GSC!Rival (Nikolai | Silver) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
namesaquestion) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2017-08-04 02:49 pm
namesaquestion) wrote in maskormenacelogs2017-08-04 02:49 pm
Entry tags:
Open! Nikolai is not having a good week.
WHO: Nikolai + you (open); one closed prompt to D33.
WHERE: All over Heropa
WHEN: August 2nd, after he learns of Red's arrival.
WHAT: Nikolai's pretty much throwing a tantrum because that is the correct response to everything, and looking for fist fights. Come fight him? Or try and talk to him? Or do both?
WARNINGS: Mentions of parental abandonment, one fourteen year old with issues all over the place, fist fights. Will be updated as needed.
[He barely resisted the urge to throw the communicator down the alley he'd ducked into, choosing instead to stuff it into a pocket, with extreme prejudice.
Red was here. Red, but older? Hmph, who cared. A brat was a brat, and it was the same brat who'd ruined his life. Who'd turned his father into a coward. If it wasn't for Red, the man he would never have up and left like he did. Nikolai was sure of it, and to hear the brat claimed to be sorry? No, never. He wasn't, and Nikolai was far, far too emotionally charged, too wrapped up in his own bitterness, and far too angry to even consider that it might have been the truth.
But he didn't want to think of it, didn't want to think of the memories the brief chat had dredged up. They were stupid memories anyway, and a shake of his head and a wipe of his eyes didn't help. Neither did throwing the metal barb he'd made during the 'talk' with Red at the wall. It only clattered to the ground uselessly, as if it dared to mock him. Useless like his pokemon, and there were no trainers here that were worth the effort of battling. Just wimps and weaklings and bleeding hearts, and he needed a distraction. Anything to take his mind off things he didn't want to think about. Thinking about them only pissed him off.
A walk, maybe. But a fistfight sounded a lot better, and it'd blow off some steam. He hadn't had a good rough-and-tumble in a while. Maybe he could start something. That sounded like fun.
Unfortunately, this means that anyone who seems even remotely in his way is going to be literally shoved out of the way as he walks aimlessly around Heropa.]
What are you, stupid? Move already, before I really make you!
CLOSED TO D33
[By the time he comes home, he'd been in at least one fight, and was still fuming over Red as he entered the house, slamming the door behind him, uncaring if it echoed the house. If his housemates were smart, they'd stay the hell out of his way.
He needed a sink. His knuckles were bloody and he probably didn't look that crash hot but whatever; the first sink he could think of was in kitchen.] Hey, wimp. Move.
[He needs the sink, and he isn't above literally shoving you out of the way to get to it. Which he'll be doing anyway.]
WHERE: All over Heropa
WHEN: August 2nd, after he learns of Red's arrival.
WHAT: Nikolai's pretty much throwing a tantrum because that is the correct response to everything, and looking for fist fights. Come fight him? Or try and talk to him? Or do both?
WARNINGS: Mentions of parental abandonment, one fourteen year old with issues all over the place, fist fights. Will be updated as needed.
[He barely resisted the urge to throw the communicator down the alley he'd ducked into, choosing instead to stuff it into a pocket, with extreme prejudice.
Red was here. Red, but older? Hmph, who cared. A brat was a brat, and it was the same brat who'd ruined his life. Who'd turned his father into a coward. If it wasn't for Red, the man he would never have up and left like he did. Nikolai was sure of it, and to hear the brat claimed to be sorry? No, never. He wasn't, and Nikolai was far, far too emotionally charged, too wrapped up in his own bitterness, and far too angry to even consider that it might have been the truth.
But he didn't want to think of it, didn't want to think of the memories the brief chat had dredged up. They were stupid memories anyway, and a shake of his head and a wipe of his eyes didn't help. Neither did throwing the metal barb he'd made during the 'talk' with Red at the wall. It only clattered to the ground uselessly, as if it dared to mock him. Useless like his pokemon, and there were no trainers here that were worth the effort of battling. Just wimps and weaklings and bleeding hearts, and he needed a distraction. Anything to take his mind off things he didn't want to think about. Thinking about them only pissed him off.
A walk, maybe. But a fistfight sounded a lot better, and it'd blow off some steam. He hadn't had a good rough-and-tumble in a while. Maybe he could start something. That sounded like fun.
Unfortunately, this means that anyone who seems even remotely in his way is going to be literally shoved out of the way as he walks aimlessly around Heropa.]
What are you, stupid? Move already, before I really make you!
CLOSED TO D33
[By the time he comes home, he'd been in at least one fight, and was still fuming over Red as he entered the house, slamming the door behind him, uncaring if it echoed the house. If his housemates were smart, they'd stay the hell out of his way.
He needed a sink. His knuckles were bloody and he probably didn't look that crash hot but whatever; the first sink he could think of was in kitchen.] Hey, wimp. Move.
[He needs the sink, and he isn't above literally shoving you out of the way to get to it. Which he'll be doing anyway.]