Quackerdrill
say yes to love
Hello all. Er, I should probably say 'hello, you three'. -_-; Anyhoo, yeah 'tis the Quacka again, trying the old preview thread deal again, hoping that this time it won't be ignored. Heh.
But yeah- this is different. You know me, always trying to do original stuff... well, this is a comedy fic. Talk about a contrast from Pressure, huh? This is the tale of a group of Pokemon who belong to a special club- that of teh Underused Pokemon. Ever wondered what's going through the mind of those monsters who just never got their day in the sun? Well, here's a taste.
This is pretty short and really has no plot... but it's just a basic example of what to expect. Here goes. (NOTE: Yeah, there's some footnotes. Just for the halibut. Have fun.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
…Or it’s just us
“It was night. It was cold. The day was over. There was a serious-looking man staring at a pool of water. The water was full of ripples. He was looking at the ripples in a contemplative way.”
He shrugged and looked down at his paper. The large brown stalks he had for legs creaked as he relaxed them down to kneel. He may have been a Tropius, but a habit of eating his own fruit did not stop him from loving the art of writing.
The creature knelt in the middle of a clearing surrounded by tall trees, and he could hear the Beedrill buzzing while he thought peacefully about his new novel. Yes, it was a start- he had a character, he had a setting, and he had (if you squinted really hard) a plot. It was an epic in his eyes. I mean, look at all the symbolism! He thought with a wide smile. Those ripples so represent some kind of ethereal being… or my mom…
Whup-kish!
The Tropius was so absorbed in his glee that a Poison Sting shot over his head and into the bush behind him. After one final read-through of his ‘greatness’, he turned to see an impish purple being with bug-eyes and two antennae, both standing at the ready.
“Duuuuude… you didn’t even see that, did ya?” The Venonat, fur* ruffled, looked at the bush he shot at in amazement. He ignored the Caterpie climbing out gasping for breath. “I totally missed you! If that Poison Sting hit ya you would’ve been… uhhh… kicking the can!”
The Tropius (let’s call him… Jeff) let out a sigh and put his ‘masterpiece’ on the grass. “Kicking the bucket, man… you need to get a life. Can? That’s like a game. For old people. You know, like what bored guys did when life was black and white?”
The conversation was much too intense for the Venonat (let’s call him… oh what the heck- Charlie) and his brain was filled with enough heat to cook a steak.**
“Dude, whatevo,” he mumbled, “I’m too tired to be, uh, grammatically and… politically correct right now.” The sprightly little fellow hopped over towards his leafy friend and glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the paper-idge?”
Jeff took a deep breath to prepare his explanation. “It’s only the best thing ever written by a Pokemon. Look at it; don’t you see the awesomeness just pouring freely out of the punctuation marks?”
Charlie snapped up the paper with a lunge and observed it carefully with his massive eyes. “…full of ripples… a contemplative way? Since when do you even know what ‘contemplative’ means? Or night?” He shoved the white leaflet back at the grass Pokemon. “Stinker. You can thank me if you send it in and get shafted by the publisher. Trust me, I’ve gotten totally owned by a publisher before and it’s not pretty. Ever wonder why you haven’t seen a Random House book in a while?”
Jeff was not amused. He turned away from the purple nuisance and punted the paper away with a swift movement of his powerful leg. With another expressive sigh the Tropius looked down at the dark green blades of grass below him. “Ya know Charlie-man, it’s times like these where I’m not really surprised why we’re so… underused. We’re all social outcasts without a path, without a life… without a girl to make us sweet, sweet waffles… We really hit the crap when we were born.”
Charlie stood aghast. “Us, social outcasts? Are you kidding me? I totally kick butt over at the karaoke club! We got ourselves a bunch of friends, too! I was just chillin’ with my pals ‘that one Pichu’ and ‘that one Growlithe with the lisp’ just yesterday!”
“Those guys don’t really exist, man. You made them up when you were level 7. Have you been on the year-old Pokeblock again? Face it, we’re complete losers.”
The Venonat flopped down on its purple backside and stretched its rather wimpy feet outwards. He had always believed that the world was one big buffet table, where he could stuff some extra croissants down his… pants and get away with it before the chef caught him. But he was finding out that in reality those croissants were just a pair of Crawdaunt.
And he had finally had enough. They were underused. And unappreciated.
“Get out of my pants, you two! GAAAAH!” With a screech, the insect Pokemon leaped up about three feet and then dashed out of the clearing. Jeff could only sit and smirk as the Venonat’s purple, blurry mass vanished into the bushes. Obviously, his mind was a bit perplexed.
But really he could not care less. He grabbed the paper which was lying on the grass in front of him and took a pen to it once again.
Man… that guy really is contemplative, huh? I love me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* That purple stuff on Venonat… are we even sure it’s fur? It might be, like, bug-feathers… or something.
** Hm, steak in the Pokemon world. Always a debate. I’m gonna go for the non- Miltank alternative: They got the steak from a magical pixie. There, are you happy, Logic Police?
But yeah- this is different. You know me, always trying to do original stuff... well, this is a comedy fic. Talk about a contrast from Pressure, huh? This is the tale of a group of Pokemon who belong to a special club- that of teh Underused Pokemon. Ever wondered what's going through the mind of those monsters who just never got their day in the sun? Well, here's a taste.
This is pretty short and really has no plot... but it's just a basic example of what to expect. Here goes. (NOTE: Yeah, there's some footnotes. Just for the halibut. Have fun.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
…Or it’s just us
“It was night. It was cold. The day was over. There was a serious-looking man staring at a pool of water. The water was full of ripples. He was looking at the ripples in a contemplative way.”
He shrugged and looked down at his paper. The large brown stalks he had for legs creaked as he relaxed them down to kneel. He may have been a Tropius, but a habit of eating his own fruit did not stop him from loving the art of writing.
The creature knelt in the middle of a clearing surrounded by tall trees, and he could hear the Beedrill buzzing while he thought peacefully about his new novel. Yes, it was a start- he had a character, he had a setting, and he had (if you squinted really hard) a plot. It was an epic in his eyes. I mean, look at all the symbolism! He thought with a wide smile. Those ripples so represent some kind of ethereal being… or my mom…
Whup-kish!
The Tropius was so absorbed in his glee that a Poison Sting shot over his head and into the bush behind him. After one final read-through of his ‘greatness’, he turned to see an impish purple being with bug-eyes and two antennae, both standing at the ready.
“Duuuuude… you didn’t even see that, did ya?” The Venonat, fur* ruffled, looked at the bush he shot at in amazement. He ignored the Caterpie climbing out gasping for breath. “I totally missed you! If that Poison Sting hit ya you would’ve been… uhhh… kicking the can!”
The Tropius (let’s call him… Jeff) let out a sigh and put his ‘masterpiece’ on the grass. “Kicking the bucket, man… you need to get a life. Can? That’s like a game. For old people. You know, like what bored guys did when life was black and white?”
The conversation was much too intense for the Venonat (let’s call him… oh what the heck- Charlie) and his brain was filled with enough heat to cook a steak.**
“Dude, whatevo,” he mumbled, “I’m too tired to be, uh, grammatically and… politically correct right now.” The sprightly little fellow hopped over towards his leafy friend and glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the paper-idge?”
Jeff took a deep breath to prepare his explanation. “It’s only the best thing ever written by a Pokemon. Look at it; don’t you see the awesomeness just pouring freely out of the punctuation marks?”
Charlie snapped up the paper with a lunge and observed it carefully with his massive eyes. “…full of ripples… a contemplative way? Since when do you even know what ‘contemplative’ means? Or night?” He shoved the white leaflet back at the grass Pokemon. “Stinker. You can thank me if you send it in and get shafted by the publisher. Trust me, I’ve gotten totally owned by a publisher before and it’s not pretty. Ever wonder why you haven’t seen a Random House book in a while?”
Jeff was not amused. He turned away from the purple nuisance and punted the paper away with a swift movement of his powerful leg. With another expressive sigh the Tropius looked down at the dark green blades of grass below him. “Ya know Charlie-man, it’s times like these where I’m not really surprised why we’re so… underused. We’re all social outcasts without a path, without a life… without a girl to make us sweet, sweet waffles… We really hit the crap when we were born.”
Charlie stood aghast. “Us, social outcasts? Are you kidding me? I totally kick butt over at the karaoke club! We got ourselves a bunch of friends, too! I was just chillin’ with my pals ‘that one Pichu’ and ‘that one Growlithe with the lisp’ just yesterday!”
“Those guys don’t really exist, man. You made them up when you were level 7. Have you been on the year-old Pokeblock again? Face it, we’re complete losers.”
The Venonat flopped down on its purple backside and stretched its rather wimpy feet outwards. He had always believed that the world was one big buffet table, where he could stuff some extra croissants down his… pants and get away with it before the chef caught him. But he was finding out that in reality those croissants were just a pair of Crawdaunt.
And he had finally had enough. They were underused. And unappreciated.
“Get out of my pants, you two! GAAAAH!” With a screech, the insect Pokemon leaped up about three feet and then dashed out of the clearing. Jeff could only sit and smirk as the Venonat’s purple, blurry mass vanished into the bushes. Obviously, his mind was a bit perplexed.
But really he could not care less. He grabbed the paper which was lying on the grass in front of him and took a pen to it once again.
Man… that guy really is contemplative, huh? I love me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* That purple stuff on Venonat… are we even sure it’s fur? It might be, like, bug-feathers… or something.
** Hm, steak in the Pokemon world. Always a debate. I’m gonna go for the non- Miltank alternative: They got the steak from a magical pixie. There, are you happy, Logic Police?
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I just noticed how many star things I used...