reap what you sow [c]

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Fiddlesticks?

Even the Dusknoir seemed a little taken aback, his great eye widening ever so slightly as the tiny pokemon – Nickit, he’d seen them enough, notorious thieves and meddlers they were – launched into a tirade of absolutely no substance.

Grimalde had nothing against art. He wasn’t much of an artist himself, but he appreciated their functions, knew that they could be used for both frivolity and practical means. He enjoyed the art of camouflage and deceit, and some of the craftier outlaws could make incredible fake paintings. This, however, was just…

“It was lovely, and then you made it look like a mistake,” he mused, still mostly annoyed, but couldn’t help it with the absurdity of the situation.

The wall had once been the pedestal of a great statue for a war hero that had long since been transferred to a better tomb. The statue had crumbled, fallen off and festered on its side in the shrubs nearby, and now the little engraved plaque ( Abyssus abyssum invocat. Hell calls hell; one mistep leads to another.) had smears of paint all over. (Ass ass in.)

He shook his head. “And… you didn’t find anything here, did you?” The treasure. It had been buried here, under the statue where the hero once lied. He’s waiting for an answer; if the fox is honest, he might break one less leg.

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jupiter - 228 - jupe i s2g

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When the fox began to compare life to a series of mistakes, the Dusknoir had to wonder how someone like this lived their life. The way he carried himself made it all too likely that he wouldn't possess such a blessing for long.

To Grimalde, the Nickit’s settling was sign of submission. He wasn’t going to challenge him, but he sure wasn’t gone. He felt the fur underneath this illusion bristle with irritation, and he turned his attention to the vandalized monument to allay his anger.

At the question, Grimalde scoffed. “Not if you wish to stay in one piece.” Then came another barrage of poetic intrigue, which is to say, the type of philosophy one would read off a newspaper commentary page. The fox must have fancied himself a wordsmith.

“If I’m welcome to my secrets,” he began, tearing an eye away from the ruined pedestal to stare at the unwanted audience. “Why do you remain? Do you not have anything better to do?” He tilted his head, the tone of his – his voice had taken on a bit of distortion, a side effect of his illusion ability, the same thing that let him shift space and mimic the effects of attacks. It sounded bored now.

The fox continued. Yes, he was fond of the secret. It was quite valuable, both to him and the market. And clearly, even without him saying much more, the fox had taken an interest. That sort of curiosity would have consequences.

“Your canvas there, that used to be a grave for a great hero.” He grumbled, before gesturing a large hand at the old plaque. “Do you know what that says?” Ass ass in. He corrected himself hastily, “What it used to say.”

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jupiter - 287 - bro can u read

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At least the Nickit was aware of the risks. Grimalde had a threshold for stupidity and could only stomach so much ignorance before his patience would snap; the only reason he hadn’t yet was because he was tired and intended not to waste energy if he could.

“On the contrary, I would very much like you to leave,” he grumbled, knowing full well how unlikely that was at this point. For a pokemon with big ears, this Nickit didn’t seem to hear well.

Or read, apparently. He’d filtered out the spiel about death and being forgotten – because really, those were just morning shower thoughts for him, though it was obvious the kid was sorely in need of a therapist. And a tutor. Fortunately, he was neither of those things.

He rolled his eye at the question and bit his tongue before he could remark that Freja would have sooner turned him into chum than let him be illiterate. “It says Abyssum Abyssum Invocat. One mistake can lead to another.”

He made a thoughtful sound, like a low hum that helped the illusion of the giant maw on his stomach. “It had been the hero’s last piece of wisdom to his troops. Ironically enough, the reason he died in the first place was because of he’d refused to learn from the past. Fell to his hubris and breached deep into enemy territory without taking precautions.”

There was a shine to his eye then, as if remembering something with fond amusement. “They’d strung him upside-down, inside-out.” He snorted. “A little barbaric, but times were like that.”

A wipe across the plaque merely smeared the paint, which was quickly beginning to dry. He flicked some off his fingers and moved towards the Nickit. “What do you think of that story?” The great eye on his face moved, as if searching for something on Jupiter’s clueless face. “And are you not making the same mistake right now?”

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jupiter - 320 - sorry for the wait!