreso than usual. If I started a community for people to ask potentially offensive questions out of genuine answer-seeking in an environment that would be flame and accusation free, would any of you join? So often I'm met with "well you just don't WANT to understand" when people claim to be explaining things to me that I don't get despite me trying my damndest to comprehend that I take to be arbitrary standards or whatever.

So a few weeks ago I casually mentioned being asexual to my mom and she insists that I can't be because I've had crushes on guys. That's one of those things that I have a feeling makes sense to other people, but to me her reply was a massive nonsequetior. Like yeah I know those things often overlap, but to connect them so directly seems like she suddenly started babbling or something.

I'm not sure why my understanding is getting worse. It's troublesome for me, because I can't imagine a time in my life where these things *would* have made any more sense, but I was never this confused by everyday things before. It seems I can't go a few hours without thinking "well why in the world would someone do that?" or "well, that makes no logical sense" or "oh come on people don't really do that". I never used to do that.

I started on Obsession 24 but I only wrote a few paragraphs before stopping. I tell myself it's because I don't know what to do with Veronica and her whole thing (see chapter 23 to know what I'm talking about), but I don't think that's the full issue. One, I have no idea what the chapter will be *about*, but mostly, I just don't feel it any more. I haven't felt Jiri-like in ages, although I adore talking about him! It's his mindset, that complete detachment from everything around him. I feel like I'm too involved in what's around me, which is interesting because it isn't true at all. I'm going to finish the story! It may just take longer than anticipated.

It's after 5 am now and I'm only starting to get sleepy. At the beginning I was wondering if I was even going to post this, but I think I will (well, you already knew that since you read this far).

Man how can I type so fast when I'm tired and it's 5 am?

Anyway, I wanted to get some things off my chest. Any advice for getting back into Jirarudan's mindset? I'd try RPing him but it's hard to do without delving into headcanon sooner or later.

blackjackrocket @ 2011-11-17T15:33:00

2011-11-17T23:33:44Z

It's that time of year again! Give me your addresses (the post is screened, obviously) and I'll send you something cool! And if you ask, I'll PM you my address too.

Also I do need names to accompany the addresses. I've been told that to send to Canada, real names are required (although someone else at the post office said I didn't, despite the first time hearing it came when a letter was refused shipping because of the lack of name! How odd). I think most of you non-Canadians can just give me your internet name though.

blackjackrocket @ 2011-10-29T19:59:00

2011-10-30T02:59:22Z

Ok I promised a meme. I ganked this from this entry and I think it ought to be fun.

Anyway the basic premise is that there's this weird belief that if we express a controversial belief in our fics, we MUST hold that view ourselves. So we go through and list all the things we'd be if our stories were us.

I would beeeeee...

-an art collector
-an airship pilot
-a death god
-a cult leader
-a huge science-fiction nerd
-a former commando
-a current commando
-an amnesiac MI6 agent
-a parrot
-the smartest person in my entire hometown
-completely oblivious to social cues and tone of voice
-the victim of years of emotional neglect
-a hyperactive flirt
-a religious maniac
-a temple guardian
-obsessed with a firebird
-obsessed with a water bird
-obsessed with my dead best friend
-plotting to reshape the world
-an ecoterrorist
-sleeping with my boss
-sleeping with my employees
-wearing a mask all the time
-incredibly wealthy
-a crime leader
-making people emotionally dependent on me as a hobby
-a technogeek
-a major in astrophysics
-a university graduate at 19
-the emperor of a parallel world
-the empress of a whole planet
-a soldier
-a brainwashed farmboy
-the owner of a magical sword
-never taken seriously
-a sorceress from another planet
-a seemingly emotionless bounty hunter
-a drug addict
-a brawler
-a scientific genius
-Japanese
-British
-a clone
-an empty vessel
-a magical being
-a half-magical being
-a teenager in love
-far older than I look
-far younger than I look

And that's just off the top of my head!

Time for another edition of "Blackjack tries to figure out the nonsense of the world"

2011-10-30T01:29:30Z

Recently it's come to my attention that I seem to have a vastly different system of importance than others seem to. People think it strange that I place so much importance on justice to the point where I'd be willing to endanger myself for it. Yet to me it's only natural. Others talk about "oh well what about your family?" and I think "wow. People would rather live in injustice and never stand up for what they believe in, thus teaching their family to do the same and thus continue the whole process, rather than put themselves at risk for what's right?"

It seems so alien to me that people would choose personal safety over a greater sociatal good. And it also seems alien to me that really the only major form we have of a greater cause over personal safety is armed forces. Which, of course, isn't really for a greater sociatal good anyway, as it takes people away from the everyday life and trains them to kill whoever the government tells them to. Which is pretty much the opposite of what I'm talking about. How odd then that armed services are considered normal, even admirable, while putting yourself at risk over things like social status or discrimination are considered risks not worth taking. Seems to me the priorities are all screwed up.

I remember I talked a while ago about how I don't feel a part of any culture, and someone said that white people tend to feel that way. But the closest cultures I regularly see are Italian and French--both usually white. The whole concept of a culture makes no sense to me. It's common traits, behaviors, clothing, and foods linked together by physical proximity and whatever happens to be around. That doesn't sound like anything all that important to me. That sounds like trying to find meaning in coincidence. These people happened to live in this spot for a while so they developed these things. What meaning does that have? Doesn't sound like anything to me. Why try to cling to it? Why try to keep people from partaking of your coincidence just because they had a different coincidence? We hear that "othering" is bad, but to say "you can take from any culture but ours" is just self-othering. And it confuses even the vague and unspecified concept of "culture" with the somewhat more solid but still vague concept of "race", because apparently I as a white person can take from any European culture, even those I don't belong to. How is me taking from, say, Irish or Finnish any different than me taking from, say, Indian or Japanese or Egyptian? I don't belong to any of those cultures, but it seems so arbitrary that I can take from those if I happen to bear a vague physical resemblance to the majority in them.

Like, ethnically I'm Russian, Romanian, and French. Personally I'm American, specifically Midwesterner. But I don't feel like any of them. I have no connection to Russia, Romania, or France, and I feel the same living on the west coast than I did in Indiana. Which is interesting because I tend to skew extremely liberal, which is what Portland tends towards, but Indiana is incredibly conservative. That ought to indicate different cultures, right? So why do things feel the same to me here as there? Is it because I see through people's rhetoric and just see the same misanthropic world I always have?

And if the issue of taking from other cultures is based on "you can't take from any your cultures have historically oppressed", then I shouldn't be able to take from...well, pretty much anybody in the area surrounding Russia, since they oppressed a LOT of their neighbors. Polish would be right out, as would anything in Scandinavia...and let's not forget internal oppression, in which case all three of those would eliminate themselves and I'd be left with nothing. Heck, if you want to really cut this to the line, I wouldn't even be able to take from American culture because of the Cold War (despite my ancestors having lived in the US for about fifty years before that even started).

I had a runin with the same loon who called me racist before. Now she's calling me sexist because I said that men have a right to feminist safe spaces. Does she think that men can't be feminists? Because that's pretty sexist right there. She's accusing me of "whataboutthemenz" thinking, with a bizarre ability to pull things I never said nor implied out of thin air and disregard anything I *do* say. Frankly, every victim of anything should be able to speak up, and if they feel oppressed and need a safe space to do it in, they should be able to go to any safe space and do so. Man, she would have HATED the womens' resource center at my college, since they had several male employees. Apparently they had no right to be there and they should stay away from anything female! Who knew! (edit later: now she's actually using her disability as a cover! I didn't think people actually DID that! She's insulting me for how DARE I use "idiot" about a disabled person! Despite there being no way for me to know this! Apparently this is some terrible thing despite us having one of the SAME DISABILITIES.)

But that brings me to another topic. Gender feels so incredibly alien to me as well. Hormones don't dictate who we are, do they? Is that really that commonplace that a happenstance of birth will define you? That seems irregular, like it ought to be incredibly uncommon, almost unheard of. And yet almost everybody is. Why? I don't feel like a female. But I know I wouldn't feel like a male either. My body is just there to carry my mind around. It's secondary. It's not who I as a person, as a thinking being, am. It's just a body. Why is that so important? Why is that above experience and deed? Aren't those the true definitions of what makes a person? Why are those considered so remote, away from the primary form? It's just a form. A framework. Something unimportant. To link action to it, to link likes to it, to link personality to it...why? Why connect such distant and unrelated points? Why establish standards based on body? Why divide society into bodies? Bodies aren't people. They're sacks of meat and bone.

I mean sure, from a scientific standpoint, brains are just sacks of neurons, but the brain is the real self. It's where our experiences and personalities are stored. It's where WE are stored. And to base things on the body before the personality even begins to develop is just strange. Just useless, just self-defeating, just divisive.

I've always loved the idea of androgyny, and at first I thought that was just because I grew up in the 1980s, but it goes beyond fashion or music stars. It just makes SENSE, because we *aren't* our bodies, and to define identity on them is such a bizarre concept.

I seem to have moved a long way from my starting point. But I guess it all boils down to "the world sucks and their arbitrary rules are stupid".

Plus I have a meme to post.

Obsession 23!

2011-10-12T08:34:38Z

So! When we last left our heroes they had run off from a fashion event held by Veronica's mother! What will the big city hold for them?

Veronica couldn't stop giggling, with a skip in her step as she paid our fares and headed to a seat in the back of the bus. I followed, sitting across the aisle from her. The bus was nearly deserted, with only a few locals about. The area she lived in was just north of the predominantly farm country that Asaph's home lay in, although his was some ways away. It was an unflinching place, where life droned on without incident yet personalities were laid bare and blunt. Far too quiet for my tastes, to say nothing of too impolite.

She took my hand and patted it. "You look like you've never been on a bus before."

"I take the bus sometimes. To downtown mostly." Although given Seafoam's small size, it was more of a shuttle, despite being called otherwise.

"It's a nice feeling, being so free, isn't it?"

I looked around. The bus was clean, with only a lingering diesel smell to give away the more unsavoury associations with this mode of transportation. "It's better than I thought it would be," I admitted. "A bit bumpy though." The roads out there were considered region roads rather than those belonging to any set city, although we were inside the outskirts of the Viridian city limits.

"Yeah, that happens. Jiri..." Her tone changed, became softer, and her gaze wandered to the ground. "...I'm glad you're here with me. I hate being alone."

"I remember that, from that night in Goldenrod."

"You and I are very special people, aren't we?" Another aspect of the Goldenrod trip. Asaph's words lingered with us, working their way into our hearts and the depths of our minds. "We're better than most, right?"

She was ending everything with a question. "Are you not sure of that? Because I am."

She looked even further away, turning her head towards the front of the bus but not looking much at it. "All this pageantry gets to me after a while. It's so artificial."

That was certainly understandable. "Yes, it's not very charming. Your mother may be a nice person, but she's a terrible designer." Having to buffer something negative with something positive, although I didn't think I meant the compliment.

Green eyes back at me. "Oh, I like my dress. I like it a lot. Yours though..." She giggled again, which was encouraging. "Honestly I'm not sure what she was going for. I think she saw a painting and decided to make it into a trainer outfit. I think it takes more than some sturdy shoes to accomplish that."

"True, true. Although I think yours would be better without the hat."

Was she insulted or just kidding me? She harrumphed and sat back in her seat, slouching in a way Asaph would never allow. "I like my hat! It's kicky." But then she laughed again. "And it keeps Ralts with me. It's just tall enough to keep a pokéball on my head. But don't tell anybody. Mom would be mad that I'm messing my hair."

The words /Among other things/ came to mind and I wasn't sure why, but I figured it wasn't time to say it.

"You aren't very interested in pokémon, are you?" she asked abruptly, and it took me a moment to hear her.

"Oh? No, not really." I sat forward at that, still looking at her. "Other than Lugia, but it's a world apart."

I thought she would ask why, but she didn't and I was glad for it. "...Cresselia is supposed to be really lovely. I wish I had it today."

"Well, you just had your birthday. Perhaps you'll be surprised at Christmas."

She sighed. "...Your birthday is coming up. Is there anything you want?"

Without thinking, I said "If I had Lugia, we could just fly there."

It garnered a laugh, and I felt a wave of embarrassment. "I can see you doing that when no one's looking. Taking it out of its display and flying around on it." She made fluttering motions with her hands as she added "maybe with a scarf and goggles, like a gentleman aviator. Oh, and driving gloves! Can't forget those!"

"I wouldn't do that," I muttered, turning towards the window. "I was kidding. One doesn't ride on Lugia."

Another sigh. "You're so confusing. I know you want to soar across the sky on Lugia. And I know you adore it, but your voice gets so dull when you talk about it." In the reflection, I could see that she was staring out her own window, her back to me. "I tend to think that you're reigning yourself in, like if you let yourself get excited about it, you wouldn't be able to keep up your decorum. But I don't know if you're actually that way or not."

"How long were you planning this?" Perhaps a jump of subject, but it had been on my mind. "You had the money on hand, and exact fare at that, even though you're still in your clothes from the show."

She giggled as she had before. "I told you I'd have to go off somewhere with you, didn't I? Don't say I didn't warn you."

Not that I had much of a choice. I suppose I could have resisted, but it would have been ungentlemanly to do so. "I hope you told someone."

"They heard me." That was true, there'd been several designers around her at the time she told me. "We'll be back before the end of the party anyway. Mom and dad won't even notice that we're gone. Asaph might, but we'll be there before he knows it."

That made sense. Viridian downtown wasn't very far, and the trip was over in about fifteen minutes. By that time, the bus had filled up more than half, and many people stared at us in our new designer outfits. But it only made us laugh, their disbelief at what they'd all gobble up the moment it hit shelves. Maybe to them it was like seeing the future, Veronica and I harbingers of what was to come.

I was half tempted to say something to that effect when we disembarked, Veronica grabbing me by the wrist again and pulling me from my seat, but for some reason neither of us could stop laughing by that point.

I'd had my apprehensions about the sudden trip, but once we arrived amidst the towering buildings, those feelings dissolved into the fragrant air. Viridian always smelled of flowers, of plants, known as it was as the Eternally Green Paradise.

To be young and carefree in the big city...that was a wonder of the world, a work of art by itself. We were independent, living by our own means, and no one could tell us what to do.

She still held my wrist even when she stopped at a corner. "So where should we go? Want to get some lunch? I haven't eaten all day."

I thought back to my breakfast of reheated doria. Keeping my money secret from my father meant still dealing with whatever he filled the refrigerator with. "I'd like that."

"Did you bring any money? I mean, if you didn't, I can pay for it, it's no problem, but..."

"I have some. I didn't know if the servers would be tipped at the party, and I brought some in case they would." My wallet was stuffed into my pocket, and I was glad that it didn't show from the outside or Tierney likely would have demanded that I hand it over before heading out onto the runway.

"And here you were getting on my case for bringing money," Veronica snickered.

The difference there was that she'd brought exact change. Hadn't I said that on the bus? She got dismissive when I said so then, but now she was just smiling. "You're confusing too," I replied.

"Let's all be confusing!" she exclaimed loudly, smiling broadly. "The world is confusing! Let's rise to the challenge! Come on!" And then she scampered off, to the next corner, where she turned on her heel and waited with her hands behind her back.

By the time I caught up with her, she'd done a few spins in place. "You're going to get your dress all sweaty," I chided, but I got the feeling she wasn't paying attention.

"Ooooooh, look at that!" she announced, pointing dramatically at an old-looking hotel. "They have a western tea service! Let's go!"

I would have protested, but her bringing attention to the subject of food had brought to mind that I was quite hungry myself, so I followed along.

The interior, past the uniformed doorman who held the doors for us, was broad and tall, with vaulted ceilings and thick metal rails down the staircase that trailed up a side of the room to a mysterious balcony with tiny black and white photographs dotting the wall. It took almost no effort to imagine the place playing host to the worlds' elite, to picture this being a centerpoint of prestige.

As I looked around, marvelling at the moulding and detail, I could hear Veronica asking for a seat for two in the dining room. Glancing over at her, I couldn't help but think how she breached the worlds. Still very much a child, that much was clear by looking at her in all her frills and ribbons. But acting very much as an adult, that much was clear by her composed boldness.

But Asaph had told us to hold onto our youth, despite our maturity, so I wondered if I could live in this time and be nine for longer than I logically could. It was impossible, of course, but ah, such a dream.

We were led to a tiny table near the centre fixture of the room, big enough only for the two of us, with her purse having to take rest wedged behind her back. That fixture loomed over us, a giant round sitting structure with an inner rise crowned by an opulent blooming plant, and decked with plush seats. One of them was next to us, pulled up to our table as if expecting an uninvited guest. But Veronica and I sat across from each other, and she smiled as if she had done this every day.

"I love tea, the whole service. Something about food being so much more special when it's small and ceremonial, you know?"

I glanced at the small glossy menu set before us, next to the prearranged teacups with double chargers and faux-silver table setting. "I suppose. Domestic tea ceremonies can't hold my attention, but I appreciate the sentiment. I've never had a western tea before."

She giggled as she sorted through the small basket of jams that sat at the edge of the table. "The tea tastes so good though! You should try to sit through one. The reward's well worth it. But you don't get little cakes with it. Ooh!" Selecting a tiny glass jar from the basket, she opened it with a flourish of her wrist. "I love marmalade. Mama tells me I have to watch my weight, but things like this...well, she's not here, is she?"

I took a jar of strawberry preserves. "Something a bit sweet. I suppose this means the scones will be rather bland."

She looked at the menu as well. "Probably." Leaning in conspiratorially, she confided "I can never eat those without getting crumbs everywhere. It's a good thing Asaph isn't here either!"

"A lack of authority figures is certainly exciting," I agreed. "What are we going to do after this?"

Leaning back, she smirked. "How about you pick the next activity?"

"Oh well then!" But despite my enthusiastic reception to this idea, I had to pause to think. I hadn't seen much of Viridian. "Well...I think we're just a few blocks from the art museum."

Veronica scoffed, her expression turning to a frown. "Jiriiiiiii" and it came out in a long high tone "We do that so much! Viridian is a big city!"

"But they have a new exhibit," I told her. "That'll be something we haven't seen before, and I don't think Asaph will take us to it." It was on automobiles, the classic designs rarely seen in modern builds. Asaph didn't appreciate the artwork of machinery, considering it far too practical to be viewed as proper art. But I disagreed. A sleek design was as artistic as any jewel or painting.

"Aah fine. I guess I did let you pick. You're so boring sometimes!" But she was smiling again anyway.

A server appeared, seemingly out of thin air given our distracted attentions. "Are you ready to order? Two Peter Bunearies?"

That was the name that was given to the insultingly base children's menu, and Veronica shook her head. "Absolutely not! We'd like the full service, please."

The woman eyed us for a moment. While the full service menu was far more to our tastes, it was also three times more expensive, and there were two of us. "All right, of course."

We placed our orders and Veronica adjusted her hat. "I swear, the nerve of some people," she said, ensuring that Ralts's pokéball was firmly in place. "Assuming something like that. We're almost adults."

"I remember that story," I commented. "The one the service is named for. A Buneary sneaks out and gets into all sorts of trouble."

Veronica laughed, the dainty society laugh we were taught. "Ah yes. One would think a Buneary wearing a jacket would be a giveaway that it was special."

"Didn't he lose his jacket at one point?"

She thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. It's been years since I've read that."

"Me too..." There was something lost there, wasn't there? It was supposed to be a childhood canon, part of the means that form us, and we'd both forgotten how it went.

"There's someone at school who named their Nidoran Peter, because of its ears," she mused softly. "But when it evolves, the name won't fit any more."

The tea came and was poured elegantly into cups, the leaves falling into metal nets placed over the teacups. We waited until the waitress was gone to continue our conversation. I'd ordered a light tea from China and sipped at it although it was far too hot to do so. Veronica stirred in some honey to her herbal tea and waited. "Have you given any thought to naming your Ralts?" I asked as she tapped her spoon at the side of her cup. "Or will you?"

"I'm not sure. I can't think of any name that would suit her. But Ralts aren't like humans. In the wild they don't give each other names."

"Are there any species that do?" I asked.

"Jynx do. They have a pretty complex language, although they have difficulty speaking most human languages. Something about the way their throats are formed. Aaaaand..." That tapping again, though her spoon was clean of tea, and she looked up at the ceiling, speckled with paint to give the impression of wear and age. "And I think Yamask do but that whole thing is really creepy...'

I'd heard of them, those creatures that were said to have once been human. I wasn't sure if that was true or not, but they were often found in ancient tombs and had taken on the death masks of those buried there. And they guarded treasure, things they never used but prevented anyone from taking. How silly of them. The dead person wasn't about to enjoy such things, and the Yamask certainly weren't, so why not let the living take and enjoy the treasures within? To bury them was just a waste.

I must have been smiling because Veronica burst into laughter, louder than before. "Let me guess. Yamask to tombs to treasures to your collection, right?"

"You know me too well." She was only mostly right, as I hadn't yet connected it to myself yet, but it was certainly heading there.

The tea service was phenomenal. Elegant though accessible, with simple delicacies that satisfied my hunger for the finer things in life. But I must confess it distressed me. Such simple things and yet they were far more than my normal life. It was frustrating to bite into a delicious cucumber sandwich only to realize that even my father could make something like this and yet chose not to.

Veronica was her usual garrulous self, speaking of school, of home, of art and society. In turn I told her of my studies, of the clippings that decorated my room, of the madness that consumed Seafoam every summer surrounding the surfing competition.

"You know, my mother's had a few of her sportwear designs in that competition. The Humungadunga attracts a lot of athletes from around the world, so it's great press for her."

"I don't know how you can say that name with a straight face," I told her, admiring a painting on the wall. "I absolutely refuse to say such an inane name."

She chuckled. "Sometimes I think you're just a very tiny old man. You come off as so relaxed about things but sometimes your sense of humor just..." She trailed off, shaking her hands in the air to dismiss the unfinished sentence. "I know you have one though. That's more than some people. But you're not a very spontaneous person either, today excepted."

I leaned back in my chair, the plush walls of it taking the edge off the surrounding people as it blocked them from view. "Yes...I must admit that I thought I'd need more quiet. But the museum will provide that."

"Quiet?"

"Yes, after all the hustle and bustle of our outings, even our normal ones, I need solitude for a while to get my thoughts in order."

Veronica reached for the last of the tea cakes, a small lemon bar. "Mm, strong. You seem like you have your thoughts in order all the time. Nothing really seems to get to you."

I thought back to my outburst the year before, when I'd broken my father's book and stormed out of the house. "Not much, I suppose. Shall we move on? The museum awaits!"

She paid for both of us, something I'd wondered if she'd do, and we left, tumbling out of the doors as we both laughed for the sheer joy of our freedom. It had come on suddenly, exhasperatingly, and we willingly gave ourselves to the emotion. Being outdoors in the city was a thrill we'd yet to adjust to, and I hoped we never would. But Veronica lived here, albeit off in the distance, and it had yet to wear out in her mind, so I had hopes for the future.

The sights lay out around us, filling us with a sense of an exotic locale. Buildings wore faded paint ads for businesses that no longer existed, and large ancient vertical signs for things that did. It was a young city as far as the world knew, but it had seen its share of time pass by, and looked akin to some of the faraway cities I'd read about so longingly. Someday I'd see them, but for now their younger sibling would have to suffice.

The past century had seen a boom, and our route took us by several places that had been constructed in that fat era. We'd been relatively untouched by war, even though it had decimated places as nearby as Celadon, so we had far more of our past to bear. And it was beautiful to behold, the modern era rising and swelling around us with the bounty of endless energy. Wood gave way to brick, brick gave way to steel and glass, and all of it suited the city perfectly. Viridian, the eternally green paradise, was our present and we meant to enjoy it fully.

A park lay to our left as we continued on, block after block of tall trees and statuary, with people and pokémon taking up the benches that dotted the path. "We should go through there later," I pointed out.

Veronica glanced over, a spring in her step. "Eeeeh," she muttered. "That area smells bad. I think people sleep there."

That was a trainer's life, wasn't it? Going wherever, sleeping where they pleased, taking up space. None of them were even looking at the statues, and that was a pity far beyond anything else. "So close and yet so far," I murmured.

"You're doing it again," she chided me. "I'm guessing you had some thought that led up to that, but it didn't make any sense coming off of what I said. Remember, Asasph told you that you have to elaborate more so you don't come off as odd. Why do you do that, anyway?"

"I don't know. Things make perfect sense to me."

"We're not mind readers, Jiri," she giggled, but it was broken as she glanced back and forth as we passed by a bench dominated by drunken scofflaws and a shaggy Growlithe that may well have been inebriated as well. I could guess that she was trying to ignore them, based off her increase in pace.

"I do--" I was about to tell her that I don't suppose mind readers would be permitted to attend auctions when she grabbed my wrist, an action that made me pull my hand away. "I don't mind holding hands, but please try to show less force!"

Her brow was furrowed again; was she trying to concentrate? Was she upset? Perhaps she'd misread me. "Well, there's the museum."

There indeed. The building wasn't much on the outside, a misleading box of brick propped up on a slab of cement that had been dotted by a few sculptures. It was easy to pass it by, to mistake it for something it wasn't, but the rewards inside were the whole of the world.

We together walked up the stairs to the front entrance, and I commented that they ought to have a doorman here as well as I held the steel-edged door for her. She didn't respond, keeping her eyes on the floor as she passed me by. A novel thing to do. I did the same as I followed her in, experiencing my familiar surroundings in a new way. How smart of her!

I noticed she didn't check her pokéball at the coat check although people were asked to do so. As much as I valued the rules of society, Veronica wasn't likely to make Ralts known at any point, so I figured it wouldn't be worth it to say anything. Not that a Ralts couldn't cause trouble in a museum, of course. But I knew Veronica.

She was laughing again, having received a compliment on her outfit from the clerk, and enthusing about her mother's design. The clerk was all too eager to see mine then, and I twirled around slowly just as I had a few hours ago. The attention was odd. We were here to see things, not to be seen, and I had the feeling of being on display myself. That would be interesting, I mused, to be the art itself and be admired by all who beheld me. Oh, what a dreamer I was!

But we were surrounded by the bounty of the world, and so personages had to be left at the door. Nothing was ever meant to surpass the art, and even the grandest person would be so much background noise before the pieces.

Veronica was already inside, looking around. "So where to first? The silver room?" That was her favourite, I recalled.

"I want to see the automobile exhibit." I thought I'd told her, but in retrospect I may have simply thought it. Even so, I was positive I'd said the new exhibit.

"Oh huh. It's closed today."

I stood still for a moment, staring at her. "But the museum's open."

She wandered over to a sign, taking an inordinate amount of time to do so. "It says that they have to have more security on it so they don't offer it every day."

Had she not understood me? "But the museum's open," I repeated, slower and more distinctive. Perhaps I'd rushed my words before, so I made certain she would hear me.

"I know that." She was slow and distinctive as well, staring back at me. "I can't do anything about that. We'll have to come back." Her mood had shifted considerably, away from the distinctly cheerful ebullience from a moment ago.

"Odd, I hadn't figured you to take much interest in that exhibit." I started heading in, passing the room of prehistoric continental art.

"What's that mean? You're so weird." After a chuckle, she followed along. "I hadn't figured you for a car guy either. You don't seem the sort."

I paused in front of an especially realistic sculpture of a working man. "The designs fascinate me. They're beautiful, to have a functional work of art. At least those are. Commonplace machines lose their beauty, not only because of their being everywhere, but because they're dumbed down. I wish I knew why they did that."

Veronica smiled. "Maybe they want to keep the special ones special. Like people, like how we're shining stars. We wouldn't be if everyone was."

That made as much sense as anything, although I doubt that was the aim of the companies. "We're very rare, that's certain. But I still want to see them."

"You can always come back. It'll be here for a while longer." She examined the sculpture, shivering slightly, before moving on to a red bench that wasn't for sitting.

"I suppose." I had to remind myself of that, that it would be there and I could see it. Otherwise I'd be very put out by the whole affair. What sort of museum couldn't afford basic manpower for its exhibits? It put a damper on the whole thing.

"You're frowning, right? It's hard to tell."

"Hmm?" I held a hand to my face, and sure enough the corners of my mouth were tightened down. "I suppose I am. It's frustrating."

"Tell me about it. This is what, the fifth time today that I've told you how hard to read you are? But I suppose that makes you a good dealer, since people can't tell what you're thinking. You'll be a wiz at negotiating."

That hadn't been what I meant at all. But she was right about the future, I hoped. "Once I have things to negotiate with. I've got my eye on a sculpture for sale downtown." One of the many art galleries in Seafoam had caught my attention with a piece of a Wingull nest, and I sensed that the price was due to skyrocket due to the market shifting towards natural scenes. "How boring though."

"I missed something, didn't I? Let's go to the silver room!" She reached for my hand again, this time more genteelly, and we went off together, me biting back that she was doing the same thing I did.

What a brilliant event, the two of us wandering the museum of our own accord! From the silver room to the ancient treasures of the Orange region (none of my brilliant Lugia, though) to paintings from a distant continent and era, we were free to behold whatever we pleased. Free in a world of beauty and perfection, the highest freedom we could imagine. I never wanted it to end.

But of course it had to. Even paradise has its working hours, and the Viridian Museum closed its doors after far too short a time.

It was after dark, and Veronica pulled her fringed top tighter.

"If I had a jacket, I'd offer it to you," I told her, although it would make no difference for her to know a theoretical situation.

"I appreciate it. Chilly for this time of year."

"Oh?" I took in the night, the breeze between the buildings, the streetlamps over us, the people in the park across the way. "It's fairly warm for me. But Seafoam tends to be colder than further inland."

"In that case, I wish I had your fortitude," she murmured. "Let's get back to the bus stop in a hurry."

"All right." The shortest route was through the park, and I started off that way automatically.

"Jiri, where are--" Heaven only knows what she was planning on finishing that with. But she followed along a moment later, linking her arm in mind as she came up beside me. "Don't say anything, ok?"

I nodded. Was this a game? But I could play along, even if I couldn't tell her to do anything in return.

We continued through the park as she held tight to me, nearly through when one of the drunkards stepped out in front of us, smelling of all manner of debris and filth. "Going somewhere?"

Veronica kept me moving, trying to steer me around him.

He held out a rough, dirty hand. "There's a fee for fancy people to pass through. Hand over your money."

That was trouble. She broke away from me and we both started to run, and both of us were stopped by growling dogs. The Growlithe in front of me snarled, backing me towards her again, while she was cornered by a Houndour with its fur in patches. "...Jiri, why did you go through the park! You knew I didn't want to go through the park!" Her words were slightly drawn out and a bit higher and thicker than usual. "Aaah fine!" she exclaimed before I could answer. "I didn't want to have to do this, but go! Ralts!"

She'd taken off her hat and brandished Ralts's pokéball, triggering it to release the small psychic-type. Ralts appeared with a chirp of its name, twirling around in the air before landing in front of the Houndour.

Once she had sent out Ralts, attention seemed to be off me, something I was glad for. I wandered on the outskirts, not wanting to be involved but not wanting to abandon Veronica either. I could have run, but no gentleman would run. Would it be gentlemanly of me to try to fight the muggers myself? Asaph had never covered this situation, and Veronica had told me not to say anything, so I was puzzled in silence.

"Since I'm such a nice guy," the filthy man laughed, "I'll let you go first."

She was up against a massive type disadvantage, but she stood her ground. Her mouth tightened and eyes narrowed, pink dress looking inflamed under the streetlamp. "Ralts! Double Team!"

Ralts squealed and focused itself, creating identical false images of itself through force of will. The Houndour looked unimpressed, despite the ring of Ralts around it. With what seemed to be a roll of its eyes, it brought its teeth down on one at random.

All the images vanished. Bite had been super-effective, and Ralts was knocked out, tossed out of the Houndour's mouth like a toy. Veronica cried out and scrambled about with her hat, recalling Ralts and trying to hide the ball again.

"Say, that's a nice hat," the man said, approaching. "Would look awfully nice on Daisy here."

She took a step back. "...You can't have it!"

"Don't think you have much of a choice. Give it here, or I take it out of your friend here."

I felt that hand coming at me and ducked just in time. He managed a handful of blue fabric that I was grateful was slick, as it enabled me to slip out of his hold. He reached for Veronica, who was holding her hat down with both hands on the floppy sides. "Stop it!" she screamed. "Get away! Jiri, run!"

I couldn't leave her, so I darted only a short way, a few bench lengths to the end of the block. She was struggling with the man, who'd grabbed her hat and was pulling at the ribbon. After a moment that seemed to hang in the air, it ripped away from the hat, sending her tumbling back. But her hands didn't move from her prized crown, and neither the man nor his dogs seemed to have any interest in chasing us once they had extricated the ribbon.

She didn't speak either, just concentrated on running, and so did I. It was as if our very souls depended on it, no matter if they followed us or not. The city was reduced to its sidewalks, and nothing else mattered.

Reaching the bus stop was akin to finding a holy land, and I thought of a painting we'd just seen of exactly that. Veronica clung to the post that announced the times, swinging around it to bring herself to a stop, her breathing heavy from her open mouth. It was far too long before she said anything, and when she did it was low and precise. "Why would you take us through there? You saw those dangerous people and you dragged me in there anyway!"

I shook my head, not wanting to break my promise not to speak.

"Say something!" she yelled, clamping onto my arm with her hand tight. "Tell me why I lost my ribbon! Tell me why you're SMILING!"

I had been and knew it, thinking of that painting of the weary travellers reaching their destination. It had relaxed me, put me in a world apart from our terrifying reality. She told me to talk, but words jumbled around in my head. "...It was fastest," I managed, letting out a breath. "To cut through the park would take about three minutes off our walk."

"You didn't think!" Still yelling. "You didn't think about those people! You saw them on the way in! Didn't anything at all set off any red flags for you?"

I thought about it. I remembered a man with a Growlithe, but nothing had really stood out. "Really I didn't notice."

Another thing happened that I didn't expect. She brought her hand up and slapped me across the face, not very strong, but enough to get her point across. She was furious and made me know it. "I'm sick of this! You never notice anything! You get us into this situation and now I have to go home without my ribbon!"

She wasn't making any sense. We weren't here by my volition, after all. "But Veronica, it was your idea."

She shrieked, loudly, as a bus drove up and the door opened. "Everything ok?" the driver asked.

"Just frustrated," she told him. "Is this the bus to south Viridian?"

The driver laughed. "South Viridian? Hoo boy, no. That stops running at five."

Her eyes widened, and she looked down. "I see. That's ok. We'll find another way."

"Well, the pokémon center's about two blocks east from here. There's phones there if you need to call anyone."

"All right. Thank you, sir." Her voice was higher again, and softer, as she took a step back and waited for the door to close. As the bus drove off, the driver taking another look at us, she turned away. "...come on. I'm sorry for slapping you. It's my fault."

Was she still mad? Her fury seemed to have dissipated, but she'd said she was frustrated. I followed her. "I was smiling because I was thinking about a painting."

"What?"

"You asked my why I was smiling."

"Oh..." She let out a long breath. "We have to admit to all this. Our parents and Asaph are going to be completely furious. They've probably been looking for us. I didn't know it was so late."

I followed along without a word, not wanting to say anything even though I could. Trainers were so base, so far beneath us. How could people like that man be the ideal of most children? Neither of those dogs were of any value, and that's what battling did. That's what it did to people as well, made them value strength and intimidation above anything else.

"I have to heal Ralts first. But I should make the call. Yes..." Higher still, softer still, and I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or to herself.

The centre came into view, a rise of a building, a giant dome with a plaza of stairs in front. Veronica straightened her hat, said "Here goes nothing", and took a few marching steps into the street.

And then a car came from seemingly nowhere, turning in a wide berth and screeching to a halt in front of us. Asasph's car, unmistakably so. And he was driving it, rather than his usual chauffeur.

"Get in," he told us from the rolled-down window. I don't think I'd ever heard his voice so terse, nor him so short-winded.

"How did you find us?" I had to wonder.

"No talking, either of you." He hadn't bothered with driving gloves, and I could see in the light from the open door that his knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

As I slid in next to Veronica, she took my hand and gave it a squeeze. But this time I pulled it away, and we may as well have been half a world from each other.