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A Realistic Pokemon RP

 
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 Life's Course, Cut sections/Drabbles
Sword of the League
5
POSTS
Kalos REGION

age
37
played by
Azol
Oct 30 2017, 07:07 AM


A manor.

All doors are open and unlocked except for one in which the boy is never allowed to enter under the express demands of his tutors. He is told his parents are both away, that he has been left to the care and tutelage of the men and women of the house. They treat him fair and well as he is young and malleable and prone yet to falling from their grasp. The faraway existence of parents gives the boy some hope that he will meet a man of noble bearing and a princess of some locale, both of whom will give him love, but their loss soon slips from his mind under the weight of his lessons.

Piano in particular.

Fingers move over keys and press down to draw out the corresponding mournful tune that is required.

The boy will learn or he will fail.

The soft tune pulled from the instrument begins to swell as the boy’s eyes fell closed with concentration and contemplation. His gaunt cheeks and the dark rings around his eyes a testament to his discipline and desire to master his notes and his chords. Eyes opened a moment later as he missed a note and like a Seviper striking from its coils the ruler came down so fast and so hard the boy’s pale fingers could not withdraw and with a wince and a hiss of pain he bore it.

No words. Be. Better.

A gritting of teeth and another move through notes and chords followed. The song reached its beautiful swell once more, the boy’s fingers moved and his eyes slipped close once more as his fingers played through steps that he had memorised long ago. He continued and attempted to ignore the scent of the man’s breath on his neck as it wafted about his face in gouts and wafts of vinegary fire. The boy continued for some time and as he broke into his stride his fingers flowing in a river like fashion, his own breath slipping from his nose in long, controlled exhalations. He continued to play and to play and to play.

The boy grew older playing his piano. His other activities included history, sword fighting, archery, elocution, diplomacy, poetry and languages. The piano was his passion however, as the boy continued to learn ever more complicated pieces beneath the baleful eye of his ever-present teacher he grew and he flourished. A teenager of some significant size sprang from the shell of the pale youth. The teenager was soon training with Pokémon, which due to his disciplined, regimented lifestyle, separated from others and grown like a prestigious orchid in a greenhouse he took too immediately. A chance to bring something into the bubble the world was for him.

Stepping outside brought him into the open air and the brief glimpses of the woman in the locked room. He would always look back to the manor, with its rolling fields and stare upwards at the glass where she would look down with dark-ringed eyes and the softest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth before with of a wave of a hand she would send him out to practise. He soon grew used to the ritual, never so much as straying a step too far before she would wave him on, some days with more force than others. Always with that soft smile on her face and her eyes growing more dull and distant as the years passed. He never questioned who she was again, not after he had been met with a rough thrashing from his sword-master for talking out of turn.

But as ever, Pokémon was simply another method of training, except now just as an instructor expected the boy to stand tall and strong the teenager expected the same of his Pokémon. It was a relationship built on respect, discipline and honour. Both Honedge and teenager believed in one another to the point of utter trust. Pokémon would not move without teenager’s command and teenager would not ever endanger his companion, in consequence the two became fast friends, strong and hardened by the rigors they suffered through together. They excelled as they grew closer and the teenager continued his piano lessons, fingers strolling in endless waves and patterns, less the river they had been when he was a boy and now a swollen ocean of tidal movements, shifting in intricate patterns, calm and gentle only to shift into the pounding crescendo of a tsunami. As he grew older piano became less than a chore and more than a manner of relieving the stresses of a regimented existence.

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