Private/Closed Uprising

[ThatDamnEmu]

((OOC: I will be opening with a light description of the town. This will be written from a more narrative point of view than I usually use while RPing. I simply wanted to explain why the style might seem to shift part way through the post. ~ ThatDamnEmu))

BIC:

It was an early spring dawn in the small town of Home. The sun was just beginning to rise, stretching its rays across the land in an effort to prepare for the day. In the early hours of the morning most residents would still be asleep, waiting until the sun's golden shine lit upon their faces to awaken. Rarely was there reason to wake so early in the morning, especially so now that Team Rocket lorded over the town. Very few citizens had stable jobs anymore, relying mostly on handouts and their own self-sufficiency. Many people struggled to make ends meet, and those who didn't were often working for the Rockets. The once quiet town was now ruled by fear. And yet, even amidst the fear and uncertainty, hope could blossom.....


Zeypher slipped the front door shut behind him with a sigh of relief, the early morning light bathing him in its dull, golden glow. The lanky teen took a few steps from his own front door before glancing back at his parents' window to check that the light remained off. Convinced that he had not woken his parents, Zeypher sauntered onto the dusty street, kicking trash out of his way as he went. Before the Rockets moved in, the town had been much cleaner. But now streets were unkempt, covered in leaves and trash. Houses were dusty and once pristine lawns were littered with crabgrass and weeds.

Zeypher paused when he reached a neighboring home, merely two houses down from his own. Bailey, one of his neighbors, lived here. Shuffling up to the front door, the shabby-looking boy reached into his back pocket. He rooted around a bit before withdrawing his hand, and with it a crumpled piece of paper. After smoothing the odd note out and reading it one last time, Zeypher slid the note under Bailey's front door with a satisfied smile. He didn't know Bailey exceptionally well, but he trusted that she would participate in his little pow-wow. The first note successfully delivered, Zeypher whipped around and began jogging towards his next target, a house several blocks away. As he ran, he thought of what was written on the notes.

Heya! Meet me in the forest behind the school. I have a plan to finally get us some Pokemon!
~ Zeypher

Slowing as he reached his destination, Zeypher smiled to himself. He thought it quite clever to choose the school. The schoolhouse was about as far as one could get from the Rocket base while still remaining in town. It was a commonly known building as well, so there would be no mix ups regarding where to meet. Nodding his head in self-approval, Zeypher began to approach Aida's door. Aida was a fairly good friend of his, though their age difference made being friends difficult at some times. Regardless, the teen trusted nobody more than Aida. Pulling out his final note, Zeypher began to slide the paper under the front door, only to be interrupted by a sudden voice.

"Whatcha got there?"

Expecting to see a Rocket official, the teen straightened his back out from its usual slouch, standing straight like a soldier at attention. Not wanting to blow his plan, he quickly shoved the note the rest of the way under the door with his foot, scuffing the paper slightly. Fearing the worst, Zeypher whipped around.

"N-Nothing sir!"

The startled boy was relieved to find no Rocket members. Instead, he saw an old lady chuckling from her porch next door.

"I know you're supposed to respect your elders, but you might be taking it a bit too far Zeypher."

Zeypher sighed, relaxing when he realized he was in no danger.

"Hey Hannah. What're you doing up so early?"

"Oh, you know," Hannah waved her wrinkled hand dismissively, "watering the plants." She winked, and chuckled again. Zeypher had become well aquatinted with the old woman, as she often said hello when he came to see Aida. She was a rebellious little thing, and loved to talk about what was happening in town. When the Rockets had first established power in the town, Hannah had been one of the first to start vandalizing their cameras. Age had quickly caught up with her over the years, however, so now she seemed to spend her time gossiping. "Don't try to avoid my question, boy. What was that you slid under Aida's door?"

Zeypher began to fidget a little, trying to decide whether or not to spill the beans. After wondering about it for a few moments, the teen deemed Hannah trust-worthy. Glancing around to see if anyone else was within earshot, he stepped off Aida's porch and moved closer to Hannah.

"My friends and I are going to meet up behind the school. I have a plan to get us Pokemon!" Just talking about his plan made the young man excited. He glanced over at Hannah to gauge her reaction. The old lady had a wily glint in her eyes, and a sly grin was sneaking onto her wrinkled face.

"Interesting......" Hannah glanced back towards her house, as if pausing to think about something. She nodded subtly to herself, then turned back to Zeypher. "Well, carry on then. Don't get caught, you hear?"

Zeypher nodded enthusiastically, waving goodbye to the old woman as he dashed off in the direction of the school. The school was on the edge of town, near Aida' house. Though everyone called it a schoolhouse, it was really just a haphazardly built shack. The original school had been quite large, and was in the center of town. Unfortunately, the Rockets had claimed it as their base, and the large two-story building had gone through numerous renovations since.

It wasn't long before Zeypher reached the schoolhouse. Slapping the outer wall of the shack for good luck as he ran by, the teen dashed past the building into the woods. Quick as a flash, the teen was up a tree, already looking for a branch to get comfy on. He was in his element now. Finally deciding on a rather sturdy looking bough just a bit above eye level, Zeypher settled in to wait.....

 

[Storybook]

The house's silence was Aida's bliss.

It was 4 am in the morning and the cheerful insomniac stared out her back window at nothing in particular but for the simple fact that she could. Her toes, bare and calloused from countless midnight endeavors, were rocked by the cool wooden floor as they left and returned to the ground time after time, fueling the tilt of her rocking chair. Alas, as much as she desired for it to be, the rocking was not infinite, as constant as the motion was. She would leave, and it would stop, and that would be the end of that.

When thinking of infinity, Aida always thought of water wheels. Put a small water wheel made simply of stout leaves and a branch or two so that the edge of the leaves just dipped into the current, and it would turn forever. Through day, through night, through war, through peace, through morning dew and night frost, provided no muck would obstruct its path, the water wheel would turn forever. She imagined it to be enchanting, calming, almost hypnotic, to watch the wheel turn forever, one day beaded by sparkling dew, the next churning a fine mist as the water pushed it on... and she imagined that it would always be there, to be gazed upon as long as she could live to gaze upon it. A simple constant, a motion of life that would never end.

And then the girl remembered the water that pushed it, and nearly choked in fear. The waterwheel was fantasy, for the simple fact that the insomniac believed it to be.

Today was the end of the second consecutive night without sleep since the rockets had discovered and punished one of their own on cause of treason. Since the rockets had taken over, staying asleep had become a formidable obstacle, but this was the first time since she was six that the girl wouldn't fall asleep by her own conscious decision. The spectacle of the rocket's rage, laid out in the street outside her house early one morning, while the sun was still asleep, had put the image of her mother in her mind. That night, her nightmares had risen to a new level of ferocity, and the girl had woken, colder than if she were struck by a Pokemon's blizzard, with one thought in her mind. It was trying to swallow me.

And with her mother's face, dirt within its creases, tears upon its cheeks, thin and wane as a dying moon, Aida had refused the spell of sleep.

"N--thi-- ---!"

"---- tr-- -- ----- my ----tion, boy. Wha- --- ---- --- sli- ----- Aida-- door?"

Was there someone talking outside, or could she be imagining things? The girl snuggled back down into her rocking chair, wrapping her stormy grey robe around her like a blanket. Her dark-skinned face contemplated once more the particularly annoying math problem in her hands, sweet almond eyes heavy with frustration as her train of thought broke for what seemed the billionth time. If it weren't for the laughter within those eyes, her eyes would appear as dark, hollow shadows, casting their darkness into her skin as deep bags, seemingly infecting the cheery face that wrinkled with her constant smile. Laughter was the best placebo, the girl considered, her mind still distracted. Could it be that she had really heard someone, or was the girl going insane in paranoia? She recalled, at the thought, a strange fellow who had visited their town many years ago with an incredibly wide array of tricks and mind games up his sleeve. He was a funny fellow, if you ignored the fact that the man was past strange and well on his way to insane. He hallucinated voices, too. In fact, the man had a wide array of characters within his head that seemed much more real than reality, so much so that the townsfolk had nicknamed him "The Author" in mocking entertainment.

The girl chuckled, pushing herself out of the wooden rocking chair in ever-growing curiosity. Imagine her, as such a creature, hair frazzled, back hunched, talking to those who didn't exist! Still, that man could certainly spin a tale.

A piece of paper, folded in two and slightly scrunched on one corner where it appeared a foot had hastily kicked it in, revealed that the girl hadn't gone insane quite yet. Give it another hour or two, she mused, picking up the paper and smoothing it out. She recognized the writer of the note immediately by his handwriting, and shifted her weight onto her right leg in intrigue.

Heya! Meet me in the forest behind the school. I have a plan to finally get us some Pokemon!
~ Zeypher

A plan? the girl wondered, crumpling up the note and tossing it into the trashcan by the door. Would you look at that. The man finally has a plan. Think he brought his shoes this time?

The girl's cheeks, wrinkled from what appeared to be a constant smile, fell in a frown of contemplation, before a shrug returned them to their natural shape. Contrary to what she had expected to feel at this moment, the girl was much more cautious than excited. It appeared this could become a tense affair, and how the girl loathed tense affairs. Then again, life was becoming increasingly dull. The cycle turned from night to day to night again, grunts yelled, townsfolk milled, her mother lay, sick and wane, doused in her own fever, and nightmares stalked the girl with every laugh and inside joke. As much as she loved routine, Aida knew she was just going through the motions, and there was nothing enchanting about that.

Just like Zeypher, to think up a plan that could paint the canvas of life into something fresh and new, and allow them to obtain Pokemon at last.

Pokemon. How she missed them. How her heart longed to feel the heavy weight of her mother's Quilava on her lap, to walk down the streets with her Mienshao or be coaxed to swim in the pool with Floatzel. How her heart ached to feel their breath hot on her cheek, and be comforted by their twin heartbeats on nights when she couldn't sleep. And how her eyes burst with longing to see her mother, sick with despair, hold them in her hands again and smile, to see the woman who taught her to laugh cleansed of the fever that swept her grieving body by their licks, cooling her cheeks. Her mother had always been a sad woman, frail and wane with a somber face that spoke of dangerous misfortune. The town had often said that she was a woman that wouldn't be able to get back up if something struck her down again, who cared to deeply and loved to strongly. She was a woman who's eyes told of tragedy, and who's heart was crystalline, for it was made but of love.

Beautiful as a dying sunset, that painted the horizon in ruby tears.

Aida's legs complained as she stood, far from this earth in memory and desire, and wrangled the girl into the present. Almost immediately, the cheerful insomniac turned and ran up the stairs, her mind whirring with the mechanics of a plan.


Hey, momma. Her handwriting was long and scrawled, leaning as if it were struck by a tremendous, perpetual windstorm, but large and looping with a sort of cheery attitude all the same. Here and there, a word was misspelled, and sometimes the letters dipped beneath the line in her long scrawl. The time is 5;15, as always, and I'm heading out for my morning walk. Breakfast is on the stove, see if you can figure out what it is though all those layers of ash The sunrise was beutiful, full of ruby loops and arcs like flash lights, unchaining the night sky. The pictures it painted between the stars was wondorous. A few more days of practice, and the sun could become a mighty foe towards your shadow puppet career

Something tells me today is going to be exciting. I'm thinking, when I'm done with my walk, I'll head out, fight a few pirates, find some buried treasure, the like. If I'm not back by evening, try to resist the temptation to rent out my room

~wishing you a laugh or two, Aida

PS: It's biscuits
PPS: I'll bring home a new joke or five. Take that for some buried treasure

Satisfied, the girl taped the note to the back of the front door, and opened it, framed, for a few moments, by her figure against the darkness of the house. The wind, refreshed by morning's return, romped with her dark, almost black, hair, coaxing the tired, lifeless strands into a lively wrestling game. In their tussle, they rebounded off her grey sweatshirt, seemingly unaffected by the dust ingrained within its old threads. The sweatshirt itself, though showing signs of its age, tightly clung to life, swaddling and comforting the girl in the playful morning air as walked down the street, away from the school. Her gait was light and swift, with a sort of cheerful buck every time her heels left the ground, and the sun shone stronger the farther the girl walked from the darkness of their abode, from which shadows hung like clothes upon its frame, and the house seemed as sick and ghastly, as dank and musty as the one who was left to inhabit it, its walls peeling their pallid, ashy paint.

Routine was sacred to the plump, dark-skinned girl, and it was from this obsession that she could easily join with Zeypher unquestioned and unharmed. From three a.m. to eight at night, her day was often set in stone and she, stubborn as a mule, would keep it with a sort of childish satisfaction. For now, this was used to the girl's advantage.

She turned on a side street, back towards her house and the school, swiftly making her way towards where the note had declared she go. The girl had been careful to dispose of it and, in a sudden rush of scheming, she had created a new note, and had carried that one with her instead. Not that it was necessary, but the girl was pleased that she had tied up all noticeable loose ends, and doing so had made her feel as if she was the antagonist of some sort of mystery novel. She had even taken her boot and scuffed the note, just as it was when she found it.

As the girl turned behind the schoolshack, contemplating on its dimensions, it became incredibly apparent that she had too much time on her hands. Like a clock with another clock on its hour and minute hands, the girl mused with a chuckle, scanning the trees where she was two hundred percent sure the boy would be. Nah, not two hundred. Two hundred and fifty four point five seven percent sure.

The girl's hands were clammy with anxiety as she neared the forest, and her ears strained to hear the snarling trickle of a far off stream, but her cheeks wrinkled in a grin nonetheless. She blinked away the fuzzy aura that was creeping around her sleep-deprived brain, and called teasingly out, when her vision failed to find the boy, "Hey, no-shoes. Where you hiding?"

Beneath the layer of cheer, her almond eyes were chained with determination, as hollow as the house in which they resided.

 

[EspeonTheBest]

'When will I see her again? That's my question for now. Maybe one day I'll look back upon this and say, "Oh funny! Look at how wishful I was." But I want to see her again. It's been too long...'

She stopped writing. The edge of her hand was smeared with a black residue from her hand gliding over the paper of the little notebook she had on a desk in front of her. Bailey Lynn refused to call this tiny notebook a diary, despite the fact that in technical terms, the little book does fall under the category of a Diary. It's just her notebook. Just a little book with notes. That is the only thing Bailey will refer to it as. She closed the book; running her fingers down the spine, allowing her light touch to feel the indentions of yet another pen's writing. 'Summer Lynn' it read. Bailey stopped, sighing and replacing the book in the little designated cubby in her desk. It was still pretty early; the sun was barely visible in the sky. Bailey glanced at her bed, still rumpled and messy from her sudden awakening only a quarter hour ago. No doubt it was still warm, but sleeping was not appealing, considering that her sister was on her mind. With light steps, Bailey removed herself from her chair and lightly walked yo her kitchen for a very early drink.

With a warm glass of Moo Moo milk in her hand, and her pajamas draping over the slippers she found, Bailey started to wander the house. Although, she stopped by the door. "What is this?" She whispered and picked up a piece of paper from the edge of the door. Not so much a piece of paper- more like a note. It was written in a foreign handwriting to her, so definitely her mother didn't write this. Her father hasn't sent her letters in years, and her sister stopped writing once she got a phone and received her phone number. Being homeschooled means that she didn't even know the names of most youth in her town. Now she was curious. Quickly Bailey walked to her kitchen counter and placed her drink down to prevent it from smudging the words in the case of a spill. Her eyes widened as she read the note.

Heya! Meet me in the forest behind the school. I have a plan to finally get us some Pokemon!
-Zeypher

"A Pokemon? One of my own?" Her words were excited yet quiet to prevent her mother from waking up. Zeypher...the name seemed familiar to her. Yet she couldn't place her finger on it...oh yes! Zeypher was someone around her age, and he happened to be her neighbor! Didn't he live, what, only two houses down or so? Bailey flexed her hands in excitement. She ran to her room, lightly and quietly, to get changed.

The note had a resting place now- pinned to a cork board with many other hand drawn pictures of Pokemon from books and pieces of famous literature. The young adult slipped on a small dress and a jean jacket paired with a thin brown belt. It was a pretty out fit, the white dress with tiny floral patterns is one of her absolute favorite cosmetic items. Though, once looking in the mirror at her pencil straight, Carmel colored hair and her blue eyes, paired with the dress, she nearly did a real facepalm rather than a mental one. This was a secret meeting- in a forest for that matter. Would she need to be able to move? How about Running? Climbing? What does this include? With a quiet grunt of frustration, a quarter hour later, and half her closet on her bed, Bailey finally decided on jeans with a thee quarter sleeved pastel blue shirt and simple brown boots. After fixing her hair into a ponytail, she slung a small white bag over her shoulder and was about to leave the house before she froze at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

She spun around to see her mother, standing there with worry, concern and suspicion written on every corner of her face. "Bailey, honey, what are you doing? It's so early! Come on, what's gotten into your head?" Her mother asked and gently wrapped her arm around Bailey's shoulder. "Umm...mom... I really want to go outside today. I haven't been out in three days because of the busy schedule you have, so please? I was going so I wouldn't mess up our schedule for the day. We don't have to do anything until at least noon." She protested, but allowed her mother's arm to stay. "Aw, that's really sweet, but you need your rest. Are you sure you won't be irritable? We have some things to do tonight and we're staying up late." Her mom had a point, but Bailey was determined. "I'll be ok." She said, ducking away from her mom's arm. "Be back by noon!" And she was out the door.

The morning air was refreshing. As Bailey walked through Home, she finally found the school. 'It's a maze in here, I need a map.' She thought as she realized how unfamiliar with her hometown she was. The forest was pretty; illuminated by the waking sun. "Hello?" Bailey called, unsure of who would be there. Maybe this was a practical joke. With uncertainty in her mind, Bailey trudge forward, warily searching around.

 

[Aura]

Cylas closed the door to the schoolhouse with a barely concealed sigh. He really didn't see the point in any of this. At first, education was useful for just being able to basically function in society, but at the level he was at now, in the final year of his schooling, the whole idea was to give the young adults some kind of idea of what to do with their lives, some kind of direction. In any normal society, that would be fine. But here? There was no future here. What could anybody really hope to accomplish, other than just basic jobs to keep Home functioning? If that was your whole ambition in life, then fine, but if you wanted to dream bigger? There was nothing for anybody here. Which just made all of these discussions they'd been having recently about what to do after graduating all the more frustrating. To make matters worse, all of the teachers seem to be rather cheerful about it, as if there was hope in this town, yet this whole situation was their fault in the first place. If they'd just fought harder and hadn't been so useless, then the town wouldn't be controlled by the most worthless scum on the planet. Then he wouldn't be stuck with no future. But then, he supposed it was all he should really expect from humans. The only silver lining of this whole lesson was that they'd ended the day pretty early for the seniors to give them time to think it over.

He pulled out the form he was supposed to fill out, about all the kind of things he wanted to do with his life after school. Arceus but this was so patronizing. The only thing he had planned to do with the form when he got home was light the stupid thing up. It would be put to so much better use getting the fire going tonight rather than actually wasting his mental processes upon the damn thing. A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched away from the human contact, turning to the source of the touch. His teacher, Mr. Bernson, seemed slightly startled at Cylas's reaction, but quickly regained his usual calm attitude.

"I noticed during our entire presentation you seemed like you were grimacing the entire time Cylas. Is there something bothering you?" He was only asking out of concern for job, Cylas was certain, not that he actually cared about the young adult in the slightest.

"Oh geez maybe the fact that you're all freaking useless and covering this content is just a complete waste of time and just rubs in how badly you adults screwed up in the past." Cylas ranted in his head for a moment. He caught himself, redirecting his thoughts, and gave his teacher an apologetic smile. "I've just got a bit of a headache going on at the moment, its put me in a bit of pain. I would have gone and done something about it, but I didn't really want to interrupt you so..."

Mr. Bernson sighed slightly. "I appreciate the sentiment, but if you're in pain you should really not be afraid to attend to that. Learning just isn't as effective in that state after all." The middle aged man paused for a moment, before lowing his voice slightly. "Also, I've finished making the ah, walking stick that Hannah requested. Could you take it home to her?" He pulled out a long thin package wrapped in plain brown paper and string. Just from the shape alone, it was evident that this wasn't your average walking stick. What exactly had Hannah gotten herself into now? Probably something that would get him in trouble if a Rocket found him with it. And his teacher wanted to avoid that by getting someone thirty years younger than him to deliver it. Coward.

"Of course I can do that, I'm sure Hannah will be impressed with your handiwork. After all, she's getting pretty old now, I'm sure she'll appreciate the extra stability." He gave his teacher another smile before waving goodbye, carrying the package out in the open. He figured that trying to hide it would only make himself look more suspicious. Walking around like there was nothing wrong might allow him to slip past unnoticed if he needed to. Luckily for Cylas, he didn't have any trouble reaching his home. Hannah's place seemed to perfect evoke its owner. The building style was dated and everything looked worn, yet was brightly coloured in different shades of blues, making it a little quirky compared to the other houses around. But most importantly, when you looked really closely, there was something slightly off about it. Things like how there were old steel fence pickets lying on the porch that seemed just a bit sharper than they needed to. Putting the odd decor out of his mind, Cylas strode inside to the kitchen, which was just as dated and gaudy as everything else, where he found the old woman humming to herself an upbeat tune as she boiled water. Knowing her, she'd probably invited a bunch of people around for tea again to gossip. The young adult dropped the "walking stick" onto the bench with a loud clatter, but Hannah didn't even flinch. Rather, her dark brown eyes lit up with mischievous delight.

"What the hell is this?" Cylas demanded, in a tone reserved for Hannah exclusively.

"My new walking stick." She smiled, and opened the package. Sitting on the bench was what appeared to be a normal walking stick, except the bottom was much thicker than the top, and the grip extended along the main shaft, as if you could hold it like a club. "You see, my old one broke a little while back, and I didn't want to have that happen again so I got dear Peter to make this new one reinforced with steel down the centre. Plus having a wider bottom helps me out with balance you know? Its perfect for an old bird like me. Please give Peter my thanks next time you see him at school dear?"

It was basically a club disguised as a walking stick. The woman was mad to go carrying that thing around. But, he begrudgingly admitted that this kind of thing was exactly why he respected her in the first place. While every other human in Home was being useless and just letting the Rocket's walk all over them, this tiny seventy year old woman had more guts than all of them combined. Although it probably helped that they'd been living together for so long as well. Despite how much he disliked most of the members of his species, the fact that Hannah had been willing to take him in during a time where the entire town had been in crisis meant he couldn't help but begrudgingly set her apart from everybody else.

"I don't want to talk to Mr. Bernson more than necessary." He grumbled. "Just do it your damn self."

"Oh dear don't be like that. After all, people who have no manners are just worse than other humans, wouldn't you agree?" As per usual, the old woman smiled as the stuck the knife in, being completely aware of what she'd just implied. She was right though. He wasn't any better than all of the other useless humans if acted the same way they did. Before he could try and snark her back, she continued on, "Speaking of manners, you remember that Zepher boy? He almost saluted me today when I spoke to him. Called me sir and everything! Overkill maybe, but I think you could learn a lesson or two from him. After all, for how much you prattle on about how little the adults in this town do to stop the Rockets, that boy seems to be planning to do more than you have to mess with them."

Cylas's head snapped to attention. Yes, he remembered Zepher, the lanky kid with no shoes, but he didn't know him well enough to suspect that he'd be wanting to cause trouble to the Rockets. What exactly was he up to? His interest prompted Hannah to elaborate further without him actually asking. "You see, he seems to be planning to get some Pokemon for him and his friends today in the forest behind the school. Exactly what he wants to do with those Pokemon I don't know, but I'd imagine that if somebody with them was motivated enough, they could get those kids to try and do something about the situation in town. Of course, that's just an old lady speculating, don't mind me."

The tall blonde man paused, silent for a moment. He didn't really know Zepher, but clearly the boy trusted Hannah. Perhaps the fact that he lived with Hannah would make him seem trustworthy enough in his eyes to think about including Cylas in his plans? He had to find out. Cylas pulled out the form Mr. Bernson had given him earlier that day, smoothing out all of the crinkles absentmindedly as he walked over to the open fireplace that was lighting a cheery glow over the inside of the house, and that Hannah had just been using to boil water. He tossed the document in, and absentmindedly watching for a moment as the meaningless paper went up in flames. "Hannah, I had a form I had to fill out at home from school, but I seem to have misplaced it. I'm going to go back to school and try and get another one, okay?"

He grabbed a different backpack to his school one, this one made of fabric, worn and covered in dirt, before heading to the door. Cylas could hear Hannah laughing to herself as he walked out the door. He knew exactly why she'd told him this information. For one, someone had to keep an eye on those kids. Plus, Hannah being Hannah, she would want to know everything that they got up to, even if they just wanted to have some Pokemon as friends for a little while. But, most importantly, she wanted him to try and sway the kids into doing something about the Rocket situation. As much as the old woman didn't admit it, it was very clear that she was just as frustrated as he was about the lack of motivation on the part of the adults in Home. Well, he was technically an adult now, so it was about time that he got out there and did something. Cylas trudged past the school, into the welcoming embrace of the forest. He felt himself relax a little being here, breathing in the air that seemed somehow purer here, free from humans greed. But his mind quickly turned to Zepher. Obviously, Hannah had learned this information earlier in the day, and he wasn't sure exactly how soon the kid had planned to meet up with his friends. Hopefully they hadn't gone too deep in yet, and he'd still be able to find them in time to get involved.