Nova Prime
Queen of Procrastination
~
There was a small squeak as paws skidded around a tight corner, bolted at full tilt down a darkened alley. The single working street light in the street beyond spluttered feebly. Blake’s heart thumped feverishly in his chest, unable to shake the horrible feeling like something was right at his tail. Skittering to a clumsy halt, the bedraggled lump of fur looked over his shoulder, red and white eyes flashing to scan his surroundings, before hanging his head and exhaling. He was alone.
Shadowfoot Headquarters, like all the main hubs of the creatures here, was well-hidden, accessible only to those that were worthy. Blake had not turned down this alley without a purpose; within this labyrinth of streets in the older, unused part of the City was the closest thing to a home he had ever known. Glancing over at what appeared to be a solid brick wall, Blake closed his eyes and walked not into it, but through it, so seamlessly he could have been one of the Ghost Types himself. It was an incredible thing; to anyone not possessing the correct DNA, it was as solid as any other wall, impenetrable, a safety precaution against their deceptive enemy. He felt the veil of coldness pass over him like an examining light, deeming him worthy of the Shadowstep, and then he was thrust into a small, cold room, walled in blue stone. Small inclines either side of him led to two giant pipes, their link to the underground. Water trickled from them and into small channels in the floor, headed to places unknown, and small clumps of green were dotted here and there, thriving in the damp. Dead ahead, an unfinished tunnel that smelt strongly of wet earth twisted and turned into darkness. Blake took a deep breath and darted forward, swallowed up by the shadows instantaneously.
~
“You saw WHO?!”
The word was spat from a bitter tongue, and Blake had to skip backwards slightly as the massive scaled tail of his superior swung around. He kept his eyes firmly on the stone floor.
“Again, Matron, I must reiterate; contact was momentary. I may well be mistaken. But…yes. I believe it was her.”
There was a stiff silence in the large room, and Blake felt intimidating eyes upon him. He could only imagine what was going through Nana’s mind. He heard a growl and the eyes stopped pressing. He chanced a quick glance up. The Tyranitar matriarch was staring off at something; what it was, he couldn’t see beyond the blackness that was the right side of his world, but he could wager a good guess. He bit his tongue to suppress his thoughts and looked back down.
“…Thank you, Sullivan. You work is, as always, much appreciated. Well done.”
Her words were melodious, and Blake couldn’t help the half-smile that crept onto his face. Everything was worth it to hear that.
“…Not at all, Matron. It is a honour.” He paused, the words he wanted to say lingering on his tongue. “…If…I may speak freely for one moment?” Nana said nothing. He shifted a paw, raked a claw across the grit in between two stones uncomfortably. There was a noise, like quiet laughter.
“Sullivan, you are always so formal. It’s alright. Of course you may speak.” Blake’s head shot up, opposing eyes both wide in an urgent look.
“Matron, I understand that the Syndicate’s Dutchess has caused you remorse. Please, if you wish to act, I would be only too willing to provide assis-”
“That is enough.” Nana’s tone was strong and final. An unreadable expression crossed her face, but she did not seem angry with him. “I understand. I will discuss this development with Grimsley and then you, along with the others, shall know of any further movements. Thank you.”
For one moment Blake felt how painfully pathetic he looked compared to his Matron; so scrappy and malnourished. He blinked, hard, and collected himself. Slowly, he inclined his head again.
“Yes, Matron. Thank you.”
~
Amongst the many rooms in the maze of tunnels and passageways that was Headquarters, aside from his own quarters, Blake found the communal comforts of The Den to be the place he could most be himself. It was easily one of, if not the biggest room in the entire place and it was never empty. Over the years, various human oddities and items had been taken down to this room, resulting in a mish-mash of places to rest, talk, and play. Human bedding and other comfortable items were scattered around, some had piled mattresses in veritable towers in the corners of the room. On rare occasions, some forms of electronics would be brought down, anything that could operate remotely. Blake had found listening to human music to be quite soothing. Perhaps going there would quell the tempest burning in his brain.
He entered quietly, tail hung a little lower than he would normally allow, mind deep in thought. Nana’s outburst made him question if she would act rationally, considering her situation. He felt a sudden wave of something akin to a powerful sneeze hit him hard and he stopped, shook his head, and looked up just in time to see a Kadabra pass by, hands placed together in meditation. Although Psychic powers had no effect on his own type, that didn’t stop the entire complex to be riddled with residual psy-energy, something he had been forced to get accustomed to. It wasn’t that he disliked them, he was just irritable, and their constant presence in his psyche got to him even on the best of days.
Spying a large, unclaimed mattress against the far wall, covered with a few thin blankets, he slunk across the room, making a beeline for it. The yips of young kits as they play-wrestled whilst their adoring parents watched on, or the dim buzz of chatter from others in the room seemed oddly distant today, and he didn’t even notice the nearby presence of the other members of his Squad present. He simply trotted the rest of the way to his small piece of solace and collapsed, paws hanging limply over the edge. The relief on his tired bones hit him all at once and he smiled slightly, stretching a rear paw.
I suppose for now, I can just sleep. No point in worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet.
There was a small squeak as paws skidded around a tight corner, bolted at full tilt down a darkened alley. The single working street light in the street beyond spluttered feebly. Blake’s heart thumped feverishly in his chest, unable to shake the horrible feeling like something was right at his tail. Skittering to a clumsy halt, the bedraggled lump of fur looked over his shoulder, red and white eyes flashing to scan his surroundings, before hanging his head and exhaling. He was alone.
Shadowfoot Headquarters, like all the main hubs of the creatures here, was well-hidden, accessible only to those that were worthy. Blake had not turned down this alley without a purpose; within this labyrinth of streets in the older, unused part of the City was the closest thing to a home he had ever known. Glancing over at what appeared to be a solid brick wall, Blake closed his eyes and walked not into it, but through it, so seamlessly he could have been one of the Ghost Types himself. It was an incredible thing; to anyone not possessing the correct DNA, it was as solid as any other wall, impenetrable, a safety precaution against their deceptive enemy. He felt the veil of coldness pass over him like an examining light, deeming him worthy of the Shadowstep, and then he was thrust into a small, cold room, walled in blue stone. Small inclines either side of him led to two giant pipes, their link to the underground. Water trickled from them and into small channels in the floor, headed to places unknown, and small clumps of green were dotted here and there, thriving in the damp. Dead ahead, an unfinished tunnel that smelt strongly of wet earth twisted and turned into darkness. Blake took a deep breath and darted forward, swallowed up by the shadows instantaneously.
~
“You saw WHO?!”
The word was spat from a bitter tongue, and Blake had to skip backwards slightly as the massive scaled tail of his superior swung around. He kept his eyes firmly on the stone floor.
“Again, Matron, I must reiterate; contact was momentary. I may well be mistaken. But…yes. I believe it was her.”
There was a stiff silence in the large room, and Blake felt intimidating eyes upon him. He could only imagine what was going through Nana’s mind. He heard a growl and the eyes stopped pressing. He chanced a quick glance up. The Tyranitar matriarch was staring off at something; what it was, he couldn’t see beyond the blackness that was the right side of his world, but he could wager a good guess. He bit his tongue to suppress his thoughts and looked back down.
“…Thank you, Sullivan. You work is, as always, much appreciated. Well done.”
Her words were melodious, and Blake couldn’t help the half-smile that crept onto his face. Everything was worth it to hear that.
“…Not at all, Matron. It is a honour.” He paused, the words he wanted to say lingering on his tongue. “…If…I may speak freely for one moment?” Nana said nothing. He shifted a paw, raked a claw across the grit in between two stones uncomfortably. There was a noise, like quiet laughter.
“Sullivan, you are always so formal. It’s alright. Of course you may speak.” Blake’s head shot up, opposing eyes both wide in an urgent look.
“Matron, I understand that the Syndicate’s Dutchess has caused you remorse. Please, if you wish to act, I would be only too willing to provide assis-”
“That is enough.” Nana’s tone was strong and final. An unreadable expression crossed her face, but she did not seem angry with him. “I understand. I will discuss this development with Grimsley and then you, along with the others, shall know of any further movements. Thank you.”
For one moment Blake felt how painfully pathetic he looked compared to his Matron; so scrappy and malnourished. He blinked, hard, and collected himself. Slowly, he inclined his head again.
“Yes, Matron. Thank you.”
~
Amongst the many rooms in the maze of tunnels and passageways that was Headquarters, aside from his own quarters, Blake found the communal comforts of The Den to be the place he could most be himself. It was easily one of, if not the biggest room in the entire place and it was never empty. Over the years, various human oddities and items had been taken down to this room, resulting in a mish-mash of places to rest, talk, and play. Human bedding and other comfortable items were scattered around, some had piled mattresses in veritable towers in the corners of the room. On rare occasions, some forms of electronics would be brought down, anything that could operate remotely. Blake had found listening to human music to be quite soothing. Perhaps going there would quell the tempest burning in his brain.
He entered quietly, tail hung a little lower than he would normally allow, mind deep in thought. Nana’s outburst made him question if she would act rationally, considering her situation. He felt a sudden wave of something akin to a powerful sneeze hit him hard and he stopped, shook his head, and looked up just in time to see a Kadabra pass by, hands placed together in meditation. Although Psychic powers had no effect on his own type, that didn’t stop the entire complex to be riddled with residual psy-energy, something he had been forced to get accustomed to. It wasn’t that he disliked them, he was just irritable, and their constant presence in his psyche got to him even on the best of days.
Spying a large, unclaimed mattress against the far wall, covered with a few thin blankets, he slunk across the room, making a beeline for it. The yips of young kits as they play-wrestled whilst their adoring parents watched on, or the dim buzz of chatter from others in the room seemed oddly distant today, and he didn’t even notice the nearby presence of the other members of his Squad present. He simply trotted the rest of the way to his small piece of solace and collapsed, paws hanging limply over the edge. The relief on his tired bones hit him all at once and he smiled slightly, stretching a rear paw.
I suppose for now, I can just sleep. No point in worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet.
