explosivecombat | 002. [Text/Action for Route 44]

002. [Text/Action for Route 44]

[TEXT]

And a good evening to you, Johto.

Conversations with a few of you have shed some interesting light on opinions of exactly what it is we do here. The mandates we've received from the faceless entities that have brought us here make it very plain that we're supposed to humor them, to collect these 'badges' and essentially wander around for no real reason other than training these creatures and strengthening them - not so much a militaristic society as it is battle culture, if you will. However, others refer to these creatures as 'pets' or 'companions'; while I suppose the act of training these things may lead to bonds being formed, such people seem to have a different view of this world entirely.

I ask, then: from whatever standpoint you hold, be it one geared more toward companionship or more toward advancement - at what point does it become acceptable to you to release these creatures back into the wilderness? Surely there are some that aren't exactly battle-capable, or at least not as capable as others may be, and effort goes into their training; when do you decide that continuing to train them is no longer granting you benefit equal to the effort you're putting in?

I'll grant that "never" may be a perfectly valid answer, should your tendencies lean that way.

[ACTION]

[Well, whatever Kimblee was going on about before, it's clearly not affecting his relations with his own Pokémon any; he's currently standing beneath one of those trees on Route 43, though the white coat he's usually wearing makes him a bit obvious. He's always been a bit curious regarding what these things will do when not given orders, and he's keeping an eye on what appears to be a new member of his team from a distance; judging from the Swinub he's watching from a short distance away, apparently the answer is "generally snuffle about, and occasionally roll around for no real reason."

Of course, he seems to have another new one with him today - he did purchase two eggs from Xanxus, after all, and as a result Kimblee is now the proud owner of what seems to be the smuggest Vulpix on the planet.

...it doesn't help that Kimblee doesn't seem to have put the fox down since he hatched it, instead choosing to carry it around like a somewhat oversized cat. Seriously, Ernst Stavro Blofeld would look at him and tell him he's spoiling the damn thing.

His life, his choices, etc.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[...all right, hold on. Kimblee is going to take his sweet time coming up with some sort of response, either physical or verbal; he has a lot of responses in his "Let's pretend to be a sane person!" arsenal, both appropriate and applicable to various circumstances, but once in a while a situation comes along that's either so horribly shocking or so blatantly stupid that he has no idea what to do.

Here's a hint: This one is not the former.

So Kimblee will just stand there for a good long moment, staring blankly and trying to figure out what to do with his face, because really? Really...?]

You...are aware that there's far more than that in the lake in question, right?

[Oh, look, words. There they are.]

[He lets the Poliwag go. Said Poliwag rapidly scuttles back to his watery home.]

Yes. This [He pulls out the Gear and holds it so Kimblee can see the Poliwhirl on the screen.] - notice the lack of a mouth - and this [The screen now shows Remoraid.], with the impressive number of no more than four teeth whose nature is probably cartilage-like and non-calcified.

[...okay, now he's just openly facepalming for a moment, excuse him.]

And if you took all of that data down in that pond over there, we aren't anywhere near on the same page.

[A moment of silence. Likely for the tragic loss of this conversation's normalcy.]

What were you thinking of, then?

[Kimblee cannot; he has lost all ability to Can. He cannot.]

It's called the Lake of Rage; it's a good walk from here, up Route 43, but it is in the area and reasonably accessible, assuming you're willing to deal with a good amount of tall grass along the way. It's far larger than that, I assure you.

It's also home to what appear to be six-metre sea serpents.

... Gyarados, perhaps? I have read something about them. I would love to meet them, but, ah, I suppose I won't be able to count on you coming along. Quite a shame, really.

I have read that their monstrous appearance awakens a fear so intense in their opponents that their attack power is decreased as a result, no matter how experienced or brave they might be. The ability to instill fear is true power - that is something I used to believe. Not anymore, however.

Fear is a primordial emotion. In a sense, it's proof that we are alive. If we are ashamed of our fears [There's the condescending tone again! Sorry, Kimblee.] and refuse to recognize them as such, how will we ever overcome them?

[...Gorthan. Sweetheart. Babycakes. You lose all of Kimblee's respect for the day once you somehow manage to mistake a pond for a lake. Wait for about 24 hours, then come back and try again, and maybe then he'll get irritated when you're condescending at him. For now, however, he's just greatly amused.]

Ah, but there's a difference between refusing to overcome fear and being rightfully wary, you realize. I won't claim to be fearless, but I have no interest in being particularly reckless when it doesn't serve me to be so.

And for what must be the hundredth time by now, do bear in mind that you don't know me, and that extends to what I've lived through.

[It's too big to be a pond! It's a small lake, okay? >: ]

I know that I don't know you. In fact, I'm merely waiting to hear your stories.

[...nope...nope, that is definitely a pond.]

And yet you continue to make assumptions about my motives and behavior - all of those assumptions have been almost endearingly incorrect, by the way; just consider it a reminder.

Although perhaps I'll humor you for now; shall we utilize Equivalent Exchange a bit further today?

Very well. But you will start this time. Simply share what you feel like sharing, and I will do the same, unless you have any objection to this mutual freedom.

Ah, but whatever I tell you is obviously more for your benefit than mine; do you really have no direction you would like me to take?

Ah, please don't believe that I intend to derive any practical benefit from this. I simply love a good story.

But since you mentioned your motives and my apparent inability to make assumptions regarding them, I'd love to hear you speak of them.

I don't think you're trying to interrogate me, if that's what you're getting at. But a 'good' story is generally one the listener wants to hear, I think - at the same time, I don't believe in laying any motives I may have out on the table like that. What I said about not believing in charity extends to any information I may give.

However! I see no problem with illustrating the point through these 'stories' and allowing you to form your own conclusions; you can either accept what I tell you as it is, or use such things to pass judgement on me if you like - it matters very little to me either way.

[...all right, where to start.]

There's a region in southeastern Amestris, basically in the middle of nowhere - it's surrounded by desert on all sides; the environment is very harsh and unforgiving. Nevertheless, people had settled there many years ago; it was its own country once, I believe, but that country came to an agreement with the Amestrian government and was annexed a fair while back. However, due to cultural differences, the region remained a point of contention; for one thing, they rejected the practice of alchemy altogether, claiming it to be an abomination in the eyes of their god, Ishvala.

Between that and the fact that there had been several conflicts between Amestris and the Ishvalan people that occurred before the annexation - well, it wasn't long before the inevitable happened. Almost fifteen years ago, an Amestrian soldier accidentally shot and killed an Ishvalan child; apparently this was a breaking point, as it led to rioting, and was what eventually started a rather blood-soaked civil war in the area.

[Of course, there's no need to mention the truly unpleasant things - like how the shooting wasn't an accident at all. And the fact that Kimblee works for the guy who did it.]

The Ishvalans were greatly outnumbered, but they managed to hold off the Amestrian military for quite some time; I believe they were receiving assistance from a country that borders Amestris to the south, a nation called Aerugo. Either way, they managed to draw the conflict out for seven years, at which time Fuhrer King Bradley gave the order for State Alchemists to be sent into Ishval as human weapons - something that had been avoided up to that point.

I was one of those sent to the front lines, and I was considered a valuable asset due to the nature of my alchemy; my primary task was the destruction of the Kanda district, one of the last regions still standing after the fall of the Gunja and Daliha districts.

I did as I was told, as that's what a soldier is expected to do.

[You tell beautiful stories, Red Lotus. This one has conflict, war and all the nice and fun things that Gorthan likes. At around the part where Kimblee mentions having been employed as a human weapon, Gorthan realizes why he keeps making associations and comparisons in his mind between some of his mutants and the man in front of him.

... But then there's that last sentence. Hi there, General Zondag. ... No, well, Archer is the really Zondag-like one. You're more like...

... You're more like Trauma's former, pre-mutation self. Huh. Let's test this theory, shall we?]

I see. I hope it was an enjoyable experience for you. Was it?

[Then this topic is nice and fun for both of us. How charming!]

It was a job, Gorthan, first and foremost; I don't engage in wanton killing sprees for the fun of it.

However, that doesn't mean that I'm not fond of my work.

[Militaristic societies can only breed excellent and balanced people like us.]

I wasn't implying that you did, or anything of the sort, for that matter.

And yet this happened a considerably long time ago. Do you believe you have changed much since then?

[Because there's no point in living unless someone is standing an excellent chance of dying.]

In what way? Surely you realize that's a bit of a biased question, in most regards - of course I'm going to assume that I haven't, because of the way change in people works.

[Gorthan shakes his head slightly, dismissing Kimblee's question.]

I think you know what I mean. After all, fifteen years is too big a gap to leave in any story, don't you think?

Oh, but by this time there's only an eight-year gap to account for, remember; seven years of war in Ishval, before I became involved.

As the war was coming to a close, however, it became increasingly clear that I had a few irreconcilable differences with my commanding officers. [In that they wanted to remain alive, and Kimblee quite wanted them dead.] As such, I was quickly - ah, how to put it politely? - forcefully removed from service.

[Gorthan narrows his eyes.]

You were imprisoned?

They didn't agree with the way I handed in my resignation.

[Well, that just reminds him of Trauma more.]

How many dead?

Five. High-ranking officers, all of them.

[Aside from his eyes narrowing in thought, Gorthan appears decidedly unperturbed by this talk. We are obviously discussing favorite musicians or something.]

And all that because you disagreed with them on, pray, what grounds?

Whether I should be permitted to utilize certain advantages to my benefit or not.

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