In case this wasn't clear, this is a PRIVATE PRP between Gentleman Virgil and myself. Read if you want, but this is mostly for us. Thank you for your understanding.
Three rocks, same weight, same size. They carelessly flew through the air, gently landing in Glen’s skill as he juggled, he became more distant. The more complex his movements got, the farther away his ice-blue eyes seemed to get. The landing of the rocks inched out from the center of his palms, before he was juggling small rocks with his fingers. They arced gracefully from finger to finger, landing and leaving without noise. I they did make some form of noise, the teacher would’ve stopped him. The rocks flew higher, distracting him further. He tried to pull himself away from the harsh truth of his arrangement, as if delaying the recognition would make it easier. He was at least ten feet behind his partner, the unfortunate Hudson Claret. They both mindlessly plodded behind the teacher, lugging a bag of predetermined supplies and their one pokeball as if they were 40-pound weights.
The project they’d been assigned to was survival with limited supplies and one pokemon. Simple enough, but with partners it became tougher. Decisions made between two was hard enough, but under survival conditions it became a tense matter of life and death. The teachers tried to pair them up with people they normally didn’t talk to, to help the class better understand each other or something. It was annoying, and more importantly, pointless. There were two weeks left of school, and getting along for six days wasn’t going to do much for them. But hey, the teachers were trying, at least.
“Here,” The teacher instructed, pointing at the shoreline. Glen moved closer to shore, letting the blue and white bag drop from his shoulders as his black shoes scuffed up some loose dirt. “You’re to spend four days here. We’ll come to get you then, and grade you based on survival. If you need to return for any reason, the path should be easy enough for you determine.” He spun around on his heels, trying to clear himself in case a fist fight broke out between the two students.
Glen brushed the dust and leaves off of his bright blue sleeves, pushing the debris onto the ground. He kneeled into the dirt,undoubtedly soiling his dark jeans. The white undershirt seemed to connect the pieces, though it was all carelessly arranged. Glen tried to give the others as little to tease him about as possible, even if it meant looking worse to avoid looking gay. He straightened out his dirty blond hair with one hand as he stretched the bag open with his other. He touched the smooth surface of his red and white pokeball, tossing it carelessly over his head. It opened up quickly, spewing an array of red light onto the ground behind him. It took the shape of a fat top with two flat extensions, before solidifying into a full Claydol.
“Topp,” Glenn called, retrieving the obligatory food containers and blankets. He threw them out onto the ground, before finally getting a full look at his materials. A couple of blankets,a camera (why?), a flashlight, and enough food to last them the full four days. Glenn cracked open the can of breakfast drink, downing the first amount with a loud glug. As his Claydol finally drifted over, emitting a small, questioning hum, Glenn handed him one of the blankets, the thin one. “We need twigs to hold this up. Some wood to build a resting place,” Glen instructed. He turned to Hudson, trying to avoid any eye contact. “Get off of your ass and help me build camp. We can’t do this alone, y’know.” Glenn stood back up, ready to defend his position.
Three rocks, same weight, same size. They carelessly flew through the air, gently landing in Glen’s skill as he juggled, he became more distant. The more complex his movements got, the farther away his ice-blue eyes seemed to get. The landing of the rocks inched out from the center of his palms, before he was juggling small rocks with his fingers. They arced gracefully from finger to finger, landing and leaving without noise. I they did make some form of noise, the teacher would’ve stopped him. The rocks flew higher, distracting him further. He tried to pull himself away from the harsh truth of his arrangement, as if delaying the recognition would make it easier. He was at least ten feet behind his partner, the unfortunate Hudson Claret. They both mindlessly plodded behind the teacher, lugging a bag of predetermined supplies and their one pokeball as if they were 40-pound weights.
The project they’d been assigned to was survival with limited supplies and one pokemon. Simple enough, but with partners it became tougher. Decisions made between two was hard enough, but under survival conditions it became a tense matter of life and death. The teachers tried to pair them up with people they normally didn’t talk to, to help the class better understand each other or something. It was annoying, and more importantly, pointless. There were two weeks left of school, and getting along for six days wasn’t going to do much for them. But hey, the teachers were trying, at least.
“Here,” The teacher instructed, pointing at the shoreline. Glen moved closer to shore, letting the blue and white bag drop from his shoulders as his black shoes scuffed up some loose dirt. “You’re to spend four days here. We’ll come to get you then, and grade you based on survival. If you need to return for any reason, the path should be easy enough for you determine.” He spun around on his heels, trying to clear himself in case a fist fight broke out between the two students.
Glen brushed the dust and leaves off of his bright blue sleeves, pushing the debris onto the ground. He kneeled into the dirt,undoubtedly soiling his dark jeans. The white undershirt seemed to connect the pieces, though it was all carelessly arranged. Glen tried to give the others as little to tease him about as possible, even if it meant looking worse to avoid looking gay. He straightened out his dirty blond hair with one hand as he stretched the bag open with his other. He touched the smooth surface of his red and white pokeball, tossing it carelessly over his head. It opened up quickly, spewing an array of red light onto the ground behind him. It took the shape of a fat top with two flat extensions, before solidifying into a full Claydol.
“Topp,” Glenn called, retrieving the obligatory food containers and blankets. He threw them out onto the ground, before finally getting a full look at his materials. A couple of blankets,a camera (why?), a flashlight, and enough food to last them the full four days. Glenn cracked open the can of breakfast drink, downing the first amount with a loud glug. As his Claydol finally drifted over, emitting a small, questioning hum, Glenn handed him one of the blankets, the thin one. “We need twigs to hold this up. Some wood to build a resting place,” Glen instructed. He turned to Hudson, trying to avoid any eye contact. “Get off of your ass and help me build camp. We can’t do this alone, y’know.” Glenn stood back up, ready to defend his position.
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