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[ACTION FOR NEW BARK, MORNING]
[It seems that there is a Wheezing loose in town somewhere if one is to judge by the sound of labored breathing, coughing, and of course, wheezing. If you were to follow it, however, you'd find a very worn out young man instead of a poison-type Pokemon.]
[Maurice has been alive and human for a full two hours now and still hasn't quite caught onto this whole breathing thing. The pale man feels stupid for having been so spoiled by his brief undead condition. He can be found sitting on the ground and leaning against buildings or benches (never quite making it ONTO said benches) with a hand planted against his heart as he makes his way around town and attempts to explore.]
[His beating heart. This is like a wonderful dream and a terrible nightmare all rolled into one. His backpack lay half strewn before him as he tries to puzzle out the things he's been given along with the spiel Mom gave him. Some food. Some clothes. Ugh, a book. TIME TO TOSS THAT OUT! He sends it fluttering over his shoulder. Some weird...spray bottle thingies...probably breath spray. He's not entirely convinced he's not actually having a dying dream behind that Wendy's dumpster he remembers passing out behind.]
This is crazy. This is all crazy. But. I don't even--[A choking cough.] know if I wanna wake up from all this...
[VIDEO, NOON-ISH]
[Starter Pokemon? DISCOVERED. Bento box? DEMOLISHED. Now it is time for...TECHNOLOGY. Maurice has never used a 'phone' like this before and the feed is filled with his scrunched up, thoughtful face as he fumbles with the buttons. The man is pale--sickly pale with bags under his eyes that would absolutely not fit in any airline overhead compartment. His hair is faded and plastered to his forehead under the hat he's found in his backpack. Probably the most notable thing about him is the mouthful of steak knives that serve for his teeth--and the doofy little gap right in the middle.]
God...God. Come on. Where is the--Ugh! I can't do this. I don't know how to do any of this. Maybe I shouldn't have thrown away that book...
[Suddenly a huge grey snout with a wicked horn on the very tip plants itself against his cheek and lets out a concerned rumble. The grouchy fellow's frown melts instantly. Sure Maurice is a little feverish, lost, and afraid, but at least he has a RHINO DINO to keep him company holy shit he loves this thing. Maurice turns, angling the gear so that only half of the duo is visible. He pats the Rhyhorn's rocky forehead.]
Ahaw, Meatloaf, it's okay, dude. I don't need this dumb thing anyway. I got you!
[It seems that there is a Wheezing loose in town somewhere if one is to judge by the sound of labored breathing, coughing, and of course, wheezing. If you were to follow it, however, you'd find a very worn out young man instead of a poison-type Pokemon.]
[Maurice has been alive and human for a full two hours now and still hasn't quite caught onto this whole breathing thing. The pale man feels stupid for having been so spoiled by his brief undead condition. He can be found sitting on the ground and leaning against buildings or benches (never quite making it ONTO said benches) with a hand planted against his heart as he makes his way around town and attempts to explore.]
[His beating heart. This is like a wonderful dream and a terrible nightmare all rolled into one. His backpack lay half strewn before him as he tries to puzzle out the things he's been given along with the spiel Mom gave him. Some food. Some clothes. Ugh, a book. TIME TO TOSS THAT OUT! He sends it fluttering over his shoulder. Some weird...spray bottle thingies...probably breath spray. He's not entirely convinced he's not actually having a dying dream behind that Wendy's dumpster he remembers passing out behind.]
This is crazy. This is all crazy. But. I don't even--[A choking cough.] know if I wanna wake up from all this...
[VIDEO, NOON-ISH]
[Starter Pokemon? DISCOVERED. Bento box? DEMOLISHED. Now it is time for...TECHNOLOGY. Maurice has never used a 'phone' like this before and the feed is filled with his scrunched up, thoughtful face as he fumbles with the buttons. The man is pale--sickly pale with bags under his eyes that would absolutely not fit in any airline overhead compartment. His hair is faded and plastered to his forehead under the hat he's found in his backpack. Probably the most notable thing about him is the mouthful of steak knives that serve for his teeth--and the doofy little gap right in the middle.]
God...God. Come on. Where is the--Ugh! I can't do this. I don't know how to do any of this. Maybe I shouldn't have thrown away that book...
[Suddenly a huge grey snout with a wicked horn on the very tip plants itself against his cheek and lets out a concerned rumble. The grouchy fellow's frown melts instantly. Sure Maurice is a little feverish, lost, and afraid, but at least he has a RHINO DINO to keep him company holy shit he loves this thing. Maurice turns, angling the gear so that only half of the duo is visible. He pats the Rhyhorn's rocky forehead.]
Ahaw, Meatloaf, it's okay, dude. I don't need this dumb thing anyway. I got you!