4.0 Dedicated to its Members and Fans of Pokemon A Pokemon Sandbox RP
Pokémon Dubstep (ft. Lindsey Stirling)
W
elcome Adventurer to EPOCH! A Pokemon Sandbox Rp set in the original region of Nue. Everything you need to know will be in the Guidebook and PokeDex 101!
EPOCH uses the Manga and is built on the Original ideas suggested by our members.
We are more than just a Pokemon RP, we're a friendly community with a goal on being a memorable experience for those that look in.
Golden Rule: Treat others as you wish to be treated. If you find yourself content with being an asshole EPOCH and its members will not tolerate you.
RULES
Understand We're All Human. Respect the staffers as well as your fellow members and guests. We all have flaws, tempers and quirks. Be patient with one another, but if issues involving other members come up please don’t just grin and bear it. Contact a staff member, informing them of what's going on so they can address and resolve the situation. The staff won't know what's bothering you unless you tell them.
EPOCH is PG-13. Proboards’ Terms of Service:
Sex; When you get under the clothes, fade to black.
Violence; Do not go into extreme nauseating detail.
Cursing; This is so fucking allowed, but don't go overboard.
Suggestive Content; In avatars, signatures and templates can attract the wrong kind of attention. So be careful.
Region: Hoenn Class: Civilian Occupation: Consultant, Soul-Searcher, Professional Wanderer (fancy way of saying she’s currently unemployed and homeless)
[/ul]
APPEARANCE
[/b] Low-maintenance is key for Etta, who is often either moving at a brisk stride through bad terrain or lounging around on a grassy hillside, and in any case not likely to enjoy fussing with her looks. Her wardrobe consists of boots, an array of close-fitting pants and shirts (mostly in neutral tones) that allow her to move around easily, and heaps upon heaps of jackets. They seem to be among the only articles of clothing she isn't indifferent to. Most of her clothes are also of good quality, thanks to an upscale consulting job she held in the past (a shining example of somewhat-steady income that she feels must have been a dream, or just some kind of fluke). Her outfit of choice is an army-green windbreaker, belted at the waist, a dark shirt, black pants, and a pair of extremely unfeminine-looking boots that appear possibly able of kicking through concrete walls, if Etta ever felt so obliged.
She is a petite woman, standing just a little over 5’2”, with a slim build from frequent travel on-foot, a pale complexion, straight black hair, and distinctive (and often times, solemn) violet eyes. She appears slightly younger than her true age, and it the right outfit could easily be mistaken for a teenager. When it comes to makeup, she’s unlikely to indulge in more than tinted lip balm. And while far from fashion-conscious, she does admire cleanliness and a certain sense of order. She often keeps her hair tucked back under a hood or scarf and out of the elements, and laundry is among the first things she does when she reaches town. [/ul]
PERSONALITY
[/b] Etta is a woman who seems always to be waiting for something. Stoic, but not always still, she’s prone to both spontaneous movement and long periods of meditation. Some have simply called her a restless soul, but that’s not quite right . . . she is a wanderer, but to her the wandering is a necessary, and enjoyable, part of reaching her destination. Instead of being anxious, she instead takes the comings and goings and inevitable waits of traveling life as all equally important. But she does look forward to discovering where she’s meant to be, and seems beholden to some uncanny instinct to “go, go right now” to new places at extremely strange times. In that sense, she can sometimes be a bit unreliable: staying in Slateport indefinitely one minute, hopping the ferry to Lilycove the next. Ultimately, however, her major dedication is completing her quest: to find a mystery, call it perhaps “Her Mystery” – some grand, vast unknown that no one else has yet encountered. So, while she sincerely tries to do right by those around her, if a new acquaintance comes to dislike her, she isn't going to waste time fretting over it.
Etta is self-contained by nature, comfortable staying quiet and observing the action, but she is far from shy. When engaged, she'll speak her mind in a matter-of-fact, sometimes playful, but usually gentle way. She enjoys meeting new people, especially those who look at the world through a unique, outsider’s perspective. If you have an interesting anecdote about a far-off place, or even a story of a particularly unusual Pokémon, she’s happy to listen. She’s likely to be doubly interested if you're funny. People who can make her laugh are always quick to rise in her affections. Etta’s sense of humor is on the wry side: she’s prone to half-audible asides, and nonsense initial replies to questions. It’s a strange compliment to her more solemn side. Overall, she’s rather friendly, but those she meets may have to get passed an initial impression of aloofness. And if she happens not to like someone, she isn't going to hide it. She will try to be civil, but if she's provoked she'll become very cold, and very harsh, fast.
She sees her Pokémon as close friends of hers, and can often be found carrying out long conversations with them (or teasing them mercilessly, in Cleave’s case). Generally, she gets along better with Pokémon who have big personalities. Like her Sneasel, who’s a bit on the sassy side.
Likes: Old places, naps, looking at the sky, mashed sweet potatoes, instrumental music, witty people, early mornings, landscapes, flying, boating, photography, finding new things and new experiences, campfires, hyperbole and tall-tales. Dislikes: Mud, sour foods, people who try to impose their will on others, repetitive music, any ringtones that are high-pitched or consist of buzzing, transit fees, skirts (dresses, however, are oddly OK), rowdy parties.
Ambitions: Etta’s “primary objective,” if you will, is to find Her Mystery. She’s not even sure she wants to solve it – she just has a deep yearning to be in the presence of something inexplicable. Also on her list of goals, however, is becoming more self-sufficient (i.e., establishing some sort of income or credit line, and buying a house somewhere), traveling to all the regions of the world, finding a group of friends she can trust implicitly, and also getting back in touch with her friends from childhood, who have for the most part all become trainers and are out in the world somewhere. [/ul]
Pokedex Name: Kirlia ALIAS: Cleave GENDER: Male ABILITY: Trace MOVE SET: Psychic | Magic Leaf | Charm | Calm Mind
Pokedex Name: Cacnea ALIAS: Beach Ball GENDER: Male ABILITY: Sand Veil MOVE SET: Needle Arm | Destiny Bond | Sand Attack | Sand Storm
[/ul]
HISTORY
[/b] Etta grew up with her twin brother Emile in the outskirts of Olivine City, Johto, the children of two regional news reporters: their father, Sven Rassul, a veteran correspondent for the evening Pokémon League report, and their mother, Stella Alomeire, an investigative journalist whose job seems to consist mainly of exposing what businesses are fronts for Team Rocket, and who is responsible for not figuring it out sooner. Etta always thought she seemed disappointed by it. She likes to think her mother would rather be cracking political scandals wide open, or rooting out corporate espionage rings. Mr. Rassul’s job, at least, never ceased to excite him, and Etta and Emile would spend hours sitting at his side at the dinner table, listening to him recount battles he'd witnessed. They lived quite comfortably. She never quite got used to them being television personalities, though: there for everyone in Johto to listen to and recognize. Watching them on TV always gives her a strange, vaguely disoriented feeling, even today.
Despite their parents’ frequent travels, Etta and Emile rarely left their hometown. The few times Etta was able to accompany them are among her fondest childhood memories: riding the monorail with Stella to Saffron City when she was seven, and attending Pokémon contests in Lilycove with Sven and his sister, to name a couple. Her desire to travel was adequately awakened.
The rest of their time was spent around Olivine, running around the nearby countryside with three friends she had known practically since birth: Hugh, Kaidi, and Dorian. Play, school, snack-time – name anything, you can bet they were together for it. Etta and Emile were at her liveliest, back then, often playing willing facilitators to Kaidi and Dorian’s wildest schemes, while poor Hugh followed (somewhat begrudgingly) behind to sweep up the messes. It was about as idyllic as it could get. Together, they dreamed of becoming Pokémon trainers and traveling to foreign regions.
It wasn’t that Pokémon training was ever pushed on her, or even expected. She was surrounded by it, though, between her father’s career and her friends’ ambitions, and she never had a moment when she realized it wasn't what she wanted. It was often discussed around the house as though it was a done deal – “Well, when you set off to be a trainer . . .” or “Kaidi thinks we’ll go to this gym first.” Her Sneasel, Éclair, was a gift from her father for her ninth birthday. He caught it while on-location for some Pokémon League event, and it was to be her starting Pokémon. And her first, not counting the family Mightyena. She quickly dubbed the Sneasel after one of her mother’s favorite actresses, whose films were constantly showing in the Rassul-Alomeire household, leading her to become a familiar and comforting figure to Etta. From then on, the girl just got caught up in the luster. She couldn't wait to get up, and go out into the world.
Hugh left first, six months after his eleventh birthday. It had been planned for nearly a year, yet seemed completely sudden at the same time. They had planned to leave as a group, it would be their great journey . . . Yet, there wasn’t any conflict to it. Hugh was always on top of things, always the first done with homework, first to finish his chores. Etta wished him a merry farewell, promised to meet him on the road someday soon.
And then Kaidi left, the next year - summoned, perhaps, by the same inner voice that all trainers possess. “Catch up to Hugh,” Etta told her.
They were nearly thirteen and eating ice cream at the port when Dorian drew himself up out of a slouch, squared his shoulders and demanded to know, in that brash but endearing way of his, “When do you plan on leaving, anyway?”
She hadn't guessed he had been waiting since Kaidi left, reluctant to leave her there in Olivine City, all their friends already off. Even Emile had managed to make it out, once by that point, though he had returned not long after, unsuited to being without his sister. She had been waiting for some sort of inner call-to-battle. Etta, shrugging, told him they could leave together, next week if he liked.
Etta had four false starts over the years, beginning on that Thursday she set off with Dorian when they were twelve, and ending with a rather unremarkable return to Olivine City after a month-long jaunt at the age of seventeen. Emile had mirrored her failed journeys - several times they had both set out separately, only to run off and find each other in the end. Something was missing. She would go out, catch Pokémon, befriend them, train them, battle their way through trainers to the nearest gym . . . and then her concentration would flag and she would wind up with a disposable camera up on a hill somewhere, snapping landscape photos. She enjoyed working with her Pokémon. Battles were exhilarating. She adored traveling above all else, wandering for days, exploring the cities, exploring the open fields. Yet, her heart wasn't in it when it came to being a Trainer. Gyms, the Frontier, the Pokémon League – all those goals to be the very best and out-battle everyone else held no interest for her. They seemed perfectly valid, for other people. But Etta wanted something else. There was something out there, somewhere, that she needed to see.
The problem, was what? Where? She passed along most of her Pokémon to young soon-to-be trainers in Olivine City, and got to meditating. And following her parents around, while Emile tried striking out again, several more times, and finally hit some kind of stride.
After traveling the League circuit with her father for a while, she confirmed her suspicion: battling was just a pastime for her. She enjoyed training with Éclair, but as living? Wasn't gonna happen. And Éclair, for her part, was just as happy making ice sculptures in the backyard as she was battling. Etta began accompanying her mother.
And there, there was something, if just an inkling of it. When her mother first got a whiff of a case, when she first began to investigate, there was this spark. Etta could feel herself being drawn in, beguiled by the thrill of the unknown. Of course, her mother’s investigations inevitably ended with Team Rocket, or some viable analog, so investigative reporting probably wasn't her route. But it got her thinking.
A year passed. Etta turned nineteen. She meditated. She kept Éclair active and had her ice sculptures showcased in town. And slowly, a feeling in her grew. It was time to get out of Olivine, but to go where and do what, she didn’t know. Maybe she didn't know because no one else did, either. Maybe she was supposed to find something new.
Thus, drawn by some phantom thread tugging on her arm, Etta set off in search of a mystery. Something that would lead to more than a basement full of Team Rocket grunts. And over the course of a year, she became somewhat known for resolving minor obscurities – ghost stories, alleged sightings of unidentified Pokémon, etc. She seemed to have a knack for spotting a hoax, by way of a disappointed drop in her chest (much like she used to feel when an attempt at being a Trainer began to go south). Eventually she caught the eye of a Saffron-based firm, the sort that does not advertise, but to which clients are referred. They specialize, specifically, in looking into the most baffling of anomalies on behalf of clients who have the resources (read: cash) and sufficient whimsy to fuel the pursuit of an answer. Anomalies like, say, an unmanned midnight monorail run to nowhere, or the appearance of small pyramids composed of seamless silver cubes appearing at apparently strategic locations. Etta worked as a consultant for the firm for a little over two years, drawing a sizeable enough income to live comfortably in Saffron and purchase her wardrobe of sturdy traveling clothes. Most of the money, however, was put into an emergency savings account that she doesn't plan to touch anytime soon. She and Éclair also partnered up with a Ralts named Cleave, who was living half-wild in Saffron’s downtown, apparently abandoned by his trainer. He seems to think himself something of a heroic Casanova-in-training - that is, when he isn't fuming over being mistaken for a girl.
Though she enjoyed consulting for the firm, she eventually realized staying on full-time would not lead to the completion of her goal. After all, most of the cases could be put away inside of a month, and usually led to some creative use of a Pokemon's abilities as the culprit. The mystery she was looking for, she became certain, was somewhere out in the world, hidden from plain sight. Something bigger than just mysterious rock formations, or what have you. She left Saffron, parting from the firm amicably and agreeing to stay in-touch, in case any investigations cropped up in the areas she traveled.
Now, a bit over a year since leaving the firm, her traveling funds have dwindled and she is more or less stranded in Hoenn – specifically wandering around north of Mauville City – looking for either a lead or job. She’s even, despite herself, starting to hope the firm will contact her, even though until now she’s been keeping a comfortable distance, lest they begin to believe she’s still working for them in a fuller capacity.
She’s getting bored, but hopefully Hoenn has some secrets to offer her yet. [/ul]
OOC INFORMATION
[/b] [size=3][b]SYLVIE[/b][/size] [url=link to accepted application will be added by staff][b]Etta Rassul[/b][/url] Face claim: [b]Bleach[/b] - Rukia Kuchiki, [i]Rassul, Etta[/i]
Continuity: Original Other Characters: N/A
Role play Sample:
A drop of water snaked down the side of the bottle, swimming over the little mountain range of molded plastic and coming to its final resting place: soaking into Etta's pant leg as she watched, lounging against the cliffside.
Etta looked to Eclair. "I guess that was the last of it."
The Sneasel huffed dramatically and rolled over on her side, her back to Etta.
"I didn't hear you complain when we started out," Etta told her, laughing airily and removing her goggles from where they sat atop her head.
Knock-offs. Hadn't lasted ten minutes in the sand storm before little scratchy granules started making their way through crevices in the unsealed frames. She'd had to blunder her way around with her arms half over her eyes. If anyone happened to pass them, she probably would have looked like some despondent wraith, skulking about in her cloak and waving her arms. They had gotten so turned around that Etta hadn't been sure if they were back where they started, or had somehow made it to the other entrance.
But now that she looked around, they were definitely where they started, on the Mauville City side of the desert. Not the most productive morning she'd ever had. At least the goggles didn't cost too much.
"We could try again," Etta mused. "We would have to keep our eyes closed, though. And there's no more water, so we would probably have to assault some poor cactus. . . Are there cacti in this desert? Or just Cacnea? Hm . . . In any case, we would probably wander for days, becoming lost on the shifting sands, and then some other adventurers would find us months, maybe years later, just skeletons shored up against some exposed rock . . ."
She waited. No reaction. Etta pulled herself to her feet and walked around to where Cleave had gone to pout, behind a rock several yards away. Now he was apparently meditating. Or just stealthily blocking her out because he was the one who thought trying to go into the desert was a suicide mission to begin with.
"Next time I'll have to take your vast wisdom into account." she said, smirking at him and then returning to her seat.
What now? Blow money on nicer goggles? No. She was nearly broke as it was, and they needed to be able to rent a motel room every once in awhile. She sighed. It was getting kind of bad. Wandering the earth, unfettered by responsible, was romantic and all, but short of becoming a pirate, it certainly wasn't sustainable. Rest was what she needed, and time to make a plan.
"Hey," she said, reclining against her backpack, "you know what's nearby?"
Eclair's ear twitched.
"Lavaridge. Real nice place, from what I hear. And they specialize in one very specific luxury . . ."
Typically low-maintenance, but likes to dress up now and then. Her wardrobe consists of boots, an array of close-fitting pants and shirts (mostly in neutral tones) that allow her to move around easily, and heaps upon heaps of jackets.
PERSONALITY
Etta is a woman who seems always to be waiting for something. Stoic, but not always still, she’s prone to both spontaneous movement and long periods of meditation. Some have simply called her a restless soul, but that’s not quite right . . . she is a wanderer, but to her the wandering is a necessary, and enjoyable, part of reaching her destination. Instead of being anxious, she instead takes the comings and goings and inevitable waits of traveling life as all equally important. But she does look forward to discovering where she’s meant to be, and seems beholden to some uncanny instinct to “go, go right now” to new places at extremely strange times. In that sense, she can sometimes be a bit unreliable: staying in Slateport indefinitely one minute, hopping the ferry to Lilycove the next. Ultimately, however, her major dedication is completing her quest: to find a mystery, call it perhaps “Her Mystery” – some grand, vast unknown that no one else has yet encountered. So, while she sincerely tries to do right by those around her, if a new acquaintance comes to dislike her, she isn't going to waste time fretting over it.
Etta is self-contained by nature, comfortable staying quiet and observing the action, but she is far from shy. When engaged, she'll speak her mind in a matter-of-fact, sometimes playful, but usually gentle way. She enjoys meeting new people, especially those who look at the world through a unique, outsider’s perspective. If you have an interesting anecdote about a far-off place, or even a story of a particularly unusual Pokémon, she’s happy to listen. She’s likely to be doubly interested if you're funny. People who can make her laugh are always quick to rise in her affections. Etta’s sense of humor is on the wry side: she’s prone to half-audible asides, and nonsense initial replies to questions. It’s a strange compliment to her more solemn side. Overall, she’s rather friendly, but those she meets may have to get passed an initial impression of aloofness. And if she happens not to like someone, she isn't going to hide it. She will try to be civil, but if she's provoked she'll become very cold, and very harsh, fast.
She sees her Pokémon as close friends of hers, and can often be found carrying out long conversations with them (or teasing them mercilessly, in Cleave’s case). Generally, she gets along better with Pokémon who have big personalities. Like her Sneasel, who’s a bit on the sassy side.
Ambitions: Etta’s “primary objective,” if you will, is to find Her Mystery. She’s not even sure she wants to solve it – she just has a deep yearning to be in the presence of something inexplicable. Also on her list of goals, however, is becoming more self-sufficient (i.e., establishing some sort of income or credit line, and buying property somewhere), traveling to all the regions of the world, finding a group of friends she can trust implicitly, and rejoining her brother. And more presently, locating and securing one Mimoza Aislin Schorl.
HISTORY
Etta grew up with her twin brother Emile in the suburbs of Tynntill Town, Nue, the children of two regional news reporters: their father, Sven Rassul, a veteran correspondent for the evening Pokémon League report, and their mother, Stella Alomeire, an investigative journalist whose job seems to consist mainly of exposing what businesses are fronts for already dying gangs, and who is responsible for not figuring it out sooner. Etta always thought she seemed disappointed by it. She likes to think her mother would rather be cracking political scandals wide open, or rooting out corporate espionage rings. Mr. Rassul’s job, at least, never ceased to excite him, and Etta and Emile would spend hours sitting at his side at the dinner table, listening to him recount battles he'd witnessed. They lived quite comfortably. She never quite got used to them being television personalities, though: there for everyone in Nue to listen to and recognize. Watching them on TV always gives her a strange, vaguely disoriented feeling, even today.
Despite their parents’ frequent travels, Etta and Emile rarely left their hometown. The few times Etta was able to accompany them are among her fondest childhood memories: taking the train with Stella to Flash City when she was seven, and attending Pokémon contests in Lilycove with Sven and his sister, to name a couple. Her desire to travel was adequately awakened.
The rest of her time was spent in and around Tynntill, tearing around with her brother. As twins tend to be, the pair were inseparable, best friends. A charming duo, always big hits at the numerous parties and fundraising events their parents would often host or attend as part of their careers. But even with the glamour, and Emile's interest in business aspects, Etta's mind was still on going someplace, anyplace, out there.
It wasn't that Pokémon training was ever pushed on her, or even expected. She and Emile were surrounded by it, though, between their father’s career and their friends’ ambitions, and she never had a moment when she realized it wasn't what she wanted. That's what people who wanted to travel did, most of the time, after all - they became trainers. It was often discussed around the house as though it was a done deal – “Well, when you set off to be a trainer . . .” or “Kaidi thinks we’ll go to this gym first.” Her Sneasel, Éclair, was a gift from her father for her ninth birthday. He caught it while on-location for some Pokémon League event, and it was to be her starting Pokémon. And her first, not counting the family Mightyena. She quickly dubbed the Sneasel after one of her mother’s favorite actresses, whose films were constantly showing in the Rassul-Alomeire household, leading her to become a familiar and comforting figure to Etta. From then on, the girl just got caught up in the luster. She couldn't wait to get up, and go out into the world, and Emile seemed content enough to follow along.
Etta had four false starts over the years, beginning on that Thursday she set off with Emile when they were twelve, and ending with a rather unremarkable return to Tynntill Town after a month-long jaunt at the age of seventeen. Emile had mirrored her failed journeys - several times they had both set out separately, only to run off and find each other in the end. Something was missing. She would go out, catch Pokémon, befriend them, train them, battle their way through trainers to the nearest gym . . . and then her concentration would flag and she would wind up with a disposable camera up on a hill somewhere, snapping landscape photos. She enjoyed working with her Pokémon. Battles were exhilarating. She adored traveling above all else, wandering for days, exploring the cities, exploring the open fields. Yet, her heart wasn't in it when it came to being a Trainer. Gyms, the Frontier, the Pokémon League – all those goals to be the very best and out-battle everyone else held no interest for her. They seemed perfectly valid, for other people. But Etta wanted something else. There was something out there, somewhere, that she needed to see.
The problem, was what? Where? She passed along most of her Pokémon to young soon-to-be trainers in Tynntill, and got to meditating. And following her parents around, while Emile tried striking out again, several more times, and finally hit some kind of stride, though it was in a long series of business ventures rather than training.
After traveling the League circuit with her father for a while, she confirmed her suspicion: battling was just a pastime for her. She enjoyed training with Éclair, but as living? Wasn't gonna happen. And Éclair, for her part, was just as happy making ice sculptures in the backyard as she was battling. Etta began accompanying her mother.
And there, there was something, if just an inkling of it. When her mother first got a whiff of a case, when she first began to investigate, there was this spark. Etta could feel herself being drawn in, beguiled by the thrill of the unknown. Of course, her mother’s investigations inevitably ended with Tony "Bulldozer" Berazzio, or some viable analog, so investigative reporting probably wasn't her route. But it got her thinking.
A year passed. Etta turned nineteen. She meditated. She kept Éclair active and had her ice sculptures showcased in town. And slowly, a feeling in her grew. It was time to get out of Tynntill, but to go where and do what, she didn’t know. Maybe she didn't know because no one else did, either. Maybe she was supposed to find something new.
Thus, drawn by the tug of some phantom thread, Etta set off in search of a mystery. Something that would lead to more than a basement full of bill counters. She headed off to a faraway starting point in Kanto, and over the course of a year, she became somewhat known for resolving minor obscurities – ghost stories, alleged sightings of unidentified Pokémon, etc. She seemed to have a knack for spotting a hoax, by way of a disappointed drop in her chest (much like she used to feel when an attempt at being a Trainer began to go south). Eventually she caught the eye of a Saffron-based firm, the sort that does not advertise, but to which clients are referred. They specialized, specifically, in looking into the most baffling of anomalies on behalf of clients who have the resources (read: cash) and sufficient whimsy to fuel the pursuit of an answer. Anomalies like, say, an unmanned midnight monorail run to nowhere, or the appearance of small pyramids composed of seamless silver cubes appearing at apparently strategic locations. Etta worked as a consultant for the firm for a little over two years, drawing a sizeable enough income to live comfortably in Saffron and purchase her wardrobe of sturdy traveling clothes. Most of the money, however, was put into an emergency savings account that she doesn't plan to touch anytime soon. She and Éclair also partnered up with a Ralts named Cleave, who was living half-wild in Saffron’s downtown, apparently abandoned by his trainer. He seems to think himself something of a heroic Casanova-in-training - that is, when he isn't fuming over being mistaken for a girl.
Though she enjoyed consulting for the firm, she eventually realized staying on full-time would not lead to the completion of her goal. After all, most of the cases could be put away inside of a month, and usually led to some creative use of a Pokemon's abilities as the culprit. The mystery she was looking for, she became certain, was somewhere out in the world, hidden from plain sight. Something bigger than just mysterious rock formations, or what have you. She left Saffron, parting from the firm amicably and agreeing to stay in-touch, in case any investigations cropped up in the areas she traveled.
Now, about two years later, she's made no particular headway in finding her mystery, though new friends have cropped up in the form of a quirky brood of Pokemon, the Aurelia siblings, and first and foremost her fluff-brained but darling charge Mimi, easily her best friend, met during a consulting job for Devon Corp. Problem is, the blond's been AWOL for nearly a year, and Etta's spent that time searching for her between her Aurelia encounters. With no luck so far, she's headed back to Tynntill Town to reunite with her brother and hopefully get down to the Mystery of the Vanishing Bunny.
A drop of water snaked down the side of the bottle, swimming over the little mountain range of molded plastic and coming to its final resting place: soaking into Etta's pant leg as she watched, lounging against the cliffside.
Etta looked to Eclair. "I guess that was the last of it."
The Sneasel huffed dramatically and rolled over on her side, her back to Etta.
"I didn't hear you complain when we started out," Etta told her, laughing airily and removing her goggles from where they sat atop her head.
Knock-offs. Hadn't lasted ten minutes in the sand storm before little scratchy granules started making their way through crevices in the unsealed frames. She'd had to blunder her way around with her arms half over her eyes. If anyone happened to pass them, she probably would have looked like some despondent wraith, skulking about in her cloak and waving her arms. They had gotten so turned around that Etta hadn't been sure if they were back where they started, or had somehow made it to the other entrance.
But now that she looked around, they were definitely where they started, on the Mauville City side of the desert. Not the most productive morning she'd ever had. At least the goggles didn't cost too much.
"We could try again," Etta mused. "We would have to keep our eyes closed, though. And there's no more water, so we would probably have to assault some poor cactus. . . Are there cacti in this desert? Or just Cacnea? Hm . . . In any case, we would probably wander for days, becoming lost on the shifting sands, and then some other adventurers would find us months, maybe years later, just skeletons shored up against some exposed rock . . ."
She waited. No reaction. Etta pulled herself to her feet and walked around to where Cleave had gone to pout, behind a rock several yards away. Now he was apparently meditating. Or just stealthily blocking her out because he was the one who thought trying to go into the desert was a suicide mission to begin with.
"Next time I'll have to take your vast wisdom into account." she said, smirking at him and then returning to her seat.
What now? Blow money on nicer goggles? No. She was nearly broke as it was, and they needed to be able to rent a motel room every once in awhile. She sighed. It was getting kind of bad. Wandering the earth, unfettered by responsible, was romantic and all, but short of becoming a pirate, it certainly wasn't sustainable. Rest was what she needed, and time to make a plan.
"Hey," she said, reclining against her backpack, "you know what's nearby?"
Eclair's ear twitched.
"Lavaridge. Real nice place, from what I hear. And they specialize in one very specific luxury . . ."