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(no subject)

Who: Anyone
What: Visitin'
Where: Courtyard/Fountain
When: June 25th
Warnings: None

After a lengthy time of prodding, wink wink, hint hints and flat out demands from his trainer, he'd finally done it and simply given in to what his friend assured them was the 'BEST PLACE, I RECKON' that she'd managed to go to in the longest of times. He was skeptical of course, because there was just something so wonderful, comfortable and safe about a lack of change when it came to important life decisions. But..his trainer definitely wasn't getting any younger, and all the bright, glitzy weekends at contests were getting fewer and further apart. It was cool. Opportunity was supposed to make you feel anxious enough that you wanted to vomit, right? Right.

The better part of his morning had been spent both admiring his fresh, crisp uniform and walking--around the dormitory and court yard. An inordinate amount of time was spent simply traversing the parking lot before looping back near the library and gracelessly dropping himself onto a bench near the fountain. There was still a lot of daylight left to burn and pavement to pound, but he was going to be a little lazy just this once. Besides, there was no telling where he'd see his friend and when she'd show up, so he would make the best of getting a feel for the community.

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Oh hello, green-haired person.

A giant wall of fuzz is walking your way.

Also, that fuzz is attached to an Arcanine.

He's headed right for you.

Most people had a good reason to be afraid of dogs, and twice as much reason to be afraid of fire, but this was a fire dog that was over there. Casually walking towards him like there was no reason for Rio to suddenly evolve into an Olympic gold medal sprinter. Even doing so, he was pretty sure he'd only get far enough to relieve a quarter of his life in vivid, disappointing flashbacks.

So he was going to stay there and be really, really still, like a statue. Like he was not there. And this was not the worst thing.

Statues don't panic.

Edited 2015-06-28 01:30 (UTC)

Don't worry, green-haired man for whom a 6-foot-tall tigerdoge is padding towards.

He's here. For you. He's here for you.

You're new. Very new. Jock sees how new you are. New things are wonderful.

The giant dog. Is so close. That you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. And he is. Smelling. Your hair.

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.

He was having one of those moments where you're trying so hard not to look, but you want to, and your willpower gives out so you look and that look validates why you should have minded your own damn business all along. Which was a shame because the side-eyed glimpse of that enormous, fuzzy dog sure made it look darling, in a 'please don't go for the throat' way.

Rio smiled meekly as the Arcanine sniffed his hair. Surprisingly, he took little solace in the fact that if he went, at least he'd bite it smelling fantastic.

You smell like a thing that Jock recognizes, person.

Jock had better taste you to make certain.

You are now being licked by a giant dog tongue.

It's over. This is it. This is the end.

Why. Why was this thing licking him? Was it trying to sample him before committing to the entire meal? He was being greased with Arcanine spit and he was sure that the satisfaction this thing would get at frying him into a Home Ec 'F'-level meal wasn't even worth the effort. At least tomorrow's headlines would be exciting.

Okay, no. Things couldn't turn out like this--not on his watch. The least he could do was try to intimidate the thing or fight back. Given the tense moment, maybe he really was the main character of his life and this was one of those moments where the protagonist was brave, stared down adversity and came out of it as a better person. Or a maimed person...but usually not a dead person. It could work!

Gathering on all his strength and courage, Rio hopped up, hands curled into fists and stared down the gigantic dog like they'd arrived to a party wearing the same outfit.

And then he remembered that it was an Arcanine. And ran.

Being greased with Arcanine spit is a treasure. A treasure.

And anyway, an Arcanine can run over two-hundred miles per hour. You cannot run away from an Arcanine.

The Arcanine is jogging with you. The Arcanine says, in pogglespeech, which you can likely understand, because you are a pokemon, "Hi, I'm Jock where are you going do you want a ride?"

He knew. He knew there was no possible way he would outrun that Arcanine, but had to try. If he burst into flame at least in mid-stride it was easier to stop, drop and roll than with a hulking creature atop you. Probably.

The fact that it was talking to him didn't even register at first, as focused as he was on the sound of his feet hitting the pavement. When Rio did realize (and managed to suppress a wail of dismay)he kept right along, pumping his arms as he went.

"I'm running. Away. From. You! I don't want...don't want to be an...adorable corpse," he puffed.

Jock looks at you quizzically as you run away from him by keeping pace with him (don't think about it).

"But, I don't want to turn you into an adorable corpse," said Jock. "I want to be friends." Even if you're only a crummy grass-type.

Oh, so he wasn't going to be flash-fried? That was great! It meant he didn't have to keep fleeing like this, not that it was doing him a lick of good, anyways.

Rio slowed down to a jog, then stopped completely when the realization really sunk in. Bent over with hands on his knees, he struggled to catch his breath and speak at the same time.

"Good. Great. I like friends. They don't eat you."

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! The large dog thing stops next to you and, in celebration, he gives you some licks on the cheek! Let's count them: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen...

Legitimate mirth along with scratches on his mane and behind the ears(despite the now sloppy, spit-filled hair) died out at about twelve licks in, and after the eighteenth lick, Rio found himself attempting to subtly sidestep out of any further tongue action. It was getting kind of uncomfortable, what with the feelings of terror still there. Just a little bit.

"Um, so, new friend Jock, m'name's Rio. You sure are an amiable fella," he managed, wiping his cheek with the entire forearm of his shirt.

"I'm Blue's Arcanine, and she's my trainer and I'm super friendly," explained Jock after the kisses had stopped.

"You taste like grass."

He started working his sleeve to dry up his bangs, next by tucking the hair behind his ears, which held fast due to the Arcanine-brand lick hair-gel. There was nothing alright with that.

"That would be on account of me bein' an Oddish, I think. I'd be worried if I tasted like anything else, and could you please not taste me?"

Oh, you poor thing -- a grass type. Your life must be so empty and pointless.

"Oh," said Jock. "I learn a lot by tasting, though."

There's still a little pride in being a grass-type. Like the ability to say 'I'm not the best, but I'm not the worst, either.' Pride in being mediocre.

"Then you always greet everyone by tastin' 'em first? Sounds like that'd cause a whole buncha confusion to cautious-minded folk. ...Who see a ginormous dog and immediately think they'll be consumed."

"Oh," said Jock, getting what he was saying.

And so he poofed into a muscular guy wearing a black tank top, with striped tattoos on his arms and shoulders, and considerable amounts of facial and body hair.

And then leaned over and licked his new friend on the cheek.

"Is that better?"

Rio jumped as if he'd been zapped, his expression a combination of severe confusion and concern. "Why," was all he managed. It wasn't even a question. "Why would you do that."

He never asked for any of this, this sort of first day. But this was his life now. This was his life. A life of firedog and hairyman tongues on his face.

"I'm not a giant Arcanine, now, so now you don't have to be afraid of me eating you," explained the Arcanine-man.

It made sense, in a way.

"That's..." his voice trailed off into silence that was paired with a shifty look. "Thoughtful," he finally said.

Rio suddenly smiled--a wide, relieved sort of smile that showed both rows of teeth. "Yeah, you know? That was pretty thoughtful of ya. Ain't much used to somethin' so...ridiculously huge towering over me. Thanks, Jock!"

"It's fun to be big!" said Jock, who felt that it was fun to be big (it was). "My trainer can ride on my back and it's basically the best thing."

"Hrm. I don't know how much I would appreciate runnin' around with folk on m'back, though I suppose I could see how appealin' it could be. You could take 'em on a hundred adventures, wherever you wanted to go, right? Still...I think I much prefer bein' small, so I can be carried around." Because he was spoiled, pretty much.

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