[BATTLE] DEVIN VS DANNY

[lou]

ROUND 1
DEVIN VS. DANNY
BATTLE COMMENCE

[devin]

[rs=2][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top][atrb=width,100] [style=font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; padding: 5px; line-height: 14px; word-spacing: -1.5px; color: #232323; margin-top: -15px;]Danny softeyessunkenveins.

[style=font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: 5px;] Her tourniquet is textbook, and with two brisk taps to her vein and a quick needlestick, it’s done. Subcutaneous, intramuscular, intravenous. Sweating, sick and shaking with a needle in hand and a dilapidated medical textbook before her, desperately trying to find the correct instructions. Better to chase the dragon than feed the monkey, they’d told her, but all she’d been able to get was black tar and if there was a way to smoke that, she didn’t know it. The cottonball adheres itself to the pinprick. Intrathecal. The dance of the dying desperate or an absurd urban legend, depending who you asked. Bypassing the blood brain barrier. That night she’d turned to that page first and sat for a long moment before forcing her shaking hands to turn a few more. The wrapper is slick against her teeth. Intraosseous, intraperitonal. Latin, like liturgy, had always struck her as so cold and clinical. So difficult to decode. It had taken twenty precious minutes for her to realize those options were not possible for someone untrained, for someone without the proper equipment for invasive procedures. The corners of the bandaid unfurl, refusing to stick to her damp skin. Intracardiac. Seventh circle of hell. But hell wasn’t real, and neither was the possibility of surviving, or even managing to self-administer an injection in that manner. Ties of her bag, laces of her boots, snaps down her coat. She’s not wearing the uniform. Her uniform, faded to an unattractive beige and withered from too many hot-water washes, lies somewhere in a hotel in Johto. Her sensible grey coat hides a Kevlar vest. Cornelius walks in her bootprints. She doesn’t realize she’s within veilstone grounds until she spots someone not-so-far away. The walls are still down. She’s standing on rubble. Cornelius noses a small pebble aside, sneezes at the smell of smoke. Before she can stop herself, Devin laughs at the irony. The day is overcast and chilly. There’s steam in her veins. Fire burns within Cornelius, but the Flareon can’t feel his own flame. Devin’s is licking at her fingertips, pulling a faint flush of blood into her cheeks, slipping down her legs to warm toes tucked into too-tight boots. “Thought I heard fighting.” [/style]

[atrb=vAlign,top] ✲ AMB Tanz am I keeping a secret [style=font-family: arial; font-size: 8px; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 1px; padding: 5px; width: 126px;]or is my secret keeping me [/style]

[crest2]

[atrb= border, 0, btable][atrb=width,400,btable] [/style][style= font-family: tahoma; text-align: justify; font-size: 10px; padding: 5px; letter-spacing: 1px][classy=derp][style=float:left; margin-right: 10px; color: #FFFFFF; font-family: verdana; letter-spacing: 1px] WORDS 462 TAG tikva NOTES first post for this guy! good luck to you tik![/classy] His knuckles were white. That scared him. They were numb too, if that counted for anything. He read somewhere in a book that by applying pressure, one could cut off blood circulation to an area of the body, making that area turn white from lack of blood. The handgun was his life source now. He was a warrior here, a guerilla, a soldier, a hero. Mother Earth made him a hero. They promised. He'd be known all over the world, as a war hero. The strongest, the greatest. He could taste it. His body refuses to quiver, he is scared but no one will ever know. Slowly raising his gun, he spins in a full circle, scanning his surroundings with unblinking navy eyes. He spots her, but she is unrecognizable to him. Nox, or Lux, it doesn't matter, the gun is pointed at her, with his best aim. He doesn't shoot, only glares at her. He wants her to see the white of his eyes. He's thirteen but she is no superior. The trigger haunts him. Don't touch, Don't touch, he tells himself. He won't shoot as it would be a waste. Why deal with her that way? No, he'll handle it rationally, he would not fire. He'd probably miss anyway. He'd never been trained with a gun before. Oh, but it could be so easy. He pursed his lip silently, gun still steadily pointed at her. Just pull the little trigger and the girl falls down. Just pull it with your itty bitty finger and it's all over. She's dead and you win, he thought. It's just oh so easy to do that. Just a slip of the finger and- No pokemon necessary, and if she was Nox, well who cares. Just one of the many lives claimed. Dead is dead. As long as no one knew it was him he could get away with it.... I'll miss, he thought yet again, glancing at the red and white orbs in his belt. He needs to buy time. Just some. She won't know what's coming. "Get out, putrescent scum." Danny didn't know her, nor did he care. He was going to stop her anyway, he was going to pound her face in, even if that meant harm to one of nox's forces. He unhooked a pokeball from his belt. It fell to the rubble with a clang, opening up and releasing cleocatra. She hissed and spat and stared challengingly to the opposite force, unsheathing her claws and preparing for battle. Danny just spoke a simple word, never taking his eyes of the enemy: "Kill." With that, Cleo fired off a DARK PULSE at the flareon. Who knows? Maybe he'd use the gun, and his pokemon. Who said he had to play fair? [/style] [style=float: left; font-family: charlesworth; font-size: 55px; letter-spacing: -2px; color: EEEEEE; margin-left: 10px; line-height: 50%; margin-top: 30px; text-shadow: #383838 -1px -1px 2px;]a requiem of [style= margin-left: 50px; font-size: 70px; color: #EEEEEE; text-shadow: #383838-1px -1px 2px;]decay [/style] [/style]

coded by JIN of PRE & GANGNAM STYLE

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[devin]

[rs=2][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top][atrb=width,100] [style=font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; padding: 5px; line-height: 14px; word-spacing: -1.5px; color: #232323; margin-top: -15px;]Danny good luck : ).

[style=font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: 5px;] The primary factor in the development of addiction is neurophysiologic reinforcement involving dopaminergic neurons He has her little brother’s hair. An intravenous injection can involve one or more single doses of a substance administered through a needle.

[/right]All she can see is Dillon.[/b]

The dopaminergic neurons are under continuous inhibition

[/right]There’s anger on that face but it’s still nothing compared to the contortions she’s seen on Dillon’s, and she’s prepared to comfort him, but something hits her through the haze[/b]

The substance to be administered is usually stored in a syringe, which is attached to the needle.

[/right] Dante’s voice in her ears and she looks at Dillon, really looks at him, and everything is wrong- this boy is smaller. His eyes are the wrong color. [/b]

Release of dopamine from these neurons onto the dopamine receptors in the nucleus accumbens produces positive reinforcement.

[/right] He’s holding a gun. [/b]

Once the needle is inserted into a vein, the raised portion of the syringe may be depressed, forcing the substance into the vein.

[/right] Cornelius is civilized. Devin is a civilian. No, she’s a collector, a spymaster, that’s why she’s here. [/b]

Apply the tourniquet 3-4 inches above the selected puncture site.

[/right] She calls out Teyrnorn. A thick wave[/b] of sand flying through the air prevents her from seeing him- Cornelius has sent a sand attack flying towards her foe. Not the Pokemon- the human bearing a gun.

And then, with a soft cry, Cornelius skids back several feet, landing on his side. The Pokemon pants slightly as he rises, his side bruised and sore. Devin can’t see the attack that hit him. She retaliates anyway. The signal is given, and Teyrnorn aims a spark at the Persian. She can see him now, can see the electricity crackling around the Magneton as it prepares, then fires the attack. The glint of light off his steel body is mesmerizing.

The needle should form a 15 to 30 degree angle with the surface of the arm

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✲ AMB Tanz

am I keeping a secret

[style=font-family: arial; font-size: 8px; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 1px; padding: 5px; width: 126px;]or is my secret keeping me

[/style][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[crest2]

[atrb= border, 0, btable][atrb=width,400,btable] [/style][style= font-family: tahoma; text-align: justify; font-size: 10px; padding: 5px; letter-spacing: 1px][classy=derp][style=float:left; margin-right: 10px; color: #FFFFFF; font-family: verdana; letter-spacing: 1px] WORDS 422 TAG tikva NOTES I love those tourniquet bits you do <3 [/classy] He wants everything to be simple. He doesn't want to die, he wants to be alive, he wants to breath. He wants a mother again, but he'll never get one, For Danny's a grown-up, he knows he is, and he always has been. He loved his mother, she read to him. Stories about mermaids, and kings, and wolves. Stories, he knew, that could never be true. He wasn't in a storybook. Now, he was in the cold, dangerous world. The rubble is his playground now, his gun is his only toy. The sand attack hits him square in the face, stinging in the process. He can't help but let out a scream. His eyes sting, the sand is in his eyes He panics Moves his feet and shakes his head vigorously. Some sand comes out, but his method is unreliable, and his eyes fill up, the water starts to gather. He's crying. He promised he wouldn't cry. He can't cry, he's not a child, he must act wise, but salty tears drip from his eyes. He is sobbing uncontrollably, trying desperately to get some breath. But he fails. It continues until he sees his mother, standing on the rubble, with a flareon and a magneton. She looks at him and he wants to cry even louder, he wants to cry out to her and let her know he's hurt. He doesn't. His mother's gaze is threatening, he shudders and points the gun at her once again. He can't stop fighting. He won't stop fighting. He has to defeat his mother, power through these sobs and kill her. In the blink of an eye his mother is gone, she's back, matching his glares with her own angry one. He knows she can see him cry, but he doesn't care. Danny doesn't want sympathy, he wants her dead. There are no words that escape his dry lips, only the sound of another pokeball hitting the ground, releasing Sand Lizard. His teeth are curled in a sinister smile, the Krookodile wants blood, he wants to smash some little runts to death. Danny doesn't stop him, he wants the same. All of them dead. Cleocatra is hit by the spark, and snarls, falling on her side. She gets up again and running off, trying to hit the flareon with a SLASH. Sand Lizards eyes are gleaming with pure hate as he starts an OUTRAGE, aimed straight at the magneton. Danny's tears are still falling, but the sand is gone. It doesn't hurt anymore. Everything is numb. [/style] [style=float: left; font-family: charlesworth; font-size: 55px; letter-spacing: -2px; color: EEEEEE; margin-left: 10px; line-height: 50%; margin-top: 30px; text-shadow: #383838 -1px -1px 2px;]a requiem of [style= margin-left: 50px; font-size: 70px; color: #EEEEEE; text-shadow: #383838-1px -1px 2px;]decay [/style] [/style]

coded by JIN of PRE & GANGNAM STYLE

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[devin]

[rs=2][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top][atrb=width,100] [style=font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; padding: 5px; line-height: 14px; word-spacing: -1.5px; color: #232323; margin-top: -15px;]Danny Thanks! Flareon dodges and uses ember Magneton is hit then uses supersonic.

[style=font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: 5px;] Palpate and trace the path of the veins. Arteries pulsate. (pulsate- expand and contract with regular movements.) (pulsate- produce a throbbing sensation or sound.) Pulsate, oscillate, palpitate, pump,pound,throb,roll- no. Flashes of fire and a sharp grunt, a savage lunge, met with a scathing hiss. A scramble to evade. Then, a scalding attack. Fire leaps from his mouth, aiming for the feline. Weak,cord-like thrombosed veins roll. Not arteries. Arteries palpate. Did she pulsate the arm? rolling. Her stomach was rolling, her head was rolling, maybe her veins were rolling Trace the path. Trace the path. Fingers quivering. Glinting silver by her feet but she doesn’t have a metal detector. She’s never been to the shore. A disorienting sound, a supersonic, but it floats by her, floats towards the what’s black and white and red all over? The first time she saw a needle he’d been a very brave boy or was there a book? There was a little pinch She remembered the burning heat

[/blockquote][/blockquote]“’m not here to fight.”

and all the other little girls and boys sat up
cried for mommy
and she waited and she waited but he only opened his eyes
she missed the smell of it almost as much as the high
playing doctor, drip, drip, wait! Medical malpractice. You didn’t-

Frontal assaults are a bad choice, doubly so for a spy.

Particularly when facing children.

She’s not sure whose side he’s on.

He’s in over his head. She has no intention of killing a boy who’s clearly in over his head. He’s determined, headstrong. Her head? It’s fuzzy. Her eyes are clear. She can see he’s crying.

thick fat veins sunken into her skin
(did you trace them)
(did you palpate)

She draws the gun. Slowly. Fingers splayed around the barrel. The grip dangles. She lets go. The gun drops noiselessly onto the sand of Cornelius’ earlier attack. A simple gesture of intent. [/size]

water where it shouldn’t be
a silent crib among the burblers
a green curtain and a bin full of needles
and in the lobby a piano plays itself.
after today, her mother will never play the piano again

Her spare pistol remains concealed beneath her coat, of course, but she doubts she’ll need to use it. He’s a child.

(and what was she, when she enlisted? She was three days past her sixteenth birthday, but twelve days into adulthood. Sixty-one, if one counted conception rather than termination as the qualifier.)

“You’re too young for this.”

trace the path
But it went in, didn’t it?
That honey-sweet warmth swimming in her bloodstream
says it did.

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✲ AMB Tanz

am I keeping a secret

[style=font-family: arial; font-size: 8px; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 1px; padding: 5px; width: 126px;]or is my secret keeping me

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[crest2]

[atrb= border, 0, btable][atrb=width,400,btable] [/style][style= font-family: tahoma; text-align: justify; font-size: 10px; padding: 5px; letter-spacing: 1px][classy=derp][style=float:left; margin-right: 10px; color: #FFFFFF; font-family: verdana; letter-spacing: 1px] WORDS --- TAG tikva NOTES Persian dodges supersonic and sends a power gem at Flareon, Krookodile uses earthquake and then is hit with supersonic. [/classy] There's fire in Danny's eyes now, the sand is gone and although tears still flow, his lips are curled into a defiant sneer as he tightens his grip on his handgun, his toy. His finger itches as it rests on the trigger. He might have to shoot her. (He doesn't want to. Seeing her blood fall, seeing her knees buckle, eyes rolling, seeing her gasp for air-) He wanted to throw up. The ember is crackling, alive, and jumping towards Sand Lizard. He doesn't budge, only squints his eyes and squeezes his claws shut. He is burned, he is hurt, but he opens his eyes and there is no pain, only desperate hate, aimed directly to the enemy. He is a monster in his own right, and he is hungry, hungry for blood. Sand Lizard shows a toothy sneer, identical to that of his trainer. He goes on a tantrum, thrashes violently and finally sends a mighty EARTHQUAKE to the ground, pushing all of his might towards the rubble. Danny does nothing, only watches his monster retaliate against the enemy, the blonde standing across the way. She's too pretty to die, he knows it somewhere in his demented brain. He can barely see her eyes, but he knows he'd stare at them if he was closer up. Just like his mother, pretty eyes, much too nice to be murdered. He'd kill her anyway, if he had to. His arms are quivering, and they ache. The gun is heavy for his frail hands. Danny longs to sit down, rest his legs, and just close his eyes just for a moment. That would be nice. Just to close his eyes and fall into a deep sleep...He shuts them now. There is a sound coming now, high pitched and getting louder and louder. His eyes are open again, although they are bloodshot and tired. He knows what is coming. He can't see it, but he knows. He's read about it before, but he's never actually seen it work in battle. He's worried about Cleocatra, her partner's earthquake knocked her to the floor and she hasn't gotten up. Her eyes are open, and slowly scanning the area, trying to find the source of the noise. Danny's smarter, he knows it's the Magneton, but he says nothing. Finally his persian gets up, she knows where the supersonic is, and she leaps as far as she can. It doesn't get to her, but the Krookodile is a stupid creature and he can't even hear the sound until the last second. He rolls his eyes, dumb-struck. He's hit. Danny watches him fall helplessly. Sand Lizard can barely stand. He's useless now, any order will just cause even more confusion, and he'll end up hurting himself or Cleocatra. Speaking of the feline, she seems to be doing well, managing to send a glimmering POWER GEM right to the Flareon. She retreats afterwards, but never stops moving. Danny is well aware that her nimbleness has saved her from the supersonic, and he knows that she'll try to do the same with every attack thrown at her. The woman's mouth moves, but he barely registers her words. If she isn't here to fight, she shouldn't be here at all. Just the typical coward of Lux, she came to kill and run. He fought for Veilstone today, that's why he was here. He was here to fight. To kill for Veilstone. To kill for Nox. "I am." The words escape his dry lips in a growl. It's all he needs to know. Lux or Nox, she has no purpose here. Cowards aren't for war, and he will force her out. Danny will teach her a lesson, and she'll never be back. He's going to push her down, he's going to spit on her, and make her want to hide. And then Nox will find her and she'll die and no one will ever remember the little cowardly woman who came to kill and run. He sees her gun, but for once, he is not scared. For he has his gun too, and this was a stalemate. He couldn't take her king, she couldn't take his. The game was over. If they both had to die, so be it. If he died, she was coming down with him. He was sure it was the same for her. She was probably thinking the same thing. And then she drops it. He could kill her now, she has no way of defending. Right now, he could just pull the trigger and it would be all over. He could cry, he could scream, he could puke and he could watch her mangled body rot. She speaks again, and he doesn't reply. He doesn't care if he's young, he's won clearly. Danny has his gun and she doesn't. Psychologically, he's won. He's the smarter man, he's the stronger one, he's the ruthless one. He won't let anything stop him now. He doesn't drop the gun. [/style] [style=float: left; font-family: charlesworth; font-size: 55px; letter-spacing: -2px; color: EEEEEE; margin-left: 10px; line-height: 50%; margin-top: 30px; text-shadow: #383838 -1px -1px 2px;]a requiem of [style= margin-left: 50px; font-size: 70px; color: #EEEEEE; text-shadow: #383838-1px -1px 2px;]decay [/style] [/style]

coded by JIN of PRE & GANGNAM STYLE

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[devin]

[rs=2][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top][atrb=width,100] [style=font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify; padding: 5px; line-height: 14px; word-spacing: -1.5px; color: #232323; margin-top: -15px;]This is your brain. This is your brain on malapropisms drugs Magneton evades EQ due to hovering, Flareon uses Wish on magneton then hit and KO'd, magneton uses iron defense then magnet bomb on Persian, devin is knocked down by EQ and calls out heracross, who goes through its trainer’s bag.

[style=font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: 5px;] In a patient with absorption insufficiencies, an intravenous injunction may be used to bypass the digestive seismic. An addle-pated patient may experience perspicacity, a side effect not seen when admirability is crepuscular. You may experience tangential epoxy of the- the world sways she sways with it but the ground reaches up to swallow her

[/i]
Your dactylion absquatulates the brumal surface. Your veins feel gelid, but that opuscule you prioritized did appropriate you of that possibility-

she can’t find her sea legs
swimming through her bloodstream, the warm currents knocked her off center
she
sinks
into a deep sea crater
limp against jagged teeth

[/i]
You, the mendicant, sit needle-in-arm as the scacchic warmth abacinates through your saprostomous. Temulent brontides percribate. They are tangentially loquatious, and you can’t quite defenestrate why. But the runcation continues, as the pertinacious rhabdomyolisis whelves on and on-

His tail twitching tremulously, Cornelius lets the flames die down, shifting to breathe out a pale golden glow. It surrounds Teyrnorn, seeping into the Magneton. As the last edges of the golden glow die away, however, the ground lurches and shudders, heaving Cornelius not to the ground but into a small crater. He crashes into it, too slow to evade it, and lies still.

[/i]
The frisson of the first few months has given way to sanguinolent orisons. Perhaps you are aureate, but what can be expected of one veiled in buckram? You limpet the armor to disciple between anodynes and algolagnia. A saplent candy dish, a stygian redolent ball, a moribund jar under the volcano -

Glowing with an iron defense, Teynorn swoops in to protect his fallen friend, taking the brunt of the Power Gem. The attack isn’t very effective, and he easily shakes it off. The metallic Pokemon scatters a magnet bomb, aiming for his feline foe.

[/i]
It’s a mesonoxian macroseism. The mammothrept vituperates into limerance, ocellated to the icteral truandal. Disgenesis discerps, hariolates, a lurid, struthiform monolith. The metaphony is decadent.

this is wrong
and it hits you like a wave
crashing over your prone form
your fingers scrabble in sand- sand
and you can’t tell shoreline from horizon you can’t smell the ocean’s salty sweat but your fingers dig until you hit dirt and then you find your pocket (jeans?)and your pokeballs (pistol?)-

[/i]
Once it was nociceptive, now, only pullastrine.

the metal grip fits but you shoot out not a bullet but red light
and the ocean laps at your sides and
turns you over
you hear, but can not see, the hands

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✲ AMB Tanz

is there anybody in there?

[style=font-family: arial; font-size: 8px; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 1px; padding: 5px; width: 126px;]is there anyone at home?

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[crest2]

[atrb= border, 0, btable][atrb=width,400,btable] [/style][style= font-family: tahoma; text-align: justify; font-size: 10px; padding: 5px; letter-spacing: 1px][classy=derp][style=float:left; margin-right: 10px; color: #FFFFFF; font-family: verdana; letter-spacing: 1px] WORDS --- TAG tikva NOTES Krookodile doesn't faint, but is called in because he's totally gone off his rocker confused and is dangerous to Danny and the Persian. A Whimsicott is called, and fires a leech seed at Heracross, while Persian tries another Dark Pulse, hurtling towards Magneton. Persian gets hit by magnet bomb and is weary and tired. [/classy] His grin is eerie almost, he doesn't mind getting hurt, because he doesn't care about a few scrapes and burns. When you play on the playground, sometimes you get hurt. It was only natural he smile, it was a beautiful moment in his life when his enemy dropped her gun, and his remained held upright tightly by his white knuckles. She can do whatever she wants, think whatever she wants, but he'll never let go. That gun must be pried from his bloody, lifeless hands. He'd use it to shoot the fallen pokemon, if the magneton didn't rush over to the flareon. It looked like it had fainted, but he shouldn't try his luck. Pokemon were just a vicious as humans. It doesn't take Danny a very long time to realize that Sand Lizard won't be getting up. The krookodile is face down in the rubble, and although still twitching and looking around, is useless in this case. He's gone insane, and is now a danger to himself and those around him. The flash of red, the familiar ring of a tattered pokeball, and the pokemon has vanished from sight, bundled into the small capsule. Walking Bushie is summoned now, and loving the attention, he grins wildly at Cleocatra and spits a LEECH SEED flying at the Heracross. Cleocatra watches with envy, all powered into a DARK PULSE, targeted at the magneton. The magnet bomb hurtling towards Cleocatra hits, and she falls over, flinching, but standing back up, weaker than before. She's worn down. Her eyes are flickering, her shoulder's sag and her fur is missing in places, leaving her skin bare, cold, and exposed to attack even more. He watches as the woman falls down after the earthquake. He knows that the trigger is there, but he refuses to look. He doesn't move a muscle, although itching to do something-anything. This has to end at some point. Retreating is for losers, but he doesn't want this anymore. He wants her dead, or he wants to escape alive. Both would be a miracle, but Danny knows that isn't going to happen. For the gun is there with her, lying on the ground, and it's ready to be fired too. He takes a baby step back cautiously, he can't let her see, he can't let her see him try to run away. He's supposed to be noble, he's supposed to be nox, he's supposed to be a hero. Danny longs for that, to stay here and shoot her in the head, over and over if he has to. He'll shoot her and be a hero, he'll have saved Veilstone from one more Lux terrorist. He should, shouldn't he? He has to He can't just leave Or can he? But then she'd destroy the city And try to claim it for Lux It all weighed down to knowing which was more important. His life? Or being a hero? It's quiet. He's still there, clinging to the gun, clinging to his mother, with freshly wet eyes, and little numb fingers and toes. [/style] [style=float: left; font-family: charlesworth; font-size: 55px; letter-spacing: -2px; color: EEEEEE; margin-left: 10px; line-height: 50%; margin-top: 30px; text-shadow: #383838 -1px -1px 2px;]a requiem of [style= margin-left: 50px; font-size: 70px; color: #EEEEEE; text-shadow: #383838-1px -1px 2px;]decay [/style] [/style]

coded by JIN of PRE & GANGNAM STYLE

[newclass=derp]padding: 20 30; transition: 0.5s; -moz-transition: 0.5s; -webkit-transition: 0.5s; -o-transition: 0.5s; color: white; margin-top: 20px; background-color: 36322C; opacity: 0.0; height: 100px;[/newclass][newclass=derp:hover]transition: 0.5s; -moz-transition: 0.5s; -webkit-transition: 0.5s; -o-transition: 0.5s; opacity: 0.9[/newclass]

[devin]

[rs=2][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top][atrb=width,100] [style=font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; text-align: justify, padding: 5px; line-height: 14px; word-spacing: -1.5px; color: #232323; margin-top: -15px;]Magneton aims a spark at the leech seed, striking it from the air, but then is hit by the dark pulse. Heracross injects Devin with the Naloxone to stop her overdose then uses Endure. Naloxone stops the body from absorbing/reacting to opiates, basically immediately inducing withdrawal. Naloxone ampules usually come with a sunshine-yellow top.

[style=font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: 5px;] the irradiated osseous romps through your jellied-veins and oh, it’s wafe and renfortuiting, and the twaith and fyrling of the jeidh vire limble arot. The slonde broman feels bire, and the satulation, while creck, is rine. What can one do in such vertigluous circumstances? Well, if bronox spartle, you’ll garlet the morlen. You eye the vertans, but the nafrilius Magneton spots them first. Loor! With a grivling gaible, It rorrets, it morrels, it fires A sapril spark Whilst you furtilicate The crevusculan gibbets are frondled, but your eye is on the naloxone foe, who fires, fires, fires at your precipiate- Carapace – carcass- chitinous- caranx, crustaceans and cephalopods, but you’ve never liked fish pokemon, and there’s no water here. What you’re seeing are water-blue wings wading past your face, and a two-fingered hand willfully wielding a weeping needle. You capitulate. Your foe is nefarious, it’s the nettle that was naloxone. Needle. A needle of naloxone. Your words are still maladaptives, but the dull ache in your bones is creeping back in, and maybe things look a little clearer. Anja’s stare is baleful, but you’re still flying too high to care. There’s two more sets of feathers in your wax wings and those aren’t as easily melted by the sunshine-fluid your Heracross has sent running through your veins. You fix your eyes on the boy across from you, and slowly sit up. Sand slips away from your clothes, leaving a musty layer of grit in its wake. “I’m just here to pick up my cousin’s kid,” you say. You can tell a lie straight-faced, but this one sends a jolt of agony through you that isn’t from your fall, that isn’t from heracross-induced withdrawal. Your hand instinctively reaches for your stomach, probing the soft, concave surface through the wrinkled fabric of your shirt. Anja’s a fighter. She fights to pull you away from your needles and bottles, she fights to keep your face out of the toilet you spend so much time bent over, she fights to get you to eat more than Italian ice washed down with a slug of southern comfort and cranberry. What she doesn’t fight is against more tangible foes, and to be frank, you’re not even sure what attacks she knows. The Heracross merely does the best she can, which right now, is crouching in front of you, preparing to take the brunt of any blows aimed your way. Your hands are shaking as you pull your second gun, your spare pistol. There’s still a fuzzy warmth in your veins, but it’s no match for the cacophony of shrieks in your head, the dull empty ache of your flat stomach, or the uncontrollable shudders wrenching their way through you as your body registers the absence of the opiates you rely on. You raise the gun, pointing it skyward, and pull the trigger once. It’s not a warning shot. It’s a call for help. For attention. The sound of gunfire is sure to draw other combatants, and regardless of which side they’re on, you feel secure. You have Nox paperwork in your pocket. You have your lux ID tucked into your boot. “Her name is Kayla.” You never forget, even through the haze, that you’re fighting for people like this, lost boys taking on the burdens of adults, children whose only hope is unnaturally precocious independence. You don’t ask about his parents. If he had any worth mentioning, he wouldn’t be standing here, alone, on a battlefield. Gravity pulls the shrieking bullet out of the sky. It falls as fast as it rose, flying into the sand inches from your feet. Sand scatters, leaving a fine cloud of dust that coats your boots. You don’t flinch. You are trembling. You should be remembering why you’re here, why you fight, why you need to save this child from himself, yourself, other soldiers, but all you can think about is how bad you need a fix. Your skin is crawling, your blood feels like ice, something nasty is twisting its way up through your insides, clawing at you on its way up. You open your mouth to tell the boy to leave, to run before the real fighters get here. “It’s easier to shoot an enemy than talk to one, but no amount of bullets can kill an idea.” [/style]

[atrb=vAlign,top] ✲ AMB Tanz I know things are looking up [style=font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify; letter-spacing: 1px; padding: 5px; width: 126px;]but soon they'll take us down [/style]

[tsun]

VICTOR: DEVIN

+ 500 to Lux