[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]Stark Mountain (Main Chamber) | ???
Maxwell gave a sigh of relief as the Aggron came to his rescue, but that was soon cut short as they revealed to him that they needed to kill
someone to get out of here. That...he wasn't sure if he could do something like that. Call him naive, but Maxwell feels sick at the thought of having to actually kill something, all because they couldn't just get away from it. "I, uh...I'm sure we'll all be fine,"
he responds; the words sound lame and fake, but then, he hadn't put his heart into them. Did they really need to kill somebody to escape...? By the way, lad,"
Smith says to him, and Maxwell immediately focuses on the Aggron; he wasn't dumb enough to just ignore a giant, spiky rock Pokemon. "How are you in battle? How's yer style?"
Oooo? Smith actually believes he can help?
Maxwell is shocked for a second-he wasn't a fighter, and everyone he's ever known has pointed out how small and weak he is. Though his mind protests at the idea of being a part of the fight, some part of him cannot help but feel overjoyed that he is being included. "Well, you see..."
he begins, but trails off as the pink Pokemon begins to speak to him. Maxwell's heart flutters a bit-he seems nice enough, but his friend, Frank...definitely not. "S-Sorry about Frank. He's really not so bad once you get to know him; he's just grumpy because it's hot in here and he wants to fight."
Grumpy? The guy was a complete dick! Maxwell doesn't actually say that out loud, but still
-wait. Why was the pink one holding out his paw towards him? Staring in confusion, Maxwell doesn't respond as the other Pokemon hastily begins to smooth his fur, as if trying to cover up the awkward moment. "Um, y-yeah, sure,"
Maxwell stammers. Sweet mother of Ho-Oh, what was that?!
Luckily, or perhaps not, Jude and Smith provide a distraction from that humiliating fiasco, though it's not something Maxwell ever asked for. "U-Um, Smith?""What is it, lad?""Down there..."
Against every instinct screaming at him, Maxwell timidly peeks over the edge, only to rest his eyes upon three rotten undead Pokemon ripping apart and devouring an unknown Pokemon that had fallen victim to their relentless claws and bloodied fangs. Barely choking back a terrified squeak, Maxwell leaps back from the edge, no doubt making himself look like a complete bumbling idiot. His dark eyes were wide with fear; in his mind's eye, that unknown fallen Pokemon was him
, and his feathers and shredded organs littered the blood-soaked ground...Stop. STOP.
His own mind was a scary place, sometimes, and right now he does not need to be paralysed by fear because of undead that couldn't even see
him."Listen Maxie-boy, just stay close to Marco here."
What? The muscular Gothitelle was talking to him while only being mildly patronising, and was being affectionate to Marco...Maxwell's head hurts trying to comprehend any of this. "He'll see you right."
Okay, okay then...Maxwell would've preferred to stay close to Smith and Jude, seeing as they were far more friendly, but he really doesn't want to piss off the short-tempered psychic. He's only a small bird, after all, not even a Talonflame yet. Maybe Marco would prove to be good company, despite that awkward moment from before. Even now he looks sheepish, which was actually kind of adorable."Maxwell!" Huh?
He catches sight of the Bulbasaur trying to signal him with one of their vines-not an orthodox way of getting people's attention, but Maxwell does not care. He half-flies, half-hops over to the Grass-type, wondering what in the world they want from him; the Bulbasaur is suddenly spooked, rushing forward to meet him at the waypoint, which was just weird. Understandable, considering they were in a scorching volcano with likely endless amounts of mindless, feral cannibal Pokemon, but still weird. Maxwell can tell that this Pokemon was a bit shy, which just left even more questions over why they wanted to speak with him. "Don't trust the Gothitelle,"
the Bulbasaur whispers, and Maxwell doesn't know what to say. Yes, Frank was a major douchebag, but was he even worse than that? Had something happened before Maxwell had arrived? "He's dangerous."
Yes, but why?
Maxwell feels his feathers itch with revived curiosity and slight dread-there was no way in hell he wants to be around living Pokemon he can't trust."I, ahh, my name is Vincent."
As the guy drops eye contact, Maxwell feels a pang of sympathy. "That's a sweet name,"
he responds in a poor attempt to lighten the mood and maybe help the Bulbasaur feel a little more at ease. With everything that was happening, it wasn't a shock that he was acting very jumpy; hell, Maxwell's heart was likely to go out any second now.
The sounds of rocks striking against the ground, loud as the hooves of a rampaging Tauros, strangles any other words Maxwell tries to get out. Oh, no, no...this was not good, what if the undead down there were drawn to them?!
He spots Jude scrambling to cling to Smith again, and it dawns on him-if they were attacked, it would be his fault. There's no way he did that intentionally...he's not a bad guy, calm down...
Despite the more logical side of his brain attempts to take over his thoughts, Maxwell is ready to start screaming at the Dark-type, and the consequences be damned. It is fortunate that rationality won, else he would have surely caught the total attention of the predators below them."Don't move,"
Smith commands, his voice barely more than a whisper, and everyone stays as still as the wooden statues that had always been outside of the Fortree Gym. Not a single word comes from anyone in the group, as if the very oxygen in the air has vanished and they were slowly, unknowingly suffocating in the smothering heat. Maxwell can only hope that their lack of movement would be enough to deter the undead Pokemon from continuing to eat, but that hope is dashed when a shrill, earsplitting screech rips the silence apart. In a moment of pure startled instinct, Maxwell takes to the air, giving him a better view of what was attacking: a Crobat, its eyes as red as fresh blood welling up from stinging cut. The creature was a sickly purple, somehow unnatural even though Crobat were that colour when they were alive.
Maxwell gives a strangled squeak as Smith slams an armored fist into the Crobat's face, sending into flying into the darkness of the volcano. What was he supposed to do-the undead below were not climbing up, ready to kill them all if they could, what if they caught him-"Quickly! This way!" ”Get the hell over here, everyone!”
Smith and Sahara's voices distract him just enough to let one logical thought break through-Get to them.
With a single deep breath, Maxwell hastily flies over to where the others were gathering, an air of desperation hanging around every flap of his wings. He was absolutely useless in battle; hopefully they had some sort of plan, some way of fighting off all those undead. Smith was certainly strong, and Sahara surely was too, but would it be enough? "S- Smith! They're gone! Frank-- and Marco!" What?
B-but-that meant they'd lost another fighter. There was no way they'd just vanished into thin air. Had they just...ditched
the group?We are so fucked.