Hank Anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sociallychallenged) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
victory_road2018-11-17 07:33 pm
sociallychallenged) wrote in victory_road2018-11-17 07:33 pm
003 - Log
Who: Hank Anderson | OTA
Where: Goldenrod
When: During November
Summary: A few log openings
Rating: L for language
Nov 12th - OTA
[It's shaping up to be a cold, rainy week. Honestly, it feels a little like home, and it gives him something to do because fuck knows he hates sitting around all the fuckin' time with his thumb up his ass. And this place is pretty good for giving him absolutely nothing. He's been working as a janitor in every town they've stayed at, and his most exciting event of the week is when he has to scrape gum from the bottom of a table. Honestly he didn't quite feel so fucking old until the millionth time he had to dislodge a cemented hard candy from a surface, muttering, 'damned kids'. A sentiment he never thought he'd feel (even if it's just passing petty annoyance with the average heathen children of perfect land, and he still very much misses being a father).]
[On a day off like this he can take his dogs and go out and investigate the area around the town. He can check the 'missing' posters at the Pokecenter or ads in the paper. He can make a list of "missing eevee, pink bow around neck" or "cranky joltik, answers to frank, plz contact if seen" and contact their owners to find something that'll smell like their lost charges. Then he can use his three main team members to go looking for the missing pokemon.]
[Today's been a good day. He's not bothered with an umbrella himself, because he's not a fucking wicked witch and he's not going to melt, but he is carrying a basket with someone's lost, wet Jigglypuff in it, dripping from having been wandering freely, lost from its owner, with a poncho over it and looking about as cranky as a wet ball of pink fluff can.]
[Hank carries it into the Pokecenter to drop it off, intending to go get some fucking booze after this because he is going to need it. His pants are spattered in that unique sort of City Mud that's going to be a pain in the ass to wash out, and he puts the basket up onto the nearest counter and turns it over to the nearest deja-vu-faced cute girl along with the owner's info.]
Watch out. He's in a mood. [Hank warns her before heading out. Right. Booze, and pick up a newspaper to look for more missing ads. Rather than make them endure the rain longer than necessary, his usual crew of dogs are all in their balls. Sure, he'll protect his buddies from the water, but not himself (other than his leather overcoat and some thick clothes) despite it being cold. He'll just go about his errands looking like a wet Stoutland, thanks.]
Nov 23rd - Closed to Connor
There is some bullshit going on.
[Hank's voice is booming loudly as he tears his way back to his and Connor's shared hotel room. There's been some fucked up stuff already. People just... fucking appearing in the street. Pokemon that don't belong here chasing around ones that do. People going missing. The Jennies are taxed and Hank's done what he can to help for a man that has no fucking clue what anything is and where.]
[He has seen one of the giant legendary fucking huge bird things today, and that's something he didn't want in his life.]
Have you seen any of this, Connor?
[He goes to the window to peek out the blinds.]
I thought my fucking shadow fucking off without my permission was weird enough. Now we've got whatever this is.
Where: Goldenrod
When: During November
Summary: A few log openings
Rating: L for language
[On a day off like this he can take his dogs and go out and investigate the area around the town. He can check the 'missing' posters at the Pokecenter or ads in the paper. He can make a list of "missing eevee, pink bow around neck" or "cranky joltik, answers to frank, plz contact if seen" and contact their owners to find something that'll smell like their lost charges. Then he can use his three main team members to go looking for the missing pokemon.]
[Today's been a good day. He's not bothered with an umbrella himself, because he's not a fucking wicked witch and he's not going to melt, but he is carrying a basket with someone's lost, wet Jigglypuff in it, dripping from having been wandering freely, lost from its owner, with a poncho over it and looking about as cranky as a wet ball of pink fluff can.]
[Hank carries it into the Pokecenter to drop it off, intending to go get some fucking booze after this because he is going to need it. His pants are spattered in that unique sort of City Mud that's going to be a pain in the ass to wash out, and he puts the basket up onto the nearest counter and turns it over to the nearest deja-vu-faced cute girl along with the owner's info.]
Watch out. He's in a mood. [Hank warns her before heading out. Right. Booze, and pick up a newspaper to look for more missing ads. Rather than make them endure the rain longer than necessary, his usual crew of dogs are all in their balls. Sure, he'll protect his buddies from the water, but not himself (other than his leather overcoat and some thick clothes) despite it being cold. He'll just go about his errands looking like a wet Stoutland, thanks.]
[Hank's voice is booming loudly as he tears his way back to his and Connor's shared hotel room. There's been some fucked up stuff already. People just... fucking appearing in the street. Pokemon that don't belong here chasing around ones that do. People going missing. The Jennies are taxed and Hank's done what he can to help for a man that has no fucking clue what anything is and where.]
[He has seen one of the giant legendary fucking huge bird things today, and that's something he didn't want in his life.]
Have you seen any of this, Connor?
[He goes to the window to peek out the blinds.]
I thought my fucking shadow fucking off without my permission was weird enough. Now we've got whatever this is.
no subject
Well, even if it's problematic, it'd be a new experience for me. I'll make it happen.
And yeah, I guess I technically got mine on me right now. I was keeping them out of the rain but- [Shit, bartenders don't seem to mind people having their pokemon out. There's someone's Mr. Mime (what the hell are those even) sitting by his sunken-eyed tired looking sea-captain-like trainer at a table, which is its own ill-fit sight as judged by the gruff man with a flower in his pocket. So he pulls out Luann's ball (she's not nearly as massive as Tubbs is at the moment) so she can just hang out.]
[After a moment of disoriented looking around, new surroundings and all, and two unfamiliar dogs, the lanky midday Lycanroc just lays down by her owner with her head making a sandstone sound when it rests on her prim front paws.]
That's one of them. Hunter and Tubbs are usually with me too. Houndoom and Arcanine. [He's kept them in his party since he first got them.]