Post by wraff on Dec 6, 2009 17:39:35 GMT -5
[Some interviews could be brutally long and challenging. While length was ideal for penisi certain G-rated things, it was a hassle when you had to write down every word some long-winded loudmouth said. But today, for once, your interview had gone smoothly. No verbal abuse, no refusal to answer. You look down at your carefully organized clipboard with a satisfied smile, continuing to walk back to your office at Sudowood studios. You pause a moment, staring into the foreboding depths of a sketchy alley perpendicular to the sidewalk. It runs right behind the local office, you know. You'd effectively save 30 minutes of your life taking it.
It was pretty damn sketchy though. You consider for a moment. It's the middle of the afternoon, which is a pro. And Mauville was safe, right? It was reputed to be so, with it's abundance of security cameras. Wattson really cared about the safety of the people or really he just liked to spy on little boys' asses.
You'd be fine if you just scurried through it quickly. You were already having a lucky day, after all, your luck wouldn't run out.
You turn quickly into the alley, walking with an appropriate swiftness. A Meowth in a dumpter yowls angrily at you and you speed up, the sound unnerving you since YOU'D RATHER NOT GET POKE-RABIES PLZ. The sun and the blue sky is still visible above you, and you take comfort in it.
But is this alley ever hot! You fan yourself with your clipboard. It's been getting ever hotter and...is that steam? Your mind is getting woozy, it's becoming impossible to focus. You crumple to your knees, sweating, coughing and trying to get some air that isn't steamy and thick.]
Heh. Pick it up and let's go.
[The nonchalant voice is the first thing that makes you realize you're under attack somehow. It's male, the tone low and sarcastic.
You feel claws dig loosely into your shoulders, hear a flutter of wings on air, but your endurance runs out after another wave of heat, and you pass out. Way to run out, luck.]
...
[When you come to, it's still overpoweringly hot. Your body is so sweaty your clothes are clinging to you, and your limbs feel weak with the temperature. You lift your head from the ground to look around. The steam is making it hard to make out where you are. It seems massive and claustrophobic at the same time, but it's dark. And the floor is...ew. Filthy. You sit yourself up and brush off some of the grime, when a red-tinged shadow is suddenly revealed as the fog separates.]
Took ya long enough.
[It’s a man. A young man. He looks as if he’s barely out of his teenage years. As he completes his statement he relaxes into a cross-legged position on the floor. It's as if he does this kind of thing every day. He appears completely calm, but there is a wicked smirk on his face and it fills you with foreboding. Despite his youth, you get the sense you’re dealing with someone experienced at criminal behaviour just by his nonchalance.
It's safe to say you're quite scared. Questions run through your mind. Where am I? Who are you? What do you want? Not necessarily original questions, but ones that seem appropriate considering your situation. You try to voice them out loud, but your voice is a choking, hoarse cough. The man lifts a hand as if in command, and you can feel the heat decreasing. Obviously he is indeed calling the shots here. He’s weakening you with heat so you can’t even stand, nevermind try to escape. How the hell is he not overheating, dressed as he is?]
You're in a Stench den. No one'll find you. The only way out is an entrance in the ceiling. I can get my Swellow to shut it, and I'll turn up the heat so much your blood will boil in your veins.
[Wait, wait. You just woke up. So why were you having a nightmare? Despite the remaining heat, your blood runs cold, and the informative, vaguely amused way he says all this, matched with the spiteful smile on his face, make it easy to believe he's not screwing around.]
I'll let you go if you interview me.
[You blink in astonishment. He knocked you out with extreme heat, picked you up with his Swellow, dragged you into a drug den with no windows or doors except in the ceiling, just for an interview? You frown in disbelief, and he leans back casually, lifting an arm over his head and stretching until he almost topples over backwards. It seems somewhat...anticlimactic. Shouldn't an evil villain be reciting lines about his dastardly plan and wandering about dramatically instead of stretching like a Meowth?]
I don’t have all day.
[He says this with a voice strained by stretching, but he is too nonchalant to sound impatient. However you hear a menacing hiss, a remorseless darkness beneath the words, and you decide to do whatever this psycho wants.]
Parents call me.. [/b][/font][/color]
Why’re you asking about them, anyway? They’ve got nothing to do with me.
[His arrogance is just oozing off of him. He must have some parental issues, because well, most people would say that their parents had a big impact on them. Well, he is a psychotic kidnapper with a hard-on for saunas. So you suppose that was evident from the start. You write down what he said, however unsatisfactory the answer was, and move on.]
[/ul]
My Friends call me.. [/font][/color][/size]
[!! You blanche, and he smirks quite deviously at you, his eyes looking over your face as if waiting for an amusing reaction. The steam plays around his gaunt face and he looks simultaneously like a mischievous child and the sadistic man you believe he is. EERIE, PLZ.] Heh.
[You were….you were scheduled to interview someone called “Mack Hokage” tomorrow! Was this a coincidence?]
[…No. You observe the way he’s looking at you, with a wicked little smirk on his lips, and you realize he planned this. You voice your shock into a question.]
I wanted to do it on my terms. This is a lot more interesting. [Mack gets to his feet in one fluid motion, not even having to touch the grimy floor. He puts his hands into his pockets, still completely calm.]
Anyway…
A friend of mine gave me that name. But most people…[Mack pauses significantly, his eyes shutting briefly as if to relish in the next words.]…Know me as “The Shadow of Fire”.
[It’s the kind of name they give a serial killer. You think through some of the horror stories you’ve been told in your life about killers and murderers and everything else. Have you ever heard such a nickname before? No. It’s a relief but it renews your fear at the same time. Hank. No, Mack—The Shadow of Fire—is still a complete mystery. You’re tense and nervous, waiting for him to continue, to explain, but he doesn’t. He just stares at you knowingly. He’s grinning at you as if you’re some lab experiment that’s behaving in humourous ways, and he seems to have noticed the play of emotions on your face. You can’t read his thoughts or his expression, but you get the sense he greatly enjoys the fact he can withhold information from you so easily, and especially the fact that what he’s refusing to tell you is filling you with such fear.][/ul]
I'm not an it! I am a...[/font][/color][/size]
Don't flatter yourself. I can do better than you, and get consent. [One thing less to fear, at least. Your body relaxes, and Mack's disdainful sneer widens. He mutters something as if in disbelief, but it is unintelligible, and you decide you'd much rather not know.]
[/ul]
I am a...[/font][/color][/size]
[He says this as if he's been waiting for such a question since the beginning. He straightens up pointedly, only to lean back against a wall and cross his arms over his chest.]
I'm a Team Magma Firehead. [This doesn't mean anything to you. You frown, confused. You've heard a bit about a Team Rocket, the Kanto region's gang, but never a Team Magma. Your lack of recognition makes Mack's eyes narrow determinedly.]
Team Magma will soon be the most respected team in Hoenn. The entire world, in fact. It's about time we start showing it. [He smirks, his eyes glaring at the wall on the other side with a single-minded intensity.] And Maxie finally agrees it's time to stop hiding.
We're going to expand the landmass of the earth. Water is...unnecessary. We only need it to drink. Humans have more than enough. What we really need is more land. So we can expand and advance ourselves. Hardly anyone can see this. Except for those lucky enough to be in our ranks.
And I'm one of the three Admins of Team Magma. They call us the Fireheads. [Mack's talking like the most arrogant of all zealots. This is the most you've heard him say without pause, but it's almost as if he's reciting. Like he's informing you of his Team's plan to spread publicity, not because of his own personal passion. Either way, you're terrified. Expanding the landmass? It seems like a good goal, something admirable, but if Mack is one of the highest ranking team members...They've got to be evil. Mack isn't done, though. He soon continues to talk.]
I'm the Team's illusion master. The things I can do with fire... [He coos the word "fire", and cuts his statement off there, removing a hand from his pocket and snapping his fingers with obvious purpose. At once, the room lights up. The floor does, anyway. It's as if someone spilled magma all over the floor. The heat is searing, and the light too bright. You turn away, looking into the dark smoke, when suddenly you see a dark humanoid figure seemingly made out of shadow and smoke launching itself toward you. You scream and dodge, only to be clawed at by another smoky being that looks something like a Haunter. It reaches at you, and the hiss of fire burning into metal sounding like the snarl of some kind of animal. Mack seems to have vanished. You look around, horrified, curling up with your clipboard held before you. Suddenly, you hear another snap. Mack reappears when the smoke parts. He's moved a bit, and is now standing behind a relaxed-looking Slugma. He's smirking widely at you, his eyes fully open as if to catch every moment of your previous fear and current confused embarrassment. He continues his earlier statement, saying it with an air of finality.]...are unique. [A-all an illusion? Made out of...fire? You're panting in terror, your clipboard still clutched to your chest. You can imagine why he's an Admin. That...ability paralyzed you with fear. And you get the feeling that was nothing but a taste of what Mack can do. Your voice shaking, you continue with the interview, praying you get out of this with your life, and your sanity.]
[/ul]
I don't need wrinkle cream! I'm...[/font][/color] [/size]
Do you think I need a diet? [/font][/color]
Mack just looks at you, a malicious mischievousness reflected in the one eye visible beneath his bright blond sidebangs. His large, angular amber eyes flicker into an orangey-gold in the light from his Slugma, and they continue to stare at you with a shameless intensity.
The majority of Mack's hair is under his hood, but from what you can see it's straight, and ends mid-way down his neck. It's a very teenager-like style, and you think this contributes to how young he looks.
He has a pointed nose above deceptively thin lips that you know can form unusually large smirks and grins. His attractive, gaunt face matches the rest of his body, which is lean.. A black belt with a gold buckle cinches his small waist, and a sleek black muscle shirt sits under a bright red length of material that looks as if it serves as a cape in the back, a bib in the front, and a hood over his head. Its jagged edges fall over his arms, which you see are lean and surprisingly muscular considering how small he looks. His hands are covered with thick black gloves that become bubble-like as they go up his arms, ending at his elbows. The bib-like part of his outfit has what you imagine must be the Team Magma logo, an M-shaped black shape that resembles three mountain peaks. His hood has two devil horns on top, and a black oval where his forehead would be.
Mack wears loose black pants with two horizontal stripes going around them, and boots that match his gloves. He doesn't seem to mind you looking him up and down at all, as he's been staring you down this entire time without a care in his cold eyes.]
Fireproof. It wouldn't do to have Team Magma be susceptible to fire. [He gestures to his arms with their gloves, and moves his hands down his front, then glances down at his legs. It makes sense, since almost all of his body is covered by material. You would imagine there's a greater purpose beyond fashion.But is it ever fashionable dayum. You ask Mack why he isn't hot, since you're still sweating, even though the heat is now tolerable. He frowns at you in disapproval, as if wondering how you can possibly be so stupid.] I'm in control, here. You don't think I'd let myself be affected by my own offense? No, Slugma's heat is focused on you only. [With a proud smirk of conclusion, he puts his hands in his pockets.][/ul]
My Emotional Disposition?[/font][/color] [/size]
Things that are Groovy:[/font][/color] [/size]
Things that aren't so Groovy:[/font][/color] [/size]
But...I'm afraid![/font][/color] [/size]
I like to...[/font][/color] [/size]
My reason?[/font][/color][/size]
Mandatory Angst?[/font][/color] [/size]
I WASN'T BORN ON A FLYING PYRAMID BAWWWWWWWW
Oh and by the way...[/font][/color] [/size]
LEGS. SPREAD 'EM
I'm just a proxy for...[/font][/color] [/size]
THAT WRATH BITCH
It was pretty damn sketchy though. You consider for a moment. It's the middle of the afternoon, which is a pro. And Mauville was safe, right? It was reputed to be so, with it's abundance of security cameras. Wattson really cared about the safety of the people
You'd be fine if you just scurried through it quickly. You were already having a lucky day, after all, your luck wouldn't run out.
You turn quickly into the alley, walking with an appropriate swiftness. A Meowth in a dumpter yowls angrily at you and you speed up, the sound unnerving you since YOU'D RATHER NOT GET POKE-RABIES PLZ. The sun and the blue sky is still visible above you, and you take comfort in it.
But is this alley ever hot! You fan yourself with your clipboard. It's been getting ever hotter and...is that steam? Your mind is getting woozy, it's becoming impossible to focus. You crumple to your knees, sweating, coughing and trying to get some air that isn't steamy and thick.]
Heh. Pick it up and let's go.
[The nonchalant voice is the first thing that makes you realize you're under attack somehow. It's male, the tone low and sarcastic.
You feel claws dig loosely into your shoulders, hear a flutter of wings on air, but your endurance runs out after another wave of heat, and you pass out. Way to run out, luck.]
...
[When you come to, it's still overpoweringly hot. Your body is so sweaty your clothes are clinging to you, and your limbs feel weak with the temperature. You lift your head from the ground to look around. The steam is making it hard to make out where you are. It seems massive and claustrophobic at the same time, but it's dark. And the floor is...ew. Filthy. You sit yourself up and brush off some of the grime, when a red-tinged shadow is suddenly revealed as the fog separates.]
Took ya long enough.
[It’s a man. A young man. He looks as if he’s barely out of his teenage years. As he completes his statement he relaxes into a cross-legged position on the floor. It's as if he does this kind of thing every day. He appears completely calm, but there is a wicked smirk on his face and it fills you with foreboding. Despite his youth, you get the sense you’re dealing with someone experienced at criminal behaviour just by his nonchalance.
It's safe to say you're quite scared. Questions run through your mind. Where am I? Who are you? What do you want? Not necessarily original questions, but ones that seem appropriate considering your situation. You try to voice them out loud, but your voice is a choking, hoarse cough. The man lifts a hand as if in command, and you can feel the heat decreasing. Obviously he is indeed calling the shots here. He’s weakening you with heat so you can’t even stand, nevermind try to escape. How the hell is he not overheating, dressed as he is?]
You're in a Stench den. No one'll find you. The only way out is an entrance in the ceiling. I can get my Swellow to shut it, and I'll turn up the heat so much your blood will boil in your veins.
[Wait, wait. You just woke up. So why were you having a nightmare? Despite the remaining heat, your blood runs cold, and the informative, vaguely amused way he says all this, matched with the spiteful smile on his face, make it easy to believe he's not screwing around.]
I'll let you go if you interview me.
[You blink in astonishment. He knocked you out with extreme heat, picked you up with his Swellow, dragged you into a drug den with no windows or doors except in the ceiling, just for an interview? You frown in disbelief, and he leans back casually, lifting an arm over his head and stretching until he almost topples over backwards. It seems somewhat...anticlimactic. Shouldn't an evil villain be reciting lines about his dastardly plan and wandering about dramatically instead of stretching like a Meowth?]
I don’t have all day.
[He says this with a voice strained by stretching, but he is too nonchalant to sound impatient. However you hear a menacing hiss, a remorseless darkness beneath the words, and you decide to do whatever this psycho wants.]
Parents call me.. [/b][/font][/color]
Why’re you asking about them, anyway? They’ve got nothing to do with me.
[His arrogance is just oozing off of him. He must have some parental issues, because well, most people would say that their parents had a big impact on them. Well, he is a psychotic kidnapper with a hard-on for saunas. So you suppose that was evident from the start. You write down what he said, however unsatisfactory the answer was, and move on.]
[/ul]
My Friends call me.. [/font][/color][/size]
[!! You blanche, and he smirks quite deviously at you, his eyes looking over your face as if waiting for an amusing reaction. The steam plays around his gaunt face and he looks simultaneously like a mischievous child and the sadistic man you believe he is. EERIE, PLZ.] Heh.
[You were….you were scheduled to interview someone called “Mack Hokage” tomorrow! Was this a coincidence?]
[…No. You observe the way he’s looking at you, with a wicked little smirk on his lips, and you realize he planned this. You voice your shock into a question.]
I wanted to do it on my terms. This is a lot more interesting. [Mack gets to his feet in one fluid motion, not even having to touch the grimy floor. He puts his hands into his pockets, still completely calm.]
Anyway…
A friend of mine gave me that name. But most people…[Mack pauses significantly, his eyes shutting briefly as if to relish in the next words.]…Know me as “The Shadow of Fire”.
[It’s the kind of name they give a serial killer. You think through some of the horror stories you’ve been told in your life about killers and murderers and everything else. Have you ever heard such a nickname before? No. It’s a relief but it renews your fear at the same time. Hank. No, Mack—The Shadow of Fire—is still a complete mystery. You’re tense and nervous, waiting for him to continue, to explain, but he doesn’t. He just stares at you knowingly. He’s grinning at you as if you’re some lab experiment that’s behaving in humourous ways, and he seems to have noticed the play of emotions on your face. You can’t read his thoughts or his expression, but you get the sense he greatly enjoys the fact he can withhold information from you so easily, and especially the fact that what he’s refusing to tell you is filling you with such fear.][/ul]
I'm not an it! I am a...[/font][/color][/size]
Don't flatter yourself. I can do better than you, and get consent. [One thing less to fear, at least. Your body relaxes, and Mack's disdainful sneer widens. He mutters something as if in disbelief, but it is unintelligible, and you decide you'd much rather not know.]
[/ul]
I am a...[/font][/color][/size]
[He says this as if he's been waiting for such a question since the beginning. He straightens up pointedly, only to lean back against a wall and cross his arms over his chest.]
I'm a Team Magma Firehead. [This doesn't mean anything to you. You frown, confused. You've heard a bit about a Team Rocket, the Kanto region's gang, but never a Team Magma. Your lack of recognition makes Mack's eyes narrow determinedly.]
Team Magma will soon be the most respected team in Hoenn. The entire world, in fact. It's about time we start showing it. [He smirks, his eyes glaring at the wall on the other side with a single-minded intensity.] And Maxie finally agrees it's time to stop hiding.
We're going to expand the landmass of the earth. Water is...unnecessary. We only need it to drink. Humans have more than enough. What we really need is more land. So we can expand and advance ourselves. Hardly anyone can see this. Except for those lucky enough to be in our ranks.
And I'm one of the three Admins of Team Magma. They call us the Fireheads. [Mack's talking like the most arrogant of all zealots. This is the most you've heard him say without pause, but it's almost as if he's reciting. Like he's informing you of his Team's plan to spread publicity, not because of his own personal passion. Either way, you're terrified. Expanding the landmass? It seems like a good goal, something admirable, but if Mack is one of the highest ranking team members...They've got to be evil. Mack isn't done, though. He soon continues to talk.]
I'm the Team's illusion master. The things I can do with fire... [He coos the word "fire", and cuts his statement off there, removing a hand from his pocket and snapping his fingers with obvious purpose. At once, the room lights up. The floor does, anyway. It's as if someone spilled magma all over the floor. The heat is searing, and the light too bright. You turn away, looking into the dark smoke, when suddenly you see a dark humanoid figure seemingly made out of shadow and smoke launching itself toward you. You scream and dodge, only to be clawed at by another smoky being that looks something like a Haunter. It reaches at you, and the hiss of fire burning into metal sounding like the snarl of some kind of animal. Mack seems to have vanished. You look around, horrified, curling up with your clipboard held before you. Suddenly, you hear another snap. Mack reappears when the smoke parts. He's moved a bit, and is now standing behind a relaxed-looking Slugma. He's smirking widely at you, his eyes fully open as if to catch every moment of your previous fear and current confused embarrassment. He continues his earlier statement, saying it with an air of finality.]...are unique. [A-all an illusion? Made out of...fire? You're panting in terror, your clipboard still clutched to your chest. You can imagine why he's an Admin. That...ability paralyzed you with fear. And you get the feeling that was nothing but a taste of what Mack can do. Your voice shaking, you continue with the interview, praying you get out of this with your life, and your sanity.]
[/ul]
I don't need wrinkle cream! I'm...[/font][/color] [/size]
Do you think I need a diet? [/font][/color]
Mack just looks at you, a malicious mischievousness reflected in the one eye visible beneath his bright blond sidebangs. His large, angular amber eyes flicker into an orangey-gold in the light from his Slugma, and they continue to stare at you with a shameless intensity.
The majority of Mack's hair is under his hood, but from what you can see it's straight, and ends mid-way down his neck. It's a very teenager-like style, and you think this contributes to how young he looks.
He has a pointed nose above deceptively thin lips that you know can form unusually large smirks and grins. His attractive, gaunt face matches the rest of his body, which is lean.. A black belt with a gold buckle cinches his small waist, and a sleek black muscle shirt sits under a bright red length of material that looks as if it serves as a cape in the back, a bib in the front, and a hood over his head. Its jagged edges fall over his arms, which you see are lean and surprisingly muscular considering how small he looks. His hands are covered with thick black gloves that become bubble-like as they go up his arms, ending at his elbows. The bib-like part of his outfit has what you imagine must be the Team Magma logo, an M-shaped black shape that resembles three mountain peaks. His hood has two devil horns on top, and a black oval where his forehead would be.
Mack wears loose black pants with two horizontal stripes going around them, and boots that match his gloves. He doesn't seem to mind you looking him up and down at all, as he's been staring you down this entire time without a care in his cold eyes.]
Fireproof. It wouldn't do to have Team Magma be susceptible to fire. [He gestures to his arms with their gloves, and moves his hands down his front, then glances down at his legs. It makes sense, since almost all of his body is covered by material. You would imagine there's a greater purpose beyond fashion.
My Emotional Disposition?[/font][/color] [/size]
Things that are Groovy:[/font][/color] [/size]
Things that aren't so Groovy:[/font][/color] [/size]
But...I'm afraid![/font][/color] [/size]
I like to...[/font][/color] [/size]
My reason?[/font][/color][/size]
Mandatory Angst?[/font][/color] [/size]
I WASN'T BORN ON A FLYING PYRAMID BAWWWWWWWW
Oh and by the way...[/font][/color] [/size]
LEGS. SPREAD 'EM
I'm just a proxy for...[/font][/color] [/size]
THAT WRATH BITCH