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Stories Write a story to catch Pokemon. A Grader will then decide if it catches or not.


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  #1  
Old 11-02-2008, 08:16 PM
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Default When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

This here thang' is ready to be graded. :3

Well, this is the story Bryce and I wrote for the Collab Competition. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, and writing it was fun. :3

_____

When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles

Part 1

Vincent Frank stared at the wall with an undecipherable expression on his face. The brunette youth could picture the frames that littered each square inch of the wall. Each photograph had him smiling wide with his family and friends. In one frozen memory, he was splashing through the waters of Kanto back when his father hadn’t lost his job as a teacher. In another, when he was still allowed to go to school, he was holding up a spelling test that he actually did well on. In all of them, pure innocence radiated off his pale face like the warm glow of a Charmander’s tail.

Something crawled up his arm, and with a start that made the pictures fly from his mind, he looked down. A bored, almost irritated, expression came over him at the sight of a cockroach continuing its climb up his arm. With a flick of a finger, he sent it from the cot he was sitting into the wall he had been staring at. The jet-black insect landed on its back, its numerous legs erratic as it tried to get back up.

Vincent looked back at the wall. His mind back into the real world, he no longer saw past memories but a grimy slab of wood that stank of mold and rot. The once rich oak had turned into a muddy-brown that blended well with the dirt ground underneath his small cot. The eight-year-old cocked his head, willing the memories that seemed so long ago back, but when times of a happier childhood didn’t return, he got up and walked towards the door that led to the only other room of the small house. However, before he pushed open the door, he halted his small but lanky body.

Maybe if he hoped enough, when he entered the living room, he would be back in his old house in Cherrygrove City before he was sent into this ghetto on the outskirts of the local forest. The sun would pleasantly bathe him from where it entered the living room windows, and the aroma of sizzling bacon would bombard his nose.

With a hand marred with dirt, he pushed open the door and walked in to greet his family.

And his heart constricted painfully as the familiar pricks of tears came over him.

He hadn’t walked into his spacious living room. He had just walked into a room only slightly bigger than the one he had just left, and the same grotesque walls and floors greeted him like a reoccurring nightmare. A dingy darkness only broken by the sole light bulb above their heads filled the room, not the sunlight he had prayed to feel and see. His father looked up from where he seated in the dining table that looked as brittle as the walls around them. The sole book in the house was in his hands, a sci-fi novel the Nazi officers had allowed him to keep because they considered poor quality.

Lance Frank smiled warmly and signaled for his jade-eyed son to take a seat beside him, but the boy only toyed with his grimy T-shirt that looked more black than the midnight-blue it was supposed to be. Any spark of joy in him had died, and not even his caring dad could make him feel an ounce of the happiness he would have felt if he was home.

The dark-haired man’s smile disappeared, and he put down his book to let his brown eyes fully settle on his son. They were dull and slightly sunken, one of the reasons Vincent refused to look at his father. His dad was so alien, so unlike himself, and every time he spoke, his voice no longer had the jolly tone that made the boy smile.

“It’s already one,” Lance began. “You’re mother should be the shop to see if there’s anything for breakfast and…”

“There’s nothing there,” the boy interjected, a harsh tone making his words more like a growl. “The officers haven’t been giving food since yesterday.”

Lance inwardly flinched, his son’s voice so alien and cold. It was though his son’s happiness and innocence evaporated the moment they were forced into the ghetto. Eyes downcast, the man inwardly sighed. He wanted to embrace him and tell him that he didn’t have to act so grownup.

He would if it was true.

“Maybe she’ll find something,” Lance answered, shaking his own gray thoughts from his mind. He looked up at the brown-haired youth, hoping that his eyes didn’t show the uncertainness he felt.

“I’m going to get some fruit and berries,” Vincent said more to himself, his feet already dragging him to the door.

Lance opened his mouth to protest, but he snapped it shut when he caught sight of the bare table in front of him. His wife wasn’t going to come home with food, but maybe Vincent could. He had snuck into the surrounding forest numerous times, probably saving them from starvation process.

The door of the house was heard closing, the noise of the ghetto outside filling the house for a few seconds. For a few seconds, he could hear the hungry wails of infants and their mothers’ soothing words. For a few seconds, he could smell the rot and moisture that covered the entire ghetto in a venomous veil.

And he cursed Mew’s name for not being able to protect his son from it all.
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Last edited by Phantom Kat; 11-02-2008 at 10:03 PM.
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  #2  
Old 11-02-2008, 08:57 PM
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Default Re: When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

Part 2

Vincent slipped out of the house quietly, the lively winter air already stabbing at his exposed arms and neck. It whipped into his matted hair, tossing it wildly about the youth’s head to stand on end. Vincent bothered not to even attempt to fix it; it would only happen again. He lowered his head, a sigh mounting his lips, and strode forth into the street.

The world outside his “home”, as it was deemed for the time being, was greatly different from the environment within, yet still held some of the same characteristics, such as the overwhelming stench of decay that clung to the makeshift houses that lined the dirt path, which served as the ghetto’s main road. The colors of the scenery failed to stray from the same dismal grays and tedious tans. Vincent felt as though color had defined happiness in itself and once that had been sapped from the ghetto’s patrons, so had any differentiating hues.

Gray was haunting. Gray was boring. Gray was sickening. Gray was dreary. And gray was the color they woke up to every morning and fell asleep to every night. Gray was life for the ghetto.

Vincent pulled his drab, threadbare coat more tightly around his shoulders as a shiver overtook his body. He was truly chilled to the bone, not only by the horrid weather, but also by the very essence of the current situation. Various people, their features indistinct from the grime clotted on their faces, lounged about at the sides of the street. Many of their faces were sunken in, bones bulging out horrifically against the skin. Their eyes were lazy and coasted slothfully around; they weren’t actually taking in their surroundings… Vincent could only guess that they were staving off unconsciousness.

Rags were draped over their gaunt frames, frayed and worn to such a point that it looked as though they would slip off at any moment. Sets of ribs nudged firmly out of each person’s chest, creating shallow trenches between the skin. Vincent knew that his own abdomen would have resigned to such a state long ago had he not been one of the few to successfully scrounge food from the forest. He was one of the lucky ones… He was still small enough.

Vincent shuffled past, the moans and laments of distress sifting over him as though they comprised the very atmosphere of the ghetto. Months of living here had proved fruitful in only one aspect: he could now look upon a suffering individual and resist the urge to cry out for them. It was impossible to feel sorrow for each and every one of them, for if the eight-year-old were to dwell in pity of the thousands that had been confined to these slums, he would be of no use to anyone… especially his family.

The boy kept his eyes on his feet as he shambled ever further down the road, the scenery changing only when a new bunch of captives would come stumbling in his direction, faces downcast, bodies shriveled. Vincent inwardly cringed at the sight of his feet; the manner in which the toenails peeled back to reveal raw, hardened flesh beneath. How they were adorned by a collection of gashes and bruises, recently healed cuts, and smudges of dirt and blood.

Another shudder coursed through his system, and Vincent raised his filthy face to the sky, eyes resting upon the faded orange orb that seemed oh-so-vigilant in staying tucked away behind its fortress of billowing charcoal clouds. He yearned for its warmth to caress his body, for even a ray of its dazzling brilliance to fall upon his skin. The cold was breathtaking and deadly, and he wished, more than anything, for it to just disappear.

However, wishing was futile. Vincent knew this. Wishing was for the foolish; hoping, for the asinine. No magical force governed the earth, granting wishes to those that desired them enough… Just the thought of that almost brought a gurgle of laughter to his throat. The boy had begun to doubt that any God existed at all, and the fact that he was but eight-years-old made that very, very sad. Children shouldn’t think these thoughts, shouldn’t question the presence of some almighty being. Children shouldn’t have a care in the world.

But that obviously didn’t apply to the children of the ghetto; the children of the persecuted; the children of the damned.

A chorus of voices interrupted Vincent’s thoughts, and he squinted further into the distance. Somewhere between a row of dilapidated shacks gathered a shifting, jostling crowd of children, and the manner in which their bodies moved in such an ecstatic motion made it clear that something was amiss.

The boy hurried forth, clutching his clothing to his frame, for it threatened to slide from his body at any moment. The horrid wind whistled against his face, stinging his deep emerald eyes and prying tears from their depths, but he rubbed them clear and squeezed in among the throng of kids.

There had to have been a dozen or so boys and girls gathered here, and their grimy faces shone with excitement and thrill. Cracked lips were pulled back to reveal yellow-stained smiles, and eyes that had rightfully been doused in a mask of sorrow gleamed bright against their faces. All of this was quite eccentric to the newcomer, for he wasn’t used to seeing this sort of disposition displayed among these individuals. He was accustomed to the dejected, aggrieved complexion, but now, they all seemed so… jovial.

Vincent turned his gaze toward the center of the assemblage, where a tall boy, cloaked in a hefty floral-patterned coat, knelt on one leg, his hand outstretched to something that Vincent couldn’t quite see. He focused momentarily on the boy himself, who Vincent knew to be Frederick, a feisty teen that was always dabbling in one sort of trouble or another. It seemed that the adversity of being confined to the slums wasn’t enough for this boy… He always wanted more, and that sort of disgusted Vincent, who had always taken to following the rules, no matter the situation.

Frederick leaned forward once more, slicked-back blonde hair glistening in the dim light with the presence of grease. His fingers clasped something that looked to be a breadcrumb, and an air of concentration radiated from him, furrowing his brow, and bestowing upon him the look of an aged man.

A beige creature hunkered a few feet from him, large, framed eyes flicking from each child in the crowd to the next, curious and amiable. The Hoothoot hopped forward a few paces via its dominant foot, and a squeal of delighted thrill pealed throughout the group of onlookers. Vincent had to stop himself from joining in.

The sight actually caused the corners of his mouth to twitch back into a slight smile, but on the inside, he was squealing just as loudly as the others were. There was actually a Pokemon here, in the ghetto! Such a thing was unheard of!

Vincent could fully understand the other children’s amazement and rapture at coming into contact with the Hoothoot, for nobody had witnessed a Pokemon here since arrival, other than the Nazi officers’ Houndoom and Honchkrow companions, which many would not consider to even be classified as Pokemon… More like demons.

The Hoothoot must have wandered, aimless, over one of the ghetto’s walls from the forest beyond. Though he had never once seen a Pokemon in that forest while gathering food, Vincent always knew they were there… He could hear them, feel their very spirit of freedom tingling about him. Seeing this Hoothoot here, now, only intensified that feeling, and it brought a sensation of genuine bliss washing over him.

“Oi, stand back,” Frederick ordered of the other children, his words heavy with his thick accent. He waved them away, and as though a single entity, the group merged backward a few feet.

“Oi, pretty littl’ birdy, come closer.” The teen clicked his tongue against his teeth, which earned an amused tilt of the head from the animal. Its enormous eyes, tinted a deep crimson hue, gazed out at the boy from their perch atop a sharp stubby beak. It chirped softly at the boy’s words, then hobbled a bit nearer.

“That’s it. There you go.” Frederick’s outstretched fingers were within a hair’s breadth of the Pokemon. The congregation of children held its breath. Unfaltering eyes were glued to the scene, and other than the gentle cooing drifting from the Flying type’s beak, all was silent.

And then a gunshot rang out in the air.
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  #3  
Old 11-02-2008, 08:59 PM
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Default Re: When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

Continued...

The Hoothoot exploded in a burst of flesh and feathers, its tawny quills scattering on the wind. Blood streaked across the dirt; entrails went soaring, their metallic scent already clogging the air. The color red soaked the surroundings, as well as those nearest.

The children stood in shock as the carcass of the Pokemon clattered to the floor, unrecognizable, jagged opal bone protruding out through charred skin. It seemed to have been split in two by the force of the bullet; the other half had been obliterated, dispensed into the locale. Time seemed to stand still, the children caught in the balance, mouths agape, breaths arrested in their throats.

The thud of footsteps knocked them from their stupor, and heads turned slowly to acknowledge the figure that strode ever so nonchalantly into the vicinity. The Nazi officer wormed into the bunch, parting the kids as though he were Moses himself. The elaborate verdant uniform that he packed his corpulent build into was garnished needlessly with lavishly trimmed pockets and patches signifying achievements that no one but the wearer would ever care about.

A sleek rifle pivoted over his shoulder, its menacing barrel sweeping to and fro, from one child’s face to the next. The instant alarm that seized their faces seemed to amuse the man, for a cruel smile slithered over his pale roseate lips, and his devious eyes flitted about almost merrily. Deep worry lines scaled his cheeks and brow, like rivers slicing through uncharted land. There were no laugh lines, though, Vincent noted.

Nobody dared speak as he walked among them, combat boots treading carelessly over a few kids’ feet. They fought to hold back a wail of pain. That would only show weakness. And these men punished weakness.

“And where did this little birdy come from?” The officer’s voice was deep and hoarse, tinged with a certain note of amusement. The stale reek of tobacco wafted from him as he spoke. He lowered the weapon from his shoulder and jabbed clumsily at the cadaver of the Hoothoot, rotating it so that all could witness the organs within, their steady pumping now lost to that of a dormant nature.

Nobody answered.

This seemed to anger the man, who then reared to his fullest stance, which was much shorter than the average officer, and bellowed into the face of the nearest youth, “I said where did this damned thing come from!”

The girl, who couldn’t have been much older than five, immediately burst into a fit of tears and sniffling, burying her face into the shabby, mismatching mittens that swallowed her tiny fists. Vincent guessed that she couldn’t recognize the extent to which that act of weakness enraged the Nazi, for his face contorted into a sneer engulfed by ire and malice. He pulled his fist high above his head, then brought it down upon her with such force that her legs buckled, her blonde head was knocked back, and her body collapsed to the icy ground.

She didn’t even cry, or at least Vincent couldn’t hear it, because just as soon as the girl fell, the air was filled with the tumultuous shouts of an outraged Frederick.

“You bloody coward! How could you hit a little girl like that!? She did nothing to you! You’re nothing but a spineless son of a – “

An abrupt crack cut his insults short, and had Vincent not seen the Nazi officer strike the teen across the face with the butt of his firearm, he would have suspected that Frederick had been shot right then and there.

A spatter of blood leapt from Frederick’s jaw by the force of the impact, and his body spiraled downward, head colliding rather painfully with the tough earth. The man raised the rifle once again, its polished barrel glinting, and brought it down even more forcefully upon his abdomen. A groan of agony escaped Frederick’s lips, and he writhed in the dirt, body succumbing to a series of comical spasms.

The onlookers gasped and cried out… Yet that was all that they did. Nobody made any move to leap forward and come to the kid’s aid. Nobody thought to break the mold of cowardice and lend a hand to the only guy that had any guts to stand up to this bully. Perhaps all of them deserved to be sent away to the gas chambers… if they were going to stand idly by and let this happen, without so much as a sniffle and whine. Nobody here was more than a damned chicken, and this appalled Vincent more than anything he had seen here.

Before he was even aware of his body’s actions, the boy had already separated himself from the group, feet pounding beneath him, arms spread, hands curled into fists. Vincent sprang upon the man’s turned back, forcing his meager weight to buffet his body into toppling. He then unleashed a barrage of blows at any part of the officer he could reach, pounding his hands against the Nazi’s nose, striking out with his feet at the man’s shins. A torrent of blood sprang from his nose, coating Vincent’s hands, and streaking down his arms to stain the faded blue shawl that he wore.

His heroic act was short-lived, however, for an eight-year-old cannot keep a full-grown man incapacitated for long, and within seconds, he overpowered the youth, tossing him away as though he weighed nothing at all. Vincent skidded away a couple feet, his back aching from the intensity of the man’s throw. His hands throbbed from their repeated assault on his body, and a pang of regret stabbed at his conscience now. What had he been thinking? That act meant only certain death.

The Nazi staggered to his feet, collecting his gun with one hand and using the free one to stem the steady flow of blood that gushed from his nostrils. His eyes flashed with loathing, and when accompanied by his disheveled black hair, he looked positively satanic.

Vincent prepared himself for the impending blow; to feel his skull fold in upon itself as the butt of the rifle crashed into his head. He prepared to meet absolute death. He inhaled a short, rattling breath, what he suspected to be his last.

And then, from behind the approaching Nazi officer, Frederick’s form rose, and had his face not been marred by the purple and black hues of already-appearing bruises, Vincent would have sworn that he was an angel.

He watched as the teenager reared back and delivered an unrivaled blow to the back of the man’s head, his hand snapping back bluntly as it met contact. The muffled crack that resounded through the street caused every mouth to fall open, and induced a feeling of nausea to Vincent’s heart. The Nazi’s face seemed to have gone numb, for the expression that had previously been unparalleled rage melted to that of a drowsy one, and his eyes rolled sluggishly in their sockets. His knees bent in awkwardly upon themselves, and he fell, crashing to the dirt in a muddled heap.

A terrifying silence hung in the air as the realization of what Frederick had just done dawned upon them all. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

And then the ghetto alarm resounded through every street.

Acting on another impromptu impulse, Vincent rose shakily to his feet, grabbed Frederick by the arm, and took off at a full gallop down a side road, toward where he knew the hole in the wall was.

Now they were not only Jews living in the ghetto… They were fugitives.
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  #4  
Old 11-02-2008, 09:12 PM
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Default Re: When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

Part 3

Vincent hadn’t seen so much chaos since the day they were dragged out of their homes and thrown into the street among many other confused and terrified Jewish families.

The small children had bolted from their horrified stupors at the sudden, wailing sound. Some of them rushed towards their homes, while the ones that tripped and fell stayed on the ground as a sniffling and crying heap of baggy clothes. They backed away from the corpse of the Nazi officer as though they would contract a deadly disease if they came anywhere near it. From the nearby shacks, parents rushed out to scoop their children in their arms. Mothers and fathers alike had the same, worried expression on their sullen faces. They looked up at the speakers situated at the corners of the streets for only second before rushing back inside their homes.

All of this, though, Vincent ignored. The white-knuckled grip on Frederick’s wrist was the only thing that kept him from running home. The bodies that pushed and shoved against him in their haste to get away from the approaching Nazi officers were hardly felt. The blaring siren that tore through the air was an unimportant buzz in his ears. Even the putrid smell of rotting garbage on the sides of the streets was blocked out.

The only thing he was aware of was his hold on a stumbling Frederick. Vincent could feel the teen’s hairs on end. Was the shock of what he finally did starting to sink in? Even though it wasn’t he that murdered the cruel man, his own stomach was in a cycle of never-ending flips.

“Where are we going?” Frederick asked hoarsely. Whether the running or the situation was taking a toll on his voice, Vincent didn’t know.

“The hole in the wall,” he answered, also breathless.

The eight-year-old was lucky he didn’t have to think about where he was going, for his feet knew the route by heart. They raced through the buildings, through sidewalks, and past startled Jewish citizens. His breath would hitch whenever he caught sight of a pristine, olive-green uniform, but his feet pounding against the parched earth drowned out his rattling breath.

And after an eternity of shutting the world out, he saw the harsh, concrete wall that surrounded the ghetto before him. Marred with cracks and stains of aged blood, it loomed and intimidated the Jewish residents with its twenty-foot height and rusted, barbed wire that guarded the top like copper Ekans. Dried weeds and bushes void of any berries grew beside the hideous structure, and one could see where leaves were torn by kids desperate and hungry enough to eat the pathetic foliage.

Vincent and Frederick stumbled to a stop, the younger of the two already eyeing a particularly hideous bush to his right. Their escape from this godforsaken place was hidden behind the thorn-riddled branches.

A breeze devoid of any comfort swept through the ghetto, and with it, was Frederick’s words: “What now?”

It wasn’t until then that Vincent realized that he was still gripping the older Jew with all of his might. Letting go, he looked down in horror to find his hand slick with ruby blood. Jade eyes traveling from his hand to Frederick, he saw the teen’s hands and arms splattered with the Hoothoot’s blood and slivers of the entrails that had flown into the air. For a moment, the nauseating smell tempted Vincent to get on his knees and immediately crawl through the wall, but when he caught sight of Frederick’s face, he sharply averted his gaze.

The way blood trickled sluggishly from his jaw, how the dull sheen in his once jovial eyes was directed towards the hands that betrayed him, even his flower-dappled coat seemed to be grayer than usual. Vincent clenched his jaw, the silent Frederick scaring him more than the mangled Pokémon he had seen moments ago.

The blonde of fifteen seemed as uncomfortable as Vincent felt for he walked towards the wall and turned towards the eight-year-old with a strained smirk that didn’t reach his suddenly aged eyes.

“So what’re we going to do, bark at the wall so it can jump out of our way?” he quipped above the noise of the wailing alarm.

Vincent forced a grin. He didn’t care that the humor in the words was merely a façade; as long he didn’t stray to the fact that they were running for their lives, he welcomed any distraction.

“We’re going through it, actually. There’s a hole that leads to the forest.”

Then it struck him that Frederick might be too large to fit through the hole in the wall.

But we can’t go back, we’ll be killed!

Killed. It sounded so wrong coming from a child, but that was what would happen if the officers caught them; they would be killed, murdered just like the lost Hoothoot.

Something heavy fell on his shoulder, and the boy jumped back in sudden terror. Vincent stumbled, but Frederick caught him before he fell, bloodied hands gripping his shoulders harder than necessary.

“Kid, ya’ gotta stay calm.” Even with the alarm still blaring and the pain from his injured jaw hindering his speech, his words still reached the shaking child.

Vincent swallowed back a sob, not even bothering to tell Frederick his name. He inched away from the teen’s grip, noticing how Frederick’s arms simply fell back to his sides.

“The hole’s over here,” Vincent said, walking over and parting the bush he had targeted before. A crude opening about a foot and a half wide was revealed. Vincent ran a hand around the opening, a small part of him afraid it would suddenly disappear and leave him stranded in this hell-on-earth. In truth, his childish naivety sometimes told him that it would vanish one day, much like his old life.

Down on his knees, Vincent crawled through easily. When a breeze blew past, he closed his eyes for one second of bliss because with the wind came the smells of the forest. Pulling his ragged coat closer, he looked at the hole he just exited, hoping, praying, that Frederick could follow him to freedom.

For a moment, the older Jew stared out into the forest. Slowly, like the rekindling of a dying ember, a spark of awe and joy came to his hazel eyes. Was it the sight of green trees and swaying, or was it the simple fact that the forest didn’t smell of death and decay? Either way, the dirty blonde wiggled through the hole, his starved body allowing him out of the miserable ghetto. Bloodied hands touched the grass as though it wasn’t really there, but when Frederick stood up to survey his surroundings, it hit him with the intensity of a Hyper Beam that he really was out of the ghetto.

Despite that his heart was going a mile a minute, Vincent had to smile at the teenager’s reaction. Even he, after venturing into the forest dozens of times, still grew dizzy when he breathed in the smells of the outside world. The oak trees, scattered bushes, and the trampled grass beneath them was all covered in a thin layer of dew that made the whole forest sparkle. The air that throbbed with the beating of Pokémon wings shook his very core. Here, the occupants were alive, breathing, content.

But the green, the green was what always made Vincent draw in a quaking breath. Green signified life, the gray in the ghetto was death. He believed that by spending some time in the forest, he was washing away the gray that threatened to consume him.

“You know we can’t go back.”

Frederick was standing in front of a tree, his hand hovering over the moist bark. Not wanting to taint it, he backed away and let his gaze meet Vincent’s.

Vincent merely nodded, not wanting to say the words aloud. He thought he said, “I know where to get some berries,” before walking deeper into the forest, but he wasn’t sure. His mind was in a constant cycle of, Why did I do it? Why?

Through the never-ending tumble, Vincent asked, “Why did you do it?” There was an undertone of bitterness in his voice; maybe if Frederick hadn’t done anything, he wouldn’t have had either.

“I can’t keep living like this,” was the soft response. A period of silence followed in which only the crunching grass could be heard. When Vincent thought Frederick had nothing else to say, he heard, “I can’t keep living like a caged Pokémon, I can’t stand making it through every day just hoping that the next day will be better.”

The footsteps behind the kid stopped. A hard bang followed by an infuriated hiss disturbed the forest’s silence. A handful of leaves fell around Vincent; he didn’t want to see Frederick’s blood mixing with the Hoothoot’s after that sickening punch.

“I can’t go on like this! Those sick devils think they can do anything!” The words But they can, hung unspoken in the chilly air. “They take away our homes, our lives, our dignity. If I didn’t do anything, I would’ve…I would’ve…”

“Killed yourself?” Vincent offered solemnly as he turned.

For a moment, Frederick seemed surprised by the child’s words, but he nodded. The green-eyed boy continued walking, all the times he had ever considered the same thing flashing before him. A cold that had nothing to do with the January winter chill settled in his stomach. His eyes downcast, he tried to banish those dark thoughts back to the deep crevices of his mind. He was in the forest, he was outside of the ghetto, and thus, free from those that considered him damned.

They had to keep walking. If they stopped, more disheartening thoughts would creep in. They would look back as they thought about the family they were leaving behind. Their resolve of running away would crumble if they let themselves be submerged in the horror they had just committed.

Nonetheless, something did stop them. A sharp click that reverberated through the forest. A noise that made the hidden Pokémon silence themselves in fear.

A gun had been cocked.

Both Jewish boys froze and slowly turned towards the footsteps they could hear mercilessly pounding the forest floor. Numerous medals on perfect uniforms, cold rifles held in equally cruel hands. The two Nazi officers were the embedment of terror to all that dared go against the law of the ghetto, and Frederick and Vincent felt the fear like icy hands on their throats.

“Move and we’ll shoot,” the tallest of the two said, his grey-blue eyes void of everything but contempt. Like long-dead grass, his brown hair did not dance with the wind that whistled through the trees. It was dead and unmoving, much like how Vincent knew he would end up if he went against the man’s orders.

But then again, aren’t I already condemned to death?

The sound of shifting grass and muttered words was enough reason for the other officer to train his gun on Frederick.

“Stay, you damn Jew!”

The lanky blonde gave the black-haired Nazi an icy glare that spoke volumes. Fear, defiance, hopelessness, it was reflected in orchard eyes that had seen too much. He gave Vincent an apologetic glance before he cocked his head in the direction of the ghetto, one eye on the two officers.

“Not on your life.”

Frederick ran. Seconds later, a bullet was fired, making the air ring with the sound of foretold death. Vincent prayed that he would have the will to avert his gaze in time, but it was too late, for, right before his eyes, Frederick’s yell was wretched brutally from his throat as the cold metal hit the back of his neck. The blood from his jaw was joined by the crimson river that ran from his open mouth in a heartbeat.

“FRED-!”

Again, Frederick was hit, and the bullet to the back made him sway before collapsing to the ground. The grass steadily turned a gruesome red as Frederick’s frozen face was veiled by death’s ghostly-white mask. Limp bangs of hair covered forever-lifeless eyes, and Vincent was sure he would have heard his friend’s heartbeat in the deathly silence if he still had one.

His motionless shadow stretched to cover the corpse when a bright, white light burst into existence behind him. Unable to stomach the sight of Frederick’s dead body any longer, Vincent turned around only to fall back when a searing ember was aimed at his face. The Houndoom that was summoned shared a malicious grin with the Nazi officers.

They knew he couldn’t dodge a full-blown inferno.

And Vincent was painfully aware of it.
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Old 11-02-2008, 09:20 PM
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Default Re: When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

Part 4

Vincent couldn’t move; couldn’t breathe. Sweat brimmed at the back of his neck, the searing embers that danced from the jaw of the Houndoom scorching the air around him. The harsh cackling of the Nazis burned his ears even more than the flames could ever hope to, but he dared not turn.

His attention was trained on the crumpled heap a few feet away, bathed in a splash of deep crimson. Its limbs were turned awkwardly into its frame and had already begun to recede into a dull chalky tint. The earth smothered Frederick’s face, but Vincent need not see the shattered jaw to tell the impact of the bullets; his neck had collapsed upon itself, the prominent ridges of Frederick’s soldiers bulged far too far from his back, aided by a dislodged bone or two.

The laughter came again, tainted with malevolence, and Vincent drove himself to turn and face the two, knees shaky, threatening to give way to his weight at any moment. He forced the most convincing sneer to his face, narrowing his eyes at the men, which only seemed to fuel the sniggering. A massive dog sat at attention near their feet, its pelt the darkest shade of midnight, marred by interlacing bones that curled over its back. A set of distinct, barbed horns perched atop its skull, the menacing dark eyes left to dark about lively beneath them.

Vincent glared at the intimidating creature, which returned the action, though, the boy suspected, the Pokemon was not cowering on the inside as he was.

“What? Are you going to kill me now?” He spoke, a whisper at first, then building into a convincing shout. Vincent’s fists were clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling rhythmically. The smiles were wiped clean from their faces.

They raised their guns.

Instinctively, his eyelids dropped over his pupils, shielding him from the sight of the oncoming bullet that would mark his death. The butt of the gun plowing forcefully into the Nazi’s shoulder. The laughter in their eyes.

An explosion shook the air, and Vincent cried out naturally, sure that he had been met by a cartridge. A second passed, and he awaited the pain to rip through his body, scalding his insides, but it never came.

Had he died? Did death come without any pain?

His eyes flickered open to uphold a frantic scene. Smoke billowed up from everywhere, clogging the air, clouding his vision. However, the distinct shapes of the two Nazis were clear enough to make out their frenzied flailing, as well as the dark behemoth of the Houdoom as it howled and thrashed about, apparently as bewildered by the situation as Vincent was.

The youth wasn’t crazy enough to argue with whatever had just happened and chose to seize the heaven-sent miracle and escape. Vincent ducked to the right, in the opposite direction of the enraged and astonished Nazis. He couldn’t make out the forest beyond him, and thus stumbled blindly away, as quickly as his legs would allow.

The smoke seeped into his lungs, forcing him to cough and sputter, bringing a torrent of tears spraying from his eyes. His knees met a particularly thick bush, and he floundered within it, feet apparently ensnarled by the bristly vines. His senses were so awry that he couldn’t think… He wouldn’t allow himself to think. Touch was all he had left, now that sight, smell, had hearing had been lost to the chaos, and he fought against the entangling forest.

It was then that he felt the hand close over his shoulder, grasp so tight that Vincent gasped, taking in another lung-full of the putrid smog. He hacked madly, throat burning, vision swaying before his eyes. He turned, expecting the strikingly handsome features of the Nazis’ faces to meet his gaze, but they were not there.

In their place, his hand clenching Vincent’s shoulder as though it were a thousand-dollar bill, was a particularly stout man, his face smeared with soot. A baggy hat lay limp over his head, concealing a disheveled mess of gray hair. A pair of cracked glasses rested on the bridge of his squat nose, shielding two piggy eyes set far back into their sockets and topped by two scraggly dark eyebrows.

On instinct, the child thought to lash out at the strange man, to wriggle from his clutch… But something told him otherwise.

“Wh-Who are you?” Vincent stammered, his speech interrupted by a fit of coughing. He pulled away from the man slightly, struggling to maintain leverage and balance in case he was going to be forced to fight to get away.

“Never mind that now; we’ve got to get you away from here immediately,” he breathed, voice somewhat calming, despite the dire urgency that plagued his words. It had a fatherly note about it. “Come boy, come.”

Vincent didn’t know what convinced him to comply with the man’s orders. He was entirely convinced that he was of no relation to the Nazi army that had captured his family so many months ago and forced them into the hellish pits of the concentration camps, for not only was this guy lacking the immaculate olive uniforms of the cavalry, but he didn’t have the cruel air that so many of them had follow in their wake.

He nodded, eyes still watering from the thinning smoke around them. The two turned back in the direction that the boy had been heading, grappling with the undergrowth as it strove to hinder their escape.

It was then that a fiery inferno rained down upon them, a colossal snake of flames winding into the air before striking down at them and charring everything within reach. Vincent wasn’t aware of the animalistic screech that disgorged itself from his lips, nor of the way his body whipped about savagely. The only thing he was conscious of was the unbearable heat that crawled up his arms, singing the skin.

His eyes fell upon the two Nazi men, who had evidently regained control within the now-dispersed smog and were marching in their direction, the Houndoom leaping before them, emitting puff after puff of deadly fire. The bushes and grass that blocked their way dissolved completely with every Flamethrower that was sent gushing from the Pokemon’s snout, lining a walkway of flames straight to Vincent and the strange man.

A chorus of voices rang out on all sides of Vincent, and he strained his neck to see where they were coming from; the skin was tight and raw, permitting very little movement.

From the shadows of the forest rushed five to six men, whooping and hollering, lanky frames winding among the tree trunks. Mismatched clothes flapped out around them as they hurried forth, leaping over bushes, hands brandishing large red and white orbs. It was such a bizarre sight that the Nazis fell back, momentarily startled, and that was all the time the newly arrived men needed.

A series of blinding flashes erupted within the clearing, and it took a moment for Vincent to blink away the fluttering spots before he could recognize what had happened. They had released Pokemon! It had been so long since he had seen such a thing that it was marvelous and wonderful to the boy, spectacular and dazzling. One of the most wonderful things he had ever seen.
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  #6  
Old 11-02-2008, 09:45 PM
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Default Re: When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

Part 5

Like shooting stars from the heavens above, two bolts of blinding light streaked from the trees. The one that landed on the ground solidified itself into a squat and bulky figure. The bubble-gum pink cow mooed out a battle cry, and the ringing that sounded whenever she swished her bell-like tail was the most beautiful sound Vincent had ever heard. It told him that everything would soon be alright.

A splash echoed in the forest when the second stream of light collided with the surface of a pond to his right. Bubbles riddled the surface of the murky water until a cerulean head dappled with six horns surfaced, ruby eyes surveying the surroundings like a warrior who had been thrown into the midst of a violent battle.

One of the Nazi officers snorted once he took in the sight of six men scrabbling down the trees, and the half-starved strangers shot him a look of loathing. Vincent inched closer to the men from the forest; he did not like the look the officers were sharing. The smiles they had on their cruel faces were ones of a Meowth who had cornered a Rattata.

“So the renegades we’ve heard so much about have shown up,” the black-haired one sneered, slate eyes practically dancing with malicious joy. His brown-haired companion merely grinned some more and replied, “Nothing more than cockroaches, I see.”

“Twister!”

“Stomp!”

As though a bomb had been thrown, chaos erupted into existence again. Before Vincent was caught in the crossfire, the pudgy man from before pulled him back behind the nearest tree. His firm grip was comforting, but even that couldn’t stop Vincent from letting out a cry of horror and fear. Everything was happening so fast that he just couldn’t keep up with it. Back against the tree’s trunk, the first signs of hyperventitalation made themselves known.

“You gotta calm down, kid!”

For a moment, when Vincent turned around towards the source of the voice, he hoped it was Frederick. At the sight of the gray-haired stranger kneeling beside him, his throat constricted as the realization that Frederick was dead hit him. Forcing himself to face the short man, he asked, “Wha..what’s going on?”

“We’re helping you out, kid, we’re getting you as far away as possible from them.”

“It’s Vincent,” the eight-year-old corrected, the only thing he could do with his mind still swimming in the shock of what was happening.

He was a fugitive. Frederick was dead. Runaway Jews were helping him out.

It took all his willpower to stop himself from curling into a ball and give up.

The man smiled. “And I’m Leo.” His mouth opened again, but he was cut off by the shaking of the earth beneath them. Vincent looked from behind the tree, his heart hammering as Houndoom let out a ghastly howl that sounded like mocking laughter.

The Miltank was kneeling in a two-foot deep crater, short pink and black fur bristling upon realizing that the Stomp attack failed to hit its target. The black dog from Hell landed a foot away from where it had jumped, but as soon as his paws touched the ground, he was flung into the air by a sudden shift of air. The canine growled as he was tossed head over heels, horned head twisting every which way to find the source of the attack. The Horsea in the pond glared when he spotted her, tube-like snout poised for another attack if he dared retaliate.

As Vincent watched the Houndoom twist and turn within the Twister, he repeated, breathless from what he was witnessing, “Who are you guys…?”

“We’re not the nobodies that the Nazis locked up in dozens of ghettos,” Leo solemnly answered from where he stood. Something akin to hope in his eyes sparkled as Miltank launched herself in the air, her small yet lethal horns aimed at Houndoom’s chest. “We’re Jews who have escaped and have traveled in hopes of finding others who managed to slip away. We heard there was a ghetto here, and just as we stepped in, we heard you.”

“So you came to rescue me? Even though you don’t know me?”

Leo’s smile was one that was worn by everything he had gone through. “We need to stick together. We’re all we have left.”

As the Normal type’s Tackle was about to connect, the Dark Pokémon thrust his head back and let out the most horrendous, ear-shattering bay Vincent ever had the misfortune to hear. Clamping his hands on his ears, he saw Miltank shudder and fall from the intensity of the Roar attack. She tried to curl into a ball to soften her landing, but Houndoom lunged and unleashed a devastating Bite attack. Both of them were sent towards the ground like stones, Houndoom’s jaws clenched on his opponent’s throat. The female Pokémon let out a strangled yelp when she landed, and the Houndoom standing on top of her tightened his hold.

“Horsea,” one of the men nearest Vincent shouted, “Bubble!” The boy could hear the fear in the man’s tone; he had heard it from his own father when they had been thrown from their home. But, in the trainer’s tone, he could make out determination and courage, something he had begun to think only appeared in fairy tales.

A stream of bubbles spouted from the seahorse’s snout faster than Vincent thought possible. The shimmering attack knocked the fire creature from Miltank, but as the bubbles pelted his side, his focus was more on Horsea than the tingle of pain that began to spread throughout his body. With a flick of his forked tail, he turned towards the Water type and charged at her. A look of fear crossed Horsea’s face, but she let loose another Bubble, this one bordering a Bubblebeam. The ribbon of bubbles twisted and turned, the air seeming to vibrate from the sheer force.

Houndoom merely lowered his head, and with his curled horns, blocked most of the attack. Horsea kept the Bubble coming, but she started to back away, her honey-colored fin shaking as the hound grew closer.

“Miltank, Rollout!” another, determined shout was released from the mouth of a Jew. Something dawned on Vincent, and he turned towards the Nazi officers. Both of them were leaning casually against a tree, not one of them giving the Houndoom any orders. They were just watching the battle with identical smirks, and the young Jew knew they thought they weren’t worth their time. Vincent’s blood boiled at the same moment Miltank hurtled herself at the Nazi’s Pokémon as a rolling ball of fat.

Horsea stopped her attack, and a relieved expression covered her face.

But it morphed into one of horror when Houndoom jumped high into the air, clear out of Miltank’s attack.

The Dragon Pokémon hesitated for a moment before she dived deeper into the water. However, a moment was enough for Houndoom to angle his head down and grab Horsea by her curled tail.

“SEA!” the water dweller screamed when fangs sparking with electricity dug into her. Houndoom threw her in the air like a rag doll. Horsea could only spasm in midair in pain as electricity bombarded her nerves and muscles. The dog responsible for it all was about to neatly land on the other side of the pond, no doubt to attack once more, when his breath was knocked from his lungs by something slamming into his side.

While Horsea landed back in the pond, dazed but still willing to fight, Houndoom was sent to the forest floor by Miltank’s Rollout. His head painfully slammed into the ground, and just as he lifted it, he was bombarded with a Wake-up Slap. From right to left his head snapped, each time making him dizzier. Her hooves dug into his face with each pound; the blood that began to trickle down his face matched the trail of red slithering down Miltank’s throat.

“Why aren’t they helping him if he’s getting hurt?” Vincent demanded of Leo. The officers were still watching the battle with an air of superiority; they didn’t even flinch when Houndoom let out a short howl of pain. It made him angry and confused. He knew they hated Jews, but did they hate their Pokémon as well?

Then, Houndoom’s fur began to glow an unearthly cobalt. His muscles went taut, his tail sliced the air, and his jet-black eyes burned with the need for vengencace. Miltank let out a surprised moo when the hound head butted her. She stumbled back, her beige udders swinging as she tried to regain her balance, but Houndoom continued with his Reversal. Fangs dug into her arms, then they attacked her legs. Miltank closed her eyes for a Bide attack, but a firm clamp on her thigh was more than enough to stop her.

“Body Slam, Miltank!”

The bulky Pokémon stood on her hooves, batting away her opponent with a punch. With her remaining strength, she tackled Houndoom to the ground. The Dark type grimaced as the sound of one of his ribs breaking reached everyone’s ears. He threw Miltank’s unconscious body to the side and snapped his head towards Horsea, a scowl of pain and frustration marring his face. Balls of cyan fire left his mouth as soundlessly as a shadow’s footsteps.

“Agility, then Brine!”

The Will-o-Wisp swept over Horsea like death’s fog, but the small Pokémon swam around the pond as a blur that began to blend in with the water around her. The mystical flames were blown away, and as the last, haunting wisps disappeared, a wall of water began to rise from the depths of the pond. It grew and grew with Horsea the ringleader of it all. Houndoom began to back away as the gigantic wave loomed over him.

And then it all came crashing down.

With a thunderous roar, the Brine swallowed Houndoom. The hellish beast’s bark of outrage was muffled by the water that sent him sailing. Horsea jumped back to the safety of the pond, watching with triumph as Houndoom struggled to stand up against the currents of manipulated water. Soaked and shaking, the Nazi’s Pokémon stood up on his paws once the Brine settled. He bared his fangs and fiercely whipped his tail. The sodden grass steamed with the sudden heat that poured form his body. Muscles seemed to grow, and his fur shined like a newly sharpened ax. The Nasty Plot consumed him, enchanced him, made him even more like the demon Vincent thought him as.

A Water Gun sent him stumbling back, the stream of ice-cold water making his body shiver even more. Planting his paws firmly on the wet ground, claws digging into the grass to keep himself from buckling, he reared back and faced the dismal sky. Clouds shifted and slid, and Vincent gasped upon seeing rays of sunlight basking the hound.

The small Pokémon in the pond inhaled as deeply as she could. Water began rushing up her snout, her cheeks beginning to bulge as the fluid rushed in. The rest of the pond’s water shuddered, foreshadowing the tremendous power Horsea was about to unleash.

Shining as dazzling as the sun that began to appear in the sky, Houndoom leaped towards his opponenet with jaws agape. Horsea reared back, angled her snout, and let loose the Hydro Pump. A boom echoed followed by the sound of rushing water tearing the air apart. A spinning column of azure, it caused tufts of grass to uproot and pebbles to fly from its destructive path.

Houndoom halted, and for a moment, the sunlight that had been dancing on his fur vanished. A heartbeat later, the sunlight appeared around his fangs before it was launched as an eye-blinding Solarbeam.

Grass attack hit Water type. Water attack collided with Fire type. Twin cries of pain rang out. Both shot a glare at one another before they collapsed in exhaustion. When Houndoom hit the floor, Vincent held his breath. The sun hit his face, and instead of basking in the warmth he had longed for, he turned away.

He did not want to see whether Houndoom could still get up. Most of all, he did not want to see the smiles on the Nazis if he did.


_____

If Houndoom stands up, it's not a capture. If he's unconscious, it's a capture. Oh, and this is not the end for Vincent, we'll be continuing this.

Pokemon: Horsea and Miltank
Min Characters: 40K - 60K
Total Characters: 51,806K

Horsea for me and Miltank for Bryce. :3
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  #7  
Old 11-12-2008, 04:01 AM
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Default Re: When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

I'm reserving before other peeps hork it from me. >:3

GRADING NAO

Introduction

Yay! It was a good hook, and it was very nicely done. Suddenly I don't feel so scared of this behemoth of a story anymore. :3 Vincent was described well, and I really feel that feeling of loss that Vincent is feeling. -cue standing ovation from herd of Pikachu-

Dis-freaking-tinction. :3

Plot

Excuse me while I use a macro to express my feelings at your plot.



It scared the hell out of me at first, but eventually when I sat down to read it, it was awesome and epic. You really left me breathless at the end. @_@ -tries to stop hyperventilating- There were a lot of twists and turns. During Part 1, when the gunshot rang out, I thought it was Frederick who got shot, and I was really surprised when it was actually Hoothoot that got blown apart. I like the hole in the wall idea, but I thought Vincent was heading for the forest in the first place, so why didn't he go straight for the hole in the wall and like sidetrack to see the kids with Hoothoot? Meh.

There was a lot of blood and dead things, and I really, really, liked that. DEAD PEOPLE! >:3

Dis-freaking-tinction.

Spelling/Grammar

Okay, this wasn't so good. @_@ You had quite a few mistakes, but don't worry, this sentence was the worst.

Quote:
“You’re mother should be the shop to see if there’s anything for breakfast and…”
And if that's the worst, that means it's not too bad. l3 But you guys should proofread your work before submission next time. :x I know, it's 50k and long and annoying, but just try. @_@

Pass.

Length

I have no problem with 51806 for double Hard. Meh.

Pass.

Detail

This was extremely good as well. Everything was described well, right down to stuff like Vincent's feet (I cringed at the description), but I noticed a lot of focus on people's eyes. It's not a bad thing, it's just something I noticed. :3

There's so many good descriptions that I can't really pick one to single out as epic and 1337. I mean, everything was great! I wish I could describe this well.

One last thing that I'm happy about is, if I may quote you, Kat:

Quote:
Originally Posted by PhantomKat
You describe the characters without make it like you’re shoving the information down our throats.
Huzzah! If only I could do that ;_;

Dis-freaking-tinction.

Battle

If Bryce actually says this a lot, I'll have to apologise for stealing his catchphrase: "OHMIGOSH!!!"

It was pretty two-sided and epic, with a lot of beatdown of Miltank and Houndoom, and Horsea not actually doing much at the beginning. xP I still think Miltank deserved to take a few more hits, but Reversal is a pretty painful move to soak up for Miltank, so I'll let it slide. And I didn't know that Houndoom is so incredibly tough to withstand so many attacks @_@ Lucky the broken rib didn't puncture a lung or something. @_@

The only real advice I can give you is that you could use the enviroment more. Miltank or Houndoom could have taken cover behind a tree, and Houndoom could have tried to dry up the lake with Fire Blast or something @_@ But I nitpick. :P It was awesome enough as it is.

Distinction, because I feel like nitpicking xP

Overall

Gee, there's nothing much to say is there? It's just way too good and way too cool and way too awesome and way too SMEXEH!!! l3

It was such an honour to grade this, and an even greater honour to be asked to do so!!! ;_; I would like to thank my -is knocked out by Pikachu-

Outcome

Horsea CAPTURED
Miltank CAPTURED

OMG HE SO WANTS A SEQUEL

-wakes- I would like to call dibs on the sequel.

And Bryce shall not be allowed to defeat me in the tourney! XDXDXD Just kidding. :P

See you two around!

Pika out.
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Old 11-12-2008, 12:37 PM
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Default Re: When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

Wow, you grade fast; I'm jealous. xP

I'm glad you liked the plot, I personally like it myself, too. Bryce and I have some neat ideas up our sleeves, so when we continue to write this, it'll be even more awsome. :D

Eww, grammar. >.> I didn't think it would be that bad, but I guess it was since we were just rushing to finish it in time for the contest (I bet most of the mistakes were in my parts :p). Well, next time, it will be spotless!

Thanks a lot for grading this, Starki! :D And sure, you can grade the sequel when we actually get around to wrting more. |D

-huggles you and Byrce, grabs Horsea, and runs to the hills-

- Kat
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Old 11-12-2008, 01:50 PM
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Default Re: When the Crumbling Wall Tumbles [A Kat and Bryce production :3]

Quote:
Originally Posted by Phantom Kat View Post
Wow, you grade fast; I'm jealous. xP

I'm glad you liked the plot, I personally like it myself, too. Bryce and I have some neat ideas up our sleeves, so when we continue to write this, it'll be even more awsome. :D

Eww, grammar. >.> I didn't think it would be that bad, but I guess it was since we were just rushing to finish it in time for the contest (I bet most of the mistakes were in my parts :p). Well, next time, it will be spotless!

Thanks a lot for grading this, Starki! :D And sure, you can grade the sequel when we actually get around to wrting more. |D

-huggles you and Byrce, grabs Horsea, and runs to the hills-

- Kat
Well, I kinda did this over an hour, actually. I reserved it then ran out of basics to beat up, so I graded it.

Yay, Kat + Bryce at their best next time. Yay. When will it be coming out? -shivers in anticipation-

I am but a puny mortal at yours command, Kat. xP Bow down and worship! Orz
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