[ she takes a step into the sand. Even in her heels, she is the picture of perfection-- the picture of someone who has tried to take perfection to a level that it cannot go. The sand shifts beneath her, but it doesn't even get a passing glance. Each step is slow, calculated. Confident.
It isn't until she is standing closer to Guzma, walking toward the shore, that she begins to speak again. She won't look at him. His nonchalance creeps beneath her pale skin. What could be more important? She smiles to herself, hearing the logic of others, past. Wicke, bless her softhearted mind, would say something about Gladion. About Lillie.
But it's too late for them. Too late for them to be her perfect children-- they had their chance and then they wasted it-- threw it into the ocean, along with her love, her guidance. ]
Yes. [ the word is casual. Clefable stands close to her, holding her hand and looking back at Guzma. The pokemon could never get a read on this one, but...Mother seemed to like him. It doesn't change the soft gaze she has-- the one that relies so strongly on the Aether President. The waves come crashing in, and slide along the wet shore until they are inches from her shoes...and then it recedes back into the mass of water. ]
You don't believe me? [ her head turns just enough to where Guzma can see one eye-- emerald and sharp, and wide. Insulted. Her voice remains the perfect calm. Her hand doesn't seem to grip any harder around Clefable's hand. ]
Re: a symphony of screams
It isn't until she is standing closer to Guzma, walking toward the shore, that she begins to speak again. She won't look at him. His nonchalance creeps beneath her pale skin. What could be more important? She smiles to herself, hearing the logic of others, past. Wicke, bless her softhearted mind, would say something about Gladion. About Lillie.
But it's too late for them. Too late for them to be her perfect children-- they had their chance and then they wasted it-- threw it into the ocean, along with her love, her guidance. ]
Yes. [ the word is casual. Clefable stands close to her, holding her hand and looking back at Guzma. The pokemon could never get a read on this one, but...Mother seemed to like him. It doesn't change the soft gaze she has-- the one that relies so strongly on the Aether President. The waves come crashing in, and slide along the wet shore until they are inches from her shoes...and then it recedes back into the mass of water. ]
You don't believe me? [ her head turns just enough to where Guzma can see one eye-- emerald and sharp, and wide. Insulted. Her voice remains the perfect calm. Her hand doesn't seem to grip any harder around Clefable's hand. ]