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Old 03-23-2007, 11:14 PM
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Default Re: Freedom- Del's story {PG13!}

Bleak and Forlorn

Murkrow was less substantial than Del had realized. The body he held in his hands wasn't exactly feather-light, but it was certainly not heavy enough to carry him. FarFetch'd had to weigh, easily, at least three times as much as the small, dark bird. Murkrow's feathers were what made it look large, despite weighting next to nothing.

Suddenly angry, he stumbled away from the fence, screaming almost incoherently at FarFetch'd. Despite this, the Pokemon did not seem too confused as it followed him. Finally, as he walked back towards certain doom, Del decided it couldn't get any worse if he went somewhere else he wasn't allowed to. Stumbling towards the generators, the source of power, he opened the door, slamming it behind him. Rolling the heavy metal shut hadn't been easy. However, the room within distracted him from this entirely.

Hay and straw littered the floor, and were, in bales, covering the outer perimeter. Had there been Pokemon powering the place, that would have made sense. However, there were not.

Throwing himself at a bale of hay- More to destroy it then to get comfortable on something other than the floor- He shut his eyes as he hit the harsh strands. Murkrow struggled free of his arms, but didn't try to fly away. Perhaps, Del thought, he realized how impossible it was, impossible to escape the premises, and impossible to get out of this room with the steel door blocking his way.

FarFetch'd, however, seemed to be the Pokemon's goal, and to his surprise, it was not to hurt the Pokemon. Murkrow nipped the circulation-destroying bells from FarFetch'd's feet, stepping back as the other bird lunged uncontrollably, in terrible pain. Blood flowed suddenly into the once-deadened limbs, the sensation quite painful. They would probably never entirely recover, but it seemed that, from the sounds FarFetch'd gave off, they were still alive. Well enough, at least, not to need amputation.

Crying into the straw, Del didn't notice, at first, that his face was lying on something soft. Finally, when he grabbed away a handful of the stuff in anger, ripping the surprisingly limp and yielding stuff out from where it was clinging tightly, he realized his mistake. Rather than feeling ashamed, he half-shouted a less than sane sounding laugh as he realized what he held was, in fact, fur. Wool. Yellow fleece, still attached to an understandably upset Mareep.

"I wish you were dead," He told the pokemon matter-of-factly, as Mareep squealed, before shutting its eyes. He didn't care if it was a lost innocent, Sable's best spy, or just some janitor's hidden pet, though the latter would best explain the hay lying around in the deserted room.

When the Mareep shot a beam of thunder at him, which it had been focusing on creating before, he merely laughed. FarFetch'd intercepted the attack anyway, unusually loyal for one he had known so shortly. The Pokemon fell to the ground, scorched, and it was only then that Del felt the first strains of sense returning to him, felt a little guilty for how FarFetch'd had been hurt.

He ordered the Pokemon to stay down, then pushed Murkrow into the hay before it could take up the fight. Instead, he lifted one of the bales of hay, and flung it at Mareep, to distract it. The string around it burst, and pieces of straw flew wildly. More bales followed, before his hand hit a toolbox. Without hesitation, he flung it at Mareep.

Having been surprised by the man's tossing of hay bales, Mareep had been upset at first. However, the stray bits that rained down on it were hardly dangerous, so it had settled for staring. When it tried to get away, as a heavier object was thrown, the wound from where Del had torn its fur away reopened, the scab on the sheep's skin opening and gushing again. The Pokemon froze, staring at it, and was hit squarely in the head with a toolbox.

"I oughtta get out the wrench," Del said, thinking of the many movies which involved Team Rocket beating poor, innocent Pokemon to death before being avenged. However, he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he covered the Pokemon's injury with a rag from his pocket, before rubbing the bruised face. Soothing strokes became more rough, as his frustration grew. He could be found any moment- especially with all the noise he had made- and he was no closer to escaping.

Hardly caring anymore about finding a way out, or a Pokemon who would be useful in getting him out, he took out the Pokeball he had been saving.

"You'll just have to stay close to me," he told Murkrow, and threw the 'ball at the other Pokemon, the Mareep.

My hands have yet to build a village, have yet to find water in the barren desert, have yet to plant a flower, and I have yet to find the path that leads me... I have not loved enough, but the wind and the sun are still on my face.

I have yet to sow green fields, yet to raise a city, yet to plant a grapevine on each chalky hill... There is so much to build and so much to be, and my love is just beginning.
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