— Georg looked around at the assembled 'mons, noting each kind and their state of preparedness. Beneath the sallet helm, his nose wrinkled at the sight of so many children present. While they could be useful later, for now he and the other more adult members of the group would no doubt be tasked with protecting them. His eyes were drawn back to the stage, where a Chatot was repeating the old mudfish's instructions word for word. All in all, it simply added detail to what his Alpha told him. The Pawniard did
find the idea of just knocking sense into the afflicted Pokemon a bit puzzling, but saw no wrong in it otherwise. More monpower could only help.
While he listened, he began to notice the feeling of eyes boring into him from a distance. The pawn looked around the group again, trying to find the source. Then he looked down. An Aron. Sturdy, but too small to back that up with strength. The boy was glaring at him coldly, which puzzled Georg even more. Did his mother teach him to dislike the Packs? In return for the glare, Georg aimed his own stoic, hawk-eyed gaze.
— Melia yawned, silently drifting around the amphitheatre about an inch above the ground. The prospect of battling didn't exactly thrill her, not just for disliking fights in general, but for the idea that whatever these corrupted 'mons were, only a few of them were liable to be Normals. She'd been banged up plenty back during her "retirement", thank you very much. Still, there were lots of kids around, and it wouldn't do to let them get hurt. Talking of which...
On the off chance, she spied the unmistakable form of a Scyther, blades reasonably tucked away. The puzzling thing was she couldn't tell if it was male or female. The ghostly one drifted over, hands on her hips, with a scrutinising look.—
"Now, tincan over there's here on orders. What're you supposed to be here for? Just drifting?
edited 12th Mar '12 4:01:20 PM by Colonial1.1