Solf J Kimblee
07 November 2014 @ 04:34 pm
038. [ANON TEXT + IMAGES]  
[Good afternoon, network! It's a surprisingly nice day today; the sun is out, and while it's not warm per se, it's warm enough to be pleasant.

The last time "Seth"'s device had shown up on the device with this particular sort of message, it'd looked about to snow; he's finding the weather far more favorable this time around.

The first image to hit the network is a view of the streets of Ecruteak, as shot out what looks like a window of some sort; there doesn't seem to be anything on the walls of wherever this was shot from, though the curtains are light and filmy-looking as they billow inward with a light breeze, a bit more elegant than the normal hotel fare. Possibly a private residence of some sort. The leaves are in their full fall colors outside; it's a pretty shot, if not particularly interesting.

The next image is panned down a little – you can still see the window, the curtains having fluttered to a bit more of a standstill, and there's still some of the view of the outdoors; what's new is the table beneath the window, covered in black cases and wires and triggers.

Bombs. Plenty of them.]


I'm not the first one to note that this world isn't safe.

[And there's the text, moments later.]

Aqua and Magma tried to save the world by destroying each other. Some of you try to save the world by destroying me.

Will you succeed this time?


[The next shot is a bit more casual than most of this nature, though as usual, it seems to be set up across a table of some sort. It's his stance that's different; "Seth" has one forearm braced against the wood, and he's leaning forward heavily enough for his stance to look idle, almost bored. As usual, his face isn't in the shot, but if you look you can see the usual Team Rocket insignia emblazoned across his chest; his free hand is holding one of those white cards that he uses to communicate sometimes, pinning it between gloved fingers; the words written out in thick, blocky writing, traced over multiple times to obscure any sort of distinctive handwriting.

LET'S HAVE A WAR.


The second shot is almost identical to the first; only the writing on the card has changed.

ECRUTEAK CITY.

ONE WEEK.





[OOC]

[While the IC timing of this is going to be as he said – the attack will be taking place on the 14th of the month – the log itself will go up on the 10th and will be forward-dated, to circumvent possible continuity issues.

More details about how we're going to run this thing will be forthcoming!]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
03 September 2014 @ 07:18 pm
036. [Text/Action for Goldenrod City]  
As grateful as I am that it's no longer raining animals down from on high, it's debatable whether this is much better.

[And there's a shot of the interior of a florist shop – one that's normally well-kept, from the look of it, though the "normally" is a bit marred today; it's not quite bull-in-a-china-shop level of disarray, but it's obvious someone's been going through the flowers with reckless abandon today.

Or, well, something, given that the next shot is showing the area behind the counter; that...well, that certainly is a pair of very young-looking and clearly sleepy goats back there, all folded in on themselves and solidly out cold.]


Don't misunderstand me, they're adorable, but they're making it somewhat difficult for me to work.

As for the more important matters, for those who care: I'm in Goldenrod City for the time being – are these things everywhere, or just here? And it's worth noting that, like with the cats and dogs from earlier, they're not anything I recognize, either.


[And Kimblee can be found in that florist shop for the better part of the day today, actually, if anyone wants to speak to him in person; this is apparently just something he's going to do with himself when he's not terrorizing the network. It's mundane work to be sure, but it's surprisingly calming; granted, if you ask him to arrange anything for you, it's likely going to be very passive-aggressive if he doesn't feel you're being creative enough in your requests, so tread lightly lest you hand your beloved something that translates to "SORRY ABOUT YOUR TASTE."]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
13 May 2014 @ 09:23 am
033. [Text]  
The standard example of existential anguish is said to be standing on the edge of a cliff or other high place; there inevitably comes a moment in most self-aware individuals where they experience the realization that not only do they fear falling to their death, but there's nothing stopping them from throwing themselves off. I've always found it strange that a moment of experiencing true freedom like that would be considered distressing rather than a relief; knowing that there's nothing holding me back - that I am in full control of my own choices, whether it's to stand perfectly still or throw myself off - and there is nothing pre-written into whatever it is that I am that will dictate what I do either way is something I've always found calming.

It begs the question, however - do we choose our fears, and more importantly, do we choose how we respond to them?

If nothing is predetermined and everything about our lives comes down to choice, it makes sense to me that our fears also have to come down to choice, whether consciously or not. The part I'm not entirely sure of is the response.

For example, if one is attacked by some sort of animal, it makes sense that one would fear that animal. However, the response to animal attacks tend to vary - some will try to minimize their contact with that sort of animal as much as they can, while others will immerse themselves in it and attempt to desensitize themselves. Is there a particular thing that predetermines what choice a person is going to make?

I'm curious about your thoughts on it; you don't have to detail what fears you have and how you handle them, though if you would like to that might be helpful. I'm more interested in whether you think this sort of thing comes down to ingrained personality - something more inherent, I suppose - or personal choice, and whether such a thing can be changed.

Answer me anonymously if you wish; as always, your response is of more interest to me than your identity, and quite frankly I'm not in the mood to judge either way.

(As for the existential anguish, I've found over the years that I get the greatest satisfaction from neither the thought of staying put, nor the thought of throwing myself off - I've always enjoyed the notion that if I stand on the edge long enough, perhaps someone will act on their compulsion to put their hands against my back and shove.)
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
03 March 2014 @ 03:21 pm
031. [Text]  
You know, I've realized that whenever I address the network nowadays, I always include some sort of apology for the morbidity of the subject matter; the subject matter is never any better the next time around, which I think just draws the validity of the apology into question by now. Ah, but that's neither here nor there - the subject today is still, however, not any better, so consider the apology this afternoon as genuine as it always is.

[In other words, sorry-not-sorry. Kimblee...]

I would like to discuss morality today, actually - perhaps befittingly, since there are so many morally dubious individuals around as of late.

Assume for a moment that you come across someone in peril; you're in a secluded area, and no one else is around to help this individual but you. The specific sort of peril they're in doesn't matter, but for the sake of argument, assume that it's something that you can handle easily - assume that assisting them won't kill you, and even if the situation you envision is dangerous you can call the authorities for help and that would be considered "assisting" for the sake of this experiment. For whatever reason, the person in peril cannot save themselves; if you don't do anything, the situation will prove fatal for the person you've come across.

No one will know if you help the person or not. You won't be punished or penalized in any way for not helping them - in other words, you have no legal obligation to do so - but if you don't, the person in peril is going to die. You've never met the person before this moment; there's nothing about their appearance or situation that implies that you should consider them an enemy, but they aren't explicitly a friend or an ally either. Just a random stranger that you are given the option of rescuing.

Most would probably agree that rescuing a person in peril like that is the "right" thing to do; I'm sure some would disagree, either because their beliefs are a bit unorthodox or because they want to feel edgy. So my question isn't necessarily what you believe - my question is why. Can you justify it, or are you just operating under "what feels right"?

Answer me anonymously if you'd like; as usual, your identity doesn't necessarily interest me, but your answer does.
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
03 February 2014 @ 10:58 am
030. [Anon Text + Images.]  
[Well, good afternoon, network - it's been a few months since this particular device has been active. There's an ID assigned to it, of course; those familiar with Team Rocket's activities in the past may recognize it as belonging to the individual calling himself Seth.

He's been inactive lately, as far as crime goes; that doesn't mean he hasn't been busy.

Today's message comes with a few lines of text and an attachment; the text is definitely deliberate, to say the least.]


What does this world mean to you? Do you think it's something worth protecting, or would you rather sit on the sidelines and watch it burn? This place is more than sunshine and Pokémon battles. If given the choice to make a difference, would you take it?

[As usual, there's a set of photos attached to the message; the first few show a desk in a nondescript room, covered in various mechanical things - those who are familiar with incendiary devices and triggers in your world will likely recognize them. The rest?

Those are bombs. A lot of bombs.

The last two are the usual shot of the Rocket member in question, in full Team uniform and shot from about chest-level, keeping his face and other defining features out of the shot. He's not holding anything stolen this time around; rather, it's one of those white cards that he's used to deliver messages before, the words written on it scrawled out in thick, blocky lettering as though someone had gone over the words repeatedly, obscuring any sort of distinctive handwriting for the sake of making it far less identifiable.

LET'S HAVE A WAR.


The final shot is similar to the first; only the card has changed.

OLIVINE CITY.

YOU HAVE THREE DAYS.
]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
09 October 2013 @ 04:21 pm
028. [Text]  
[Well. The previous night's sleep was absolutely hideous, for reasons that Kimblee really doesn't want to discuss, especially not with the network as a whole; however, the lack of contact with people is possibly the last thing he wants.

So. Polling the audience time again. Let's do this thing.]


While I know that this world has a tendency to pull some strange sorts of mayhem when it comes to bringing people here, have any of the rest of you found people from a different version of the world you came from? I'm not talking about different points on the timeline - though if any of you have experienced anything particularly strange on that front, I'm interested in hearing about that as well. What I'm referring to are instances of the world being identical up to a point, and the subsequent differences led to the timeline of your world and the timeline of this alternate version being entirely different.

From what I understand, this can lead to things such as another version of you living out an alternate version of your life; an example of what things might have been, if you made different choices. I know that it's a popular theory, philosophically, but have any of you received irrefutable evidence that that's the case in whatever reality you came from?

Because I have.
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
27 July 2013 @ 01:57 am
026. [Audio/Action for Route 35, just outside Goldenrod City]  
[AUDIO]

Goodness, it's only getting worse out there...

[Audio posts from Kimblee are reasonably rare, unless he's on...ah, "official business"; however, tonight he clearly feels like addressing the network as a whole for once. His voice is tight, though it's remaining controlled; there's a sort of quietness to the feed, as though he's indoors for the time being - god only knows exactly where, though, because judging by the BGM, he could be anywhere in Goldenrod.]

I've seen a few swarms in my time here, but I don't recall them being this bad in quite a while, much less this angry...perhaps this place is finally starting to strike back. I can't imagine the world being terribly pleased with how frequently the "foreigners" find their way here, after all; upset the balance too far in one way or another and the world will take notice, I've found, and if you think that will result in anything but a battlefield in one way or another, you're either idealistic or very, very sheltered.

[There's a clatter of movement in the background, a vague quickening of his breath as he speaks - heading down stairs, maybe?]

I've always enjoyed the notion that this world is built around conflict and the culture bred by the battleground; perhaps it's finally living up to its potential. Time will tell, I'm sure; while I suppose now is when it would be relevant to ask what sort of thing you're fighting for back home, I'll spare you the tedium - after all, the answer to that, when such times are upon us, is always obvious.

[A heavier thud then, and quickly-paced steps on even ground; whatever stairwell he's on, he seems to have seen fit to jump the last few steps, and his words are picking up speed a bit as he continues.

Those that are familiar with the way he is when he speaks will likely recognize overstimulation when they hear it; those who aren't...well, he sounds excited, at any rate. Excitement is good, isn't it?]


But for now, the hour grows late, and there's a battle to be had; perhaps I'd like to hear about some of your battles, myself. Not the reasons behind them - again, those are usually obvious and boring, really. But what victories you've won, if any. What victories you're seeking.

I'd prefer they be true, but you're more than welcome to make something up if you'd like. After all, it's not like I'll know the difference, right?


[ACTION]

[So. It's hideous o'clock at night, it's raining, and things are getting loud just past the northern borders of Goldenrod tonight. And not, like rampaging-Pokémon loud, though that's likely also pretty loud.

More like "shit blowing up" loud.

It seems Kimblee's finally taking the time to properly, uh. Bond. With his murderball of an Electrode. After all, if there's one thing they both can agree upon, it's that destroying things is ridiculously fun if you do it properly. Right now he's enjoying terrorizing the living hell out of the newly-local population of Anorith; this likely isn't going to make them any less mad about the state of the world, just saying.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
19 June 2013 @ 12:42 pm
025. [Text/Action for the Rocket base in Goldenrod City]  
[TEXT]

[It's been something of a long day, really, though Kimblee really can't say why - there have been frustrations, surely, but nothing more than what he's accustomed to dealing with on a daily basis.

That said, however, there have still been frustrations. Whether he wants to deal with them or not. Right now there's currently a very large frustration that's been locked up in his closet again, just because the damn thing has neither psychic powers nor hands and it's taken to zapping the Pokéballs out of his grasp when he tries to recall it. Hopefully neither he nor Archer will need anything in that closet anytime soon, because this is just getting ridiculous...]


For those of you who have experience dealing with more...ah, difficult companions, how would you recommend dealing with them? Mind you, I'm not talking finicky, I'm talking about nigh-on homicidal; is there a way to repair one's relationship with them when it's that far gone, or should I just not even bother?

[Not that he knows what to do if the answer is "don't bother" because he suspects releasing a microchipped starter will go over like complete and utter hell, but that is beside the point.]


[ACTION]

[Kimblee isn't straying far from the base today; if anything, he's taken to holing himself up harder into it when he's not dealing with his psychopath of an Electrode. Letting the damn thing evolve had been a mistake; between that and all the other issues that he's very decidedly not wanting to discuss with anyone, he's more than happy to just shut himself in one of the training rooms and set it up to his liking.

Admittedly, the thing looks less like a proper training facility and more like the world's most suicidal parkour-based obstacle course; anyone who comes in to see what on earth's going on in here today may take a moment to find him, but that's likely because they just aren't looking high enough - he's settled on one of the world's most precariously-positioned ledges near the damn ceiling, legs crossed at the knee, and he's taking a moment to get his breath from whatever it was he was just doing.

Yes, he's still wearing the three-piece suit, complete with gloves, though his tie has come undone somewhat and his collar is slipping open; if you can get him to come the hell down from his position (and he'll be easily convinced, if he notices you) it'll become plain quickly enough that there are bandages wrapped around his throat, though there isn't any blood on them.

He seems pretty keyed-up there, though; outside of the vaguely unkempt appearance of his clothing, he's shaking somewhat and those two loose strands of hair at the front have been joined by a few others that have slipped loose from that long ponytail. His gaze is pretty manic-looking, though not to the point of looking like he'll bite anyone's face off just yet; at least there's that to be thankful for.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
09 May 2013 @ 11:51 am
02X - Reintro. [Text/Locked Audio to the Rocket Frequency]  
[TEXT]

[Well! Those of you on the network today will be greeted by a bit of audio late this morning, from a device ID that's been bouncing back all attempts at contact for the last several weeks.]

...Oh, that's cute.

[...well, if that wasn't the most triumphant return ever, I don't know what is.

At the very least, however, he seems to get over whatever he's almost audibly linefacing at long enough to realize that the device is recording something; he promptly switches the thing over to text - he's never really liked talking at the machine when he's addressing all of Johto.]


My, it seems this place does still have its sense of humor, doesn't it? And here I thought that perhaps I'd only lost three days at worst - it was a bit of a surprise to find out otherwise.

Ah, but that's neither here nor there, is it?


[Kimblee, hon.]

There's not much to report from home, unfortunately; however, it'll be a pleasure getting in contact with all of you again - hopefully you've all been at least reasonably well.

[Oh, well. At least he doesn't seem too off-put by the whole disappearing-for-a-month-and-a-half thing?]


[PRIVATE AUDIO - TEAM ROCKET FREQUENCY]

[...At least, not until the audio message that goes out over the private Rocket network a few minutes later; Kimblee's voice is cold and clipped, and the amiable "tone" from the text earlier is completely absent.

He has no idea if he still holds his rank or not; he suspects he doesn't. Like hell if he won't throw it around anyway. He's a bit displeased at his life basically being a .gif from Community, and he's going to figure out what in the good hell is going on if it kills him.]


This is Team Rocket Beta Solf J Kimblee, reporting back in for duty; to my superiors, I admit that I don't know what happened, but I assure you that it won't happen again.

To the rest of you - check in with me immediately, particularly if you're one of my subordinates. I'm receiving a lot of "ID Not Found" nonsense, and I need to know who's still present; given that and various things that I've had to hear about secondhand, I expect a full report regarding what happened here from someone, I'm not feeling particularly choosy right now.

New members to the organization - welcome to it, and you have my personal apologies for the disarray. For now, you're welcome to introduce yourselves; it'll serve you well to know that I'm good to those who are good to me. Again, prove yourself useful and you'll be rewarded.

None of this is a request. Allow me to make that much clear.

[...oh dear. Well. At least he's not in much position to actually do anything at the moment - this is Team Rocket we're talking about, and if somebody's on the network very vocally overstating their importance and/or competence, that means it's pretty much a day ending in Y.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
15 February 2013 @ 11:51 pm
022. [Text]  
With matters of one's heart and soul so close in mind, due to the recent holiday and all the romantic connotations therein, I ask that you forgive the possibly morbid nature of the question I have for you tonight:

The state or condition of one's soul is often brought into question when their deeds are brought to light or held up for scrutiny; the concept of the damned and those destined for salvation aren't new concepts by far. However, I have to ask what that means for all of you - do you accept your soul as existing only as a metaphysical concept, a matter of faith, something unproven and intangible? Or is it something undeniable where you come from, not a matter of faith but rather proven to exist? Does it fail to exist for you at all?

Or, perhaps, is it something else entirely - something that was rendered from one of the above options into another?

I suppose I should apologize for such heavy subject matter; I imagine some will find it rude to attempt to quantify such a thing. However, it's been something I've had reason to consider lately, so no apology is forthcoming.
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
26 October 2012 @ 04:30 pm
019. [Text/Action for Mahogany Town, and one other thing.]  
[TEXT]

Does anyone know if the hideous creatures permeating this region of late are deceased humans, deceased Pokémon, or some ungodly combination of both?

It's nothing I had ever given thought to before, nor will your answer affect my thoughts on them. I'm merely curious about what it is that I'm repeatedly destroying, and whether I have something unfortunate to look forward to if this place decides that I'm the lucky person who dies on a permanent level out here.



[ACTION]

[Well, a very brief time after that text hits the network, it seems Kimblee has escaped whatever Ghost-free location he was in before.

Kimblee hasn't taken kindly to the ghosts here; he never has, really, and the fact that they're now in the cities isn't doing anything to help with that little issue. However, he's also never taken kindly to the idea that he simply can't do something, or the knowledge that some things are simply beyond his physical and mental boundaries, and it seems that today he's finally reached something of a breaking point.

He has Dorian out with him today, as well as Ramsay; he's loaded the latter with TMs, taking full advantage of the fact that Absols can learn Damn Near Everything. Kimblee himself seems to have decided that he has absolutely no fucks left to give; people in the general vicinity of Mahogany Town this evening may notice a figure dressed in white wandering through the fog, looking vaguely like one of the undead himself. His motions are tightly controlled, the orders he's giving his Pokémon clipped and tense; he's also trying to act like every time he comes across one of the Ghost-types everywhere he doesn't promptly flail a little and overkill the hell out of the poor level 20s with Fire Blast from a level 100 Fire-type.

He seems...determined (it's just a very skittish sort of determined, okay) to find and destroy every damn ghost in this town, judging from the flames everywhere; the local ghost population likely has no idea what it did to have quite this much hell rained down on it, but there certainly is a lot of hell going on here, goddamn.

...he really doesn't like ghosts, okay. At least they can't be harmed with Explosion, else this would be much, much worse.]




[PRIVATE TEXT TO EMMY ALTAVA]

Miss Altava,

I apologize for the abruptness of the message, but I need to speak to you immediately; get in contact with me, if you can?
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
31 May 2012 @ 07:37 am
012. [Text/Action for Olivine City]  
[ACTION]

[So it had happened again.

Kimblee had been keeping largely to himself since the incident - another three days gone, another batch of bizarre dreams that he normally wouldn't have been prone to involving alchemy and fighting and...Miss Rockbell, of all people - and as such, he had kept the exploring to a bare minimum. This place wasn't necessarily a pleasant one for him; he had been here before, to meet with Miss Farron - that had gone over like a lead balloon, really, and while he wasn't one to dwell on unpleasant things of that particular nature, it had put quite the damper on his mood. All in all, Olivine City was one of those places he had no intention of returning to again once he had defeated the local gym.

Of course, that had changed as soon as he saw the location of the gym, and the view that it had offered.

He had assumed the stretch of water near Goldenrod City, on Route 34, was an inlet of some sort, or perhaps a large lake; he hadn't worked out exactly what that water had been connected to, simply taking for granted that it was there. However, there's no doubt in his mind when he sees it in Olivine - it's incredibly vast, seeming to go on forever.

Amestris is a landlocked country; he had never seen the sea before.

Even if the sun is out, eighty-three degrees is hardly a good temperature for swimming, and Kimblee doesn't know how, besides; that doesn't seem to have stopped him from wandering out into the ocean, stopping when the water is about waist-deep. He at least has the common sense to not do this in the white suit - the shirt he has on is a deep crimson, high-necked with the collar pulled up over his throat; the pants are black and made of heavy, stiff fabric. Unseasonably warm, perhaps, but he doesn't seem to mind; the water is rather cold anyway.

He doesn't have his gloves on, simply allowing his hands to trail lightly through the water, just under the surface; he's been in Johto for seven months, and his hair is getting long, the ends of it sinking just below the soft crests of the waves and wicking up water, soaking his back.

He seems rather peaceful today, all things considered; tranquil, compared to the manic shrieking and loud explosions during those three days. He's alert as usual, listening for sounds of an approach despite the calm exterior; however, that doesn't mean he's opposed to company on that beach.]


[TEXT]

[A text will hit the network a few hours later; don't worry, it's actually signed this time, and he surprisingly has no intention of trolling the hell out of everyone who responds - he'll leave that to Anon for now.]

As eager as some of us are to return home, it can't be denied that this place has provided most of us with far different opportunities than we would have normally had.

Tell me your memories of this place. Good, bad, it doesn't particularly matter - tell me what it's offered you.



[OOC]

[There are now hard spoilers for the plot of the Fullmetal Alchemist manga in the thread with Envy; read at your own discretion!]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
19 April 2012 @ 01:07 pm
011. [Video/Action for outside of Goldenrod City]  
[VIDEO/ACTION]

[Today's episode of Oh God, What: Solf J Kimblee Edition is brought to you by a Pokégear that seems to have been knocked to the ground; the shot is incredibly lopsided and at least some of the action is out of view of the camera, but more than enough is visible to convey that there is what appears to be a raging battle going on between a rather high-leveled Ninetales and an unbelievably annoyed Steelix over there. The battle doesn't look like the uncontrolled flailfest that it would be if either Pokémon were rampaging or beyond a trainer's guidance, but if it's a training battle, it's a hideously uneven one - the Steelix is obviously far weaker and at a type disadvantage - and there doesn't appear to be a trainer anywhere immediately nearby.

Of course, if you still don't see said trainer after a moment of looking, it's possible that you're just not looking high enough.

Clearly, today Kimblee has decided that he isn't content to just watch battles from the sidelines, as he's currently commanding this half of the battle from on top of the Steelix. He's trained Dorian well enough to attack unprompted if necessary; right now, he's crouched down on one knee atop Nagara's head, keeping a one-handed grip on the steelsnake and holding his fedora on with the other hand.

He doesn't seem to mind that Dorian is slinging full-out fire attacks at him now, nor does he even seem aware of the heat flowing through the metal of Nagara's body on any level other than purely physical; if you can get a good look at him when Nagara is holding reasonably still, he's flinching a good amount physically and shifting his grip quite a bit, indicating that he's definitely feeling the burn through his clothes, but he doesn't seem inclined to jump down - if anything, he's laughing as the battle rages on, that long ponytail and the length of his white trenchcoat flowing out behind him, and for all intents and purposes he seems to be having a grand old time.

Granted, those who know him reasonably well probably know that the reckless behavior and manic laughter are signs that he's neither pleased nor feeling particularly sane; he's taking the failed attack against Goldenrod City as a personal insult, and he's got a lot of steam that needs to be let out as a result. As such, today's training session is horrendously harsh; as soon as he gets any sort of indication that Nagara is being weakened too badly by the flames - and he seems fairly used to the way battle feels from up here, so he can tell - he's immediately throwing down healing items so she can keep going.

At the same time, Kimblee can't keep it up forever, and really neither can his Steelix. He'll stop eventually, much to the poor thing's relief; she lowers her head to let him down, though he doesn't seem too inclined to move yet - rather, he has his eyes closed and seems to be focusing on catching his breath, and ignoring the fact that he's likely burned himself in several locations. Eventually, however, he does seem to notice that the 'Gear took a hell of a fall somewhere along the lines; he picks it up and snaps it off without checking it, promptly ending and sending the feed the thing had been been broadcasting without being too aware of what he's doing.

However tired he may be - and he does seem incredibly tired, in those brief moments he's visible up-close on the 'Gear; he's been doing damn near suicidal training all day - there's still a tight sense of energy to him, and his gaze is alive; he doesn't seem able to calm himself very well, and it's incredibly likely he'll move on to something else completely idiotic by the end of the day if he's not distracted by anything.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
08 March 2012 @ 02:22 pm
008. [Anonymous Images + Text/Action for mid-Route 36]  
[ANONYMOUS IMAGES/TEXT]

[Today, Johto, you're in for a treat - clearly, someone has decided that there aren't nearly enough photographs shot from hipster angles on your Gear. Don't worry, that will be remedied shortly. After all, a series of images has hit the network this afternoon!

Granted, the images are a bit...unusual. A couple of unconscious NPCs, shot from incredibly close up. A few glimpses of the Rocket uniform on the person pinning said NPCs against the ground for the sake of the images. A set of Pokeballs in gloved hands, the telltale red R visible in the background, emblazoned across the clothing of the person holding them - anyone who's familiar with the organization can infer that said Pokeballs have been stolen.

...oh.

No glimpses of the face of the Rocket who's done the stealing; the images have been submitted anonymously. Accompanying the last image - the stolen Pokemon, the red insignia - there's a line of text, equally anonymous.]


We're still here.

[ACTION]

[A short while after the text goes out, there's another attack.

There's some poor sap of an NPC on the ground, having come out on the losing end of their confrontation with a member of the criminal organization; the Rocket has his boot planted firmly in the center of the NPC's upper back, pinning him down at the shoulders. At a distance, the Rocket looks similar enough to the rest of his organization: dark hair of indeterminate length - it's either very short or tucked up under his hat, it's a bit difficult to tell; long gloves and knee-high boots, pale grey and sharp-looking over the dark clothes; the red R emblazoned over the chest. He's rather thin, and his shoulderspan is incredibly narrow, and there's an odd, shaking tightness to his posture; there are a couple of stray locks of hair at the front that have managed to work themselves out from underneath the hat, falling down into the man's face.

He isn't bothering with the mask issued for official work; his face is visible. Were he in Goldenrod this would be different, but now...why bother? It isn't as though there are usually many people on this particular route anyway.

He's smirking like a madman; his amber eyes are alive, the pupils constricted. Get close enough and you can hear him laughing a bit, though the sound is quiet today. Controlled.

Welcome to Route 36, a couple of days outside of Violet City; Kimblee's been a bit overstimulated lately, that's all, the stress of playing nice for the last two and a half weeks finally getting to him.

It's nice to let some of it out.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
07 February 2012 @ 03:36 pm
007. [Text/Action for Violet City]  
[TEXT]

I ask that you forgive the morbidity of the question, but I find that there are some things that can't exactly go unasked -

I've heard rumors that if one dies in Johto, one doesn't exactly remain that way; has anyone actually proven this? If so, whom, and by what means?


[ACTION]

[Early afternoon in Violet City will see Kimblee dressed like quite possibly the world's most pretentious horseback rider, what with the black pants tucked into the pale grey knee-high boots, an amber shirt that's perhaps far too nice for the occasion, and the usual thick gloves over his hands, the ends of which disappear neatly under his sleeves. It would look halfway appropriate were he in the company of...I don't know, a Rapidash or something similar, but instead he's got Carlisle out in front of him. Kimblee seems to be checking over his murder mammoth, who's been at a bit less than 100% after almost a week of constant pushing to get to Violet City in the first place; however, after several days' rest, he seems to be doing fine. Kimblee is singing to himself as he circles the creature; it's not entirely perfect, but it's a decent mimickry of the tune Emmy was singing a few days ago.

Either way, he doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact that holy balls it's cold out here; hell, he's not even Blofelding it up with his Pineco right now. Obviously, whatever it is he's doing, he's a man on a mission. Or something.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
19 January 2012 @ 02:15 pm
006. [Text/Action for Goldenrod City/Northern Route 34]  
[TEXT]

While I suppose it matters relatively little in the long run, morbid curiosity compels -

Exactly how driven are most of you to complete this 'challenge' that's been set forth, and what drives you to complete it in the first place - what do you have to return to?


[ACTION]

[A short time after that text hits the network, Kimblee can be found just outside of Goldenrod City, on the northern end of Route 34; if the question is at all related to anything he's currently doing, it's not obvious in the least...outside of the part where maybe the Pokémon he's dealing with might be making him not want to live on this planet anymore.

Basically, his Yanma evolved.

Fortunately for him, the hellbug she has become seems to have retained her personality despite the evolution. She's honestly always been more like a dog than an oversized dragonfly; now she's just...well, a sufficiently larger dog. As such, she's bringing Kimblee a decently-sized stick to toss off into the nearby cluster of trees for her to chase; Kimblee is complying with her, albeit warily - he's never had much of a poker face, and while he seems generally calm, it's reasonably plain that he's half-expecting her to do something odd.

Like snap his arm off to get at the stick. Or maybe bring him back a person, or something.

Either way, he's clearly wondering what the hell his life has become. Good afternoon, Johto, it's been a while.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
25 December 2011 @ 06:41 pm
005. [Video]  
[VIDEO]

[Good evening, Johto!

The room is a bit dim when the video feed flickers on; Kimblee seems to have set the Gear on some piece of furniture in front of him - probably a desk of some sort. The room is nondescript, the walls bare, but it's spacious enough and there's what looks like that long trenchcoat of his draped over the edge of the bed behind him, as well as the edges of those boxes that the care packages came in, almost out-of-frame but just barely visible.

The room is his, after all, he just hasn't bothered decorating the place.

His voice is calm when he speaks, his posture casual - he's leaning back in whatever chair he's sitting in (and either it's a hell of a swivel chair or he's leaning it back on two legs and balancing it like that), and his arms are folded across his chest; despite that, however, there's a definite cocky note to his voice.

Someone's pleased with what he's received for Christmas, holy shit.]


My, my - judging from the feeds today, I'm not the only one who's received gifts from an unknown benefactor. Whether this is a sign that we've been favored by this world, or whether someone simply has a strange and possibly sick sense of humor has yet to be seen.

Perhaps a bit of both.

[And when he unfolds his arms, he's playing with something; it's moving a bit too quickly between his fingers for the camera to really focus on it, but whatever it is, it's small and solid and gleams a bit when it catches the light. A crystal of some sort, perhaps, blood-red in color.

For those from his world who would know a Philsopher's Stone when you see one: yep.

However! Kimblee will just be smiling and it will be a very pleasant expression, actually.]


I should hope that you're all enjoying yourselves; it's been such a lovely season so far.

[End feed.]


[OOC: It's been a lovely season indeed. Some of his CR has received things from him, just for the sake of reference; enjoy it?]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
14 December 2011 @ 05:08 pm
004. [Text/Action for Goldenrod City]  
[ACTION]

[Three days gone, with no explanation.

Kimblee had awakened strangely on Tuesday, feeling as though he hadn't slept much at all, and throughout the day he'd been unable to shake it - it's the same sort of feeling he gets when when he's been overstimulated, maybe, or spent time on a particularly difficult assignment. He would have chalked that up to a simple failure at restful sleep - he's not immune, and it happens - but then he'd checked the Gear for the time and date.

Three days gone. No memories from those three days whatsoever.

That. Doesn't. Happen.

He'd spent most of the day more wary than usual; he doesn't like this any, nor does he like the fact that there's nothing he can do about it. Even the normal solace he finds in sound isn't coming to him; he usually finds the music in Johto to be a nice constant, but now it's just grating on him - hell, he can't even be sure that anyone else is hearing it at all, and that's no use to him whatsoever.

Bluntly put, he's been feeling disoriented, Johto makes next to no damn sense as it is, and this entire thing is leaving him just a bit irritable and not wanting to stay in one place for very long. So! Today he's out wandering around Goldenrod; he doesn't seem too terribly bothered by the snow, though the heavy coat he has on over his suit and the long, pale scarf he has wrapped around his neck and shoved into his collar is definitely helping, as are the gloves he usually wears. He's determined to find something to clear his head; after a while, he finds himself in front of a building that's both stupidly loud and gaudily done-up. He kind of tilts his head at it for a moment; the place is pretty much an exercise in sensory overstimulation, isn't it.

It's perfect.

He pauses for a moment before entering; the music playing softly through the streets is the same as it always was. He doesn't want to ask if anyone else is hearing it; that's just asking for trouble. However, there are ways to get some sort of response without asking directly. He pulls out his Gear briefly, sending out a quick message via Text before entering that...casino. Game Corner. Thing.]



[TEXT]

Has anyone been able to locate the source of the incessant stream of music, or is that another of those mysteries that we're encouraged to not think too much about?


[OOC: Action-wise, you're more than welcome to catch him outside the building itself...otherwise, he fully intends to spend the next good while wanting to kill a slot machine in the face, so he won't exactly be hard to meet up with if he's seen.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
15 November 2011 @ 08:28 am
003. [Voice/Action for Route 44]  
[AUDIO]

[Kimblee has been fairly absentee for the last few days; when his connection becomes active over the PGC, it...well, it might not be exactly clear as to why, but it goes a long way toward explaining it, at least in part.

The connection snaps to life suddenly, though it isn't a video feed - this is entirely sound, the Voice connection having kicked in as the Gear hits the ground hard. The audio isn't simply white noise, however, nor is it entirely the ever-present background music threading its way through one of the routes near Mahogany Town; that music is present for a brief moment after the Gear connects with the ground, only to be violently interrupted by the unmistakable sound of something blowing the hell up.

Depending on your particular point of view, however, what's possibly more disconcerting than the sudden eruption is the sound that follows immediately after it - it's a bizarre, harsh combination of laughing and shrieking, the sound pitchy and manic and completely uncontrolled. It carries on at about the same utterly deranged clip for quite some time before slowly dying down as the person in question gets a hold of himself; when Kimblee speaks, however, his voice is still shaking hard, and it's obvious he's still not...quite as in control as he'd like to be.]


...beautiful...absolutely beautiful!

[A brief pause.]

That was better...it's been quite a while since I've heard something so moving. Yes, that was much, much better. Such a beautiful sound...

[And then there's the usual white-noise sounds that are a bit hard to distinguish, rustling and footsteps and the like, followed by something that's decidedly more distinct: after a moment, there's something that's definitely singing audible over the connection - not any particular words, or any particular tune, even, just vocalized nonsyllables that Kimblee seems to be making up as he goes, but from the sound of it he's very, very content, if a bit unstable.

And then the feed cuts off.]


[ACTION]

[A short while after that audio post hits the network (the posting itself the result of a somewhat awkward grab at the Gear once he'd realized he'd dropped it), Kimblee can still be found on Route 44; he's no longer screamingly manic, but he definitely looks...rough, for lack of a better term. His hair is draped haphazardly over his left shoulder, the usual long ponytail mussed up and disheveled; his eyes are distant, holding a bit of an unfocused, wild look to them, and despite the fact that he doesn't look like he's slept in some time, there's a general sense of manic energy about him that hasn't quite faded.

This may or may not have to do with the obvious signs of those explosions in his general vicinity, as well as the fact that he's in the process of recalling a rather fainted Electrode to its Pokéball.

...well. Someone seems to have figured out exactly what Selfdestruct does; as a result, Kimblee's a bit...worked up. To put it lightly.]
 
 
Solf J Kimblee
03 November 2011 @ 11:56 pm
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.]