08.02.19. - Not much to see here this month! Just an August Promo and a small Beach Party themed event! And as always, don't forget about our Beta Tests - your feedback is critical to making a modding system that we can all enjoy! Check out the solo beta test here and the volunteer beta test here.
Summer is here, and the heat has come with it! Anrui has fully returned to her typical hot and sticky weather. The pokemon who enjoy the warmth are out in droves, while the ones who preferred the cooler temperatures are finding some shade to relax in. Be warned, though! Just because the temperture is warmer doesn't mean the pokemon are any friendlier...
Welcome to the Anrui Region, where training is illegal. The Anrui Region is a desolate and lonely place, a once bustling region that has lived under the oppression of Team Plasma for many years. Plasma took over and outlawed training of Pokemon. Raids occurred and people and Pokemon alike were killed. Back alley gym matches were held, but people remain terrified to overthrow Plasma. Who will you side with, Plasma? Or The Resistance?
While Xiulan Xia may be new on site, she's carved her way into the spotlight for being a dynamic and well-portrayed character! Shrouded in mystery over the secretive events of her life, she is now painted with conspiracy that seems to follow her wherever she goes - ask her about it, we dare you. Cutthroat and hardened by an intense and passionate drive towards a linear goal, any thread with her is bound to heat up should your character so happen to cross paths with her. We can't wait to see where she goes from here!
"The sketches flew by quickly as Renly searched for the page he was looking for. It was a page with just one sketch, however the empty spaces had been filled in with watercolor paint. The scene depicted two cats - one shiny shinx and one glameow - curled together and napping. "I usually paint with acrylics, but I was testing some new paints my sister got me, and... uh, yea," his voice drifted off, realizing that she probably didn't care about what types of paint he used." - Renly Martell
"Well, obviously not all doors. I did knock on yours though, didn't I? I suppose all doors here are your doors though, so apologies for that one ... My mother wasn't a good teacher, nor an attentive one." - Nova Fuerst
When most people think of birthdays, they think of balloons, gifts, parties, laughter, and cake. However for some people, birthdays are not a day of celebration. The thread put back the stars, starring King Esten and Julian Miller, is not your typical birthday celebration. Instead, this thread takes the birthday theme and artistically turns it on its head, focusing strongly on the loving bond between two friends coming together to make the most of a tough situation.
The heavy aroma of decay slowly eating through old plant matter that for months had been left beneath a thick blanket of snow had at long last began to make way for a scent that no longer mourned the late winter but instead foretold the arrival of summer. The warm solar rays finally freed from where oppressive rain clouds had held them captive had swiftly rendered the sidewalks bone dry and encouraged fresh plantlife to force it's way through the cracks in the pavement, green leaves timidly reaching for the now clear skies. Evening was in no hurry to spill hues of tangerine onto the horizon like it would have been but a month ago - the jagged skyline of Kain City remained laid out against a shade of sapphire.
A single firm tug of a handle served as a reminder that King had remembered to lock the doors of his old and weary mode of transport. The silver Ford Tempo would be awaiting the return of it's owner underneath the shade of a large tree that seemed as though it had long ago managed to crack the concrete and claim it's rightful place on the side of the road. It's leaves, clearly new as could be inferred by their vibrant chartreuse color and still partially folded form, silently urged the tall blonde to raising his hand skywards in order for his clumsy fingertips to carefully greet the softness of the newborn greenery - but only after once misjudging the branch's exact distance from where he was standing and proceeding to let his digits wander like a lost dog when they'd only met air.
The red brick building that loomed ahead of him was shrouded in silence after the late afternoon had chased away the last of the young souls that must've populated it's hallways only a couple of hours prior. As the sticky note clinging to the dashboard of his car had just informed the man standing in front of it, the establishment served as a public elementary school. Perhaps the structure had at some point in history been repurposed which would explain it's admittedly unfitting appearance - King had habitually embarked on a quest spanning multiple search engines to discover all he could about the location and it's immediate surroundings, yet much of the information remained only on the pages of the notebook safely tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Regardless of what personal feelings he held regarding the education system, the building itself reminded him of the prison he'd once visited with his mother in order to pay a quick hello to his late Uncle Abe.
The absence of a visible insignia anywhere near the double doors leading into the entryway betrayed the lack of sponsorship from Plasma. Interesting. Independent establishments of this size were most definitely a rarity in the corporate scene forcibly crafted by the absolute leviathan of an entity that was Plasma, which did not only explain the purpose of the assignment that'd been so generously bestowed upon King but also furiously fanned the flames of curiosity eternally burning in the forefront of his mind. Driven by further roused intrigue, his digits were at long last allowed to dip into a pocket in order to fish out the keeper of what knowledge he'd acquired relating to the place. From beneath the cover depicting a cutesy ice cream cone that, in the place of a ball of sweetened dairy goodness, held a peach-colored cartoon cat multiple pages filled from top to bottom with slanted chicken scratch came into view. Raising the notebook into a closer proximity of his narrowed eyes, King carefully scanned what he'd hurriedly scrawled upon it's leaves. An inquiry condensed into only the word "funding" followed by a pair of question marks had been swept across with a lemon-colored highlighter pen, signifying it being a pursuit propositioned by his employer - the way his own focus gathered onto the matter was hardly inspired by any external authority, however.
No, he was an investigative journalist first, a Plasma grunt second.
Tucking the notebook back into the safety of his pocket, King allowed the tips of his fingers follow their usual routine of tracing the shapes of essential items through the fabric. Good, he had everything.
The large metal handle of the front door had grown warm over the span of the sunny afternoon. A resounding "clank" was summoned forth by a pull intended to be strong enough to effortlessly swing open the heavy door - the noise caused King's shoulders to hike upwards, easily striking his sensitive eardrums with force potent enough to awaken the faintest ache. While having encountered a locked door did admittedly cause instinct to pull his attention towards the paperclip attached to his keys, the blonde did realize that he was expected - the notes he'd a moment prior taken a careful glance at had so kindly reminded him of the interview he'd scheduled with the principal of the school two days in advance.
A cerulean sky bleeds out before you, its pooling color in the atmosphere shrouding its living inhabitants in a lovely shade of periwinkle. Like a rainbow shooting out of the sky itself, he appears before you after an incessant jiggle of a rusty handle and the distinct click of a lock. A maroon barrette situated upon his balding head offers the opportunity for his eyes, a striking ocean of hazel like the foliage and mud from the forest, to stand out vividly. He glances you up and down, his tawny eyebrows and beard furrowing in surprise at the size he perhaps didn't expect you to be.
Intimidating, but not nearly enough to ward him off - after all, you have been expected. The man flashes a smile towards you, his teeth pearly and well kept for his age. Then again, perhaps they're fake. "Welcome!" He beams joyfully, wiping his paint-covered hands onto the white smock, freckled with rainbow splatters, and extending it towards you in greeting. "Might you be King Esten?" He asks cordially, his voice soft and warm like the rays of sunlight that a cat would happily bask in.
In response to the unintentionally heavy-handed knock delivered upon the door's metal surface the handle of equally clunky make soon came alive with a jiggle, sending a jolt of electrified anticipation directly through body and caused it's weight to be shifted from one leg to the other. A sharp click sounding from the lock that'd previously held the door securely shut prefaced the barricade finally being swung open by a push originating from inside the building.
The gentle rays of early summer sun illuminated the frame of an older man donning an apron - no, a smock would be a more proper term for the garment - that bore the assumably unintended decor of multicolored specks of what King, in spite of the weakness of his eyesight, quickly identified as paint. From beneath the barrette sat atop a head that perhaps a combination of age and genetics had robbed of most of it's hair a pair of eyes intently inspected the tall blonde, who remained largely unalarmed by the fact as it was hardly something a man of his stature hadn't gotten so entirely used to over the years. Besides, it wasn't as though his own gaze of bright aquamarine wasn't tearing into each detail of the man's appearance like an overzealous bloodhound taking in the scent of nearby prey.
Fronting a demeanor just as warm and bright as the weather caressing the rooftops, the man's lips curled upwards into a smile - among the sand-colored hair that made up his full beard a complete set of flawlessly milky white teeth made a brief appearance. The sparse yet deep-set wrinkles collecting at the corners of his eyes were something of an unusual companion to such dental perfection, which was quick to birth a suspicion regarding the authenticity of the teeth in King's mind. Although his own lips did pull into a crooked grin in response to the expression that'd risen to the other man's visage, curiosity as to how well a proper set of dentures would fit within the financial limits set by the less than luxurious paycheck of a teacher - or any staff member - in an independent public school.
The size of King's hand almost consumed the entirety of the older man's in it's warm grip as the two extremities met in greeting - such a courtesy had time and time again proven to be particularly troublesome for the tall blonde as he was momentarily forced to focus on finding a balance between firm and gentle. The unpredictable aspect of which hand he'd end up instinctively thrusting forward hardly made matters any easier either. This time, however, he believed he'd done just fine. A small nod was offered in acknowledgement as the man spoke his name. "That's me," he then further confirmed his identity, voice restricted to a pitch lower than what came naturally.
As soon as the physical aspect of the greeting had run it's natural course, King chose to retain what he'd intended to be entirely well-meaning eye contact. Due to the exceedingly hostile nature of not only the region but the very city that stood around them he deemed it necessary to preface his following course of action with a simple explanation; "'Scuse m-me, just gettin' my notes," Allowing his fingers to slowly reach beneath the cover of his pocket once more, the blonde then withdrew the same notebook he'd so recently placed in there - this time, a pen had also been caught in the crook of his pinky. With his narrowed gaze briefly falling onto the opened page, a swift and twisted glide of the writing utensil beneath the lines of pre-existing notes crafted a new one addressing the newfound curiosity regarding the man's teeth.
Then, after briskly scanning the scribblings for a name, King's eyes shifted onto the other man once more. "P-Pierce Hill, I'm presumin'?"
The man's eyes beam with a certain warmth despite their color, each deep-set wrinkle bunching up like a bundle of sheets as you return his greeting. It seems as though most people in Anrui don't smile back for the sake of politeness, understandably out of the political culture that has overtaken the region, and he seems enthused with your response. There's a lot to be valued in the respect that exists between a firm handshake and a pleasant smile shared between men.
While his hands are covered in still-drying acrylic paint, which you may find has found its way onto yours as well, he seems pleased that you did not attempt to wade off the physical contact. The man eyes you, one straw-colored brow raising in either suspicion or curiosity depending on how you see it, at the dip of your hand into your pocket. Prefacing the gesture verbally was perhaps a good call, as he visibly relaxes upon your reassurance. Despite your massive size, he doesn't seem too scared of you - maybe jumpy would be a better word to describe it.
He nods firmly at your confirmation of his name, maroon barrette nearly slipping from his head. With precision that does nothing to betray his age, his fingers expertly catch the piece of attire and place it back onto his head. When his head dips down, he catches a glimpse of the back of your notebook, and laughs softly accompanied by a brief shake of his head, reminiscent of a grandfather being shown a cat video by their grandchild. "I remember back in '52, I got a kitten for Christmas - in reality, it was more like my ma and pa wanted a barn cat and were too poor to get me anything. I begged and begged to let Milo in when it got cold outside," He begins, licking his dried and wrinkled lips.
It's then that he lets out another lighthearted chuckled, looking you straight in the eyes as he slaps his knee and gives out a hearty wheeze. "And where would I find him, would you imagine! Well, he was curled up just like that one in Abigail's milk bucket! Coldest spot in the whole dang barn!" He laughs and laughs, soft and wheezy, eyes squeezed shut in amusement as he rapidly loses attention to the fact that you may or may not be laughing with him. Afterwards, he finally looks up at you, eyes gleaming with delight. It seems that Pierce Hill has taken a liking to you.
With focus distinctly separated from alarm yet unawakened by the encounter King observed as the man stopped the fall of his headwear with a single swift motion, the smoothness of which failed to immediately settle upon the delayed processors of the tall blonde's brain. For a fleeting moment he found himself wondering whether the older man possessed reflexes far exceeding those of the average person his apparent age or if perhaps his own perception was drastically flawed - although refusing to dismiss either possibility, he chose to lean towards the former.
The words that then left Pierce Hill's mouth, regardless of their ultimately mundane nature, captivated King's attention and earned the audience of his ever-alert ears. He knew the important details of a conversion to live and thrive in between the lines of stories easily labeled as irrelevant and information to be but a puzzle constructed of the pieces one could discover beneath the cover of lighthearted small talk. This was, of course, not to diminish the thoroughly sincere intrigue the tale of a kitten seeking warmth in unconventional places was quick to awaken within King.
Allowing the pen adorned with glittery formations in the shapes of tiny paw prints to travel across the page once more in order to immortalize the recollection of events from decades ago, the blonde offered the older man in the doorway a genuine smile. "C-cats like tight spaces, don't-- don't they?" With his affinity for feline Pokemon dancing in the tone of his voice, coloring the manufactured low note with hues of warm tenderness, King recalled the similar tendencies of his dear Beatrice who had been summoned into her spherical carrier rather than riding atop her trainer's shoulder as she much preferred to do - pained as her glare swimming with offense had rendered her sensitive adoptive father, it had been a choice made for the sake of the Sneasel's own safety. "Mine, uh... she tries t-to get comfy in the-- the mixin' bowls when my roommate cooks." A soft chuckle rode the tailwind of his words, bringing forth a curiosity as though what the man he shared his home and a majority of his life with was currently being tasked with by the cold corporate overlords they both had chosen to serve for a greater cause.
Allowing the pen to rest between the pages of his notebook as he brought it to a close, King opted to keep the tools of storing information out from the shelter of his pocket for an advancement in the conversation had already formulated in his mind. "Would love to hear what k-kinda kitty your Milo was as ya show me some of the interior here!" A small nod towards the building casting it's shadow upon the two men accompanied the request. Regardless of how he'd chosen to harness it into a method of furthering the agenda that'd brought him to the location, the desire to be divulged all possible details regarding the surely precious creature by the name of Milo held no amount of disingenuity.
pokemon is copyrighted to nintendo. the skin HOW BOUT YOURS was made by jello exclusively for members of pokemon anrui. header image created by ningeko of dA, used with permission. generation vi sprites found here and recolored by various staff members. generation vii sprites found here and recolored by jello. all other graphics belong to their respective owners. plugins were obtained from the plugin index on proboards support. if credit to your work is missing, please inform jello.