Not So Royal <closed>

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How long had it been since he set off? A few days? A month? How far had he traveled? If Cyrus had been asked to use one word to describe his situation, it would have been among his least favorite: helpless. He didn't know what to do, or even where he was going, especially with this damnable fog covering everything. Creatures moved all around him. The wind howled and tree limbs reached for him like gnarled claws. The prince, turned beggar, had just dragged his feet blindly, stumbling over rocks and roots until he was too tired to keep up.  He hardly looked like royalty at all. His family seal had been taken along with everything else he owned, no doubt coined off by those bloody bandits. All he had to his name now was a rucksack with some bread he'd saved from the fire, which he chewed at absentmindedly with his back propped against an old tree. Everything would be okay once he got his strength back ... There had to be a city somewhere around here, right? For now though, he closed his eyes, drifting into a light sleep despite himself.

He was oppositional, ornery, and stubborn. These three components were enough to not only make him a pain in the neck to work with - especially when he believed he was right - but also made it difficult for him to take orders he thought were useless.

Ain't no one tell Ares what to do. Ain't no one.

He folded his arms and gave a defiant look, "Nu-uh, Cyrus. My berry, my rules. I've been through worse!" There was a matter of fact look that matched his companion's tone, one that seemed to exemplify how bothered he was by the fact that such a helpful suggestion would prove to come from someone else. Perhaps if it had been of his own free will, he might have ingested that delicate, blue fruit without a second thought. As it stood right now, he felt like he was being hassled.

Of course, as soon as the Snivy started hustling, Ares wouldn't be dawdling at his heels. He was promptly at the Grass-type's side, and arbitrarily pointed in a rather random direction, "Town's that way!"

Ares' continued stubbornness earned him an annoyed snort. There was something to be said about the intense irritation Cyrus felt when he was disobeyed, especially when he was trying to be helpful. Now it was his turn to be offended.

"Well, fine!" he spat, arms crossed, "Don't blame me when you don't have the strength to fend off the other bird."

Wheeling on his heels, he marched until the thinning trees gave way to a small clearing. Wind howled along the tall grass, rustling the leaves of a lone, crooked tree. It looked like something out of a movie -- an ominous moment of stillness before the wayward party was ambushed by some horrible monster. It sent a chill up the Snivy's spine. He'd wait for his companion before he stepped into the clearing, shivering from a mix of cold and anticipation. If they were caught out here, then the Pidgeotto would have full areal advantage. It was a good thing they found that Orb.

While certainly there was an underlying concern for the return of the other Pidgeotto, Ares would find it in bad taste to openly admit his concerns. Quite frankly, he had almost forgotten that there had been another: he had been so certain that it would be satisfied with eating that Cherubi. He snorted, "Please. I could take another opponent on with one arm behind my back! No, I'll make it even easier for 'em: I'll close my eyes and rub my head and pat my tummy at the same time as I beat 'em up!"

All while explaining his prowess, he would demonstrate his abilities. At one point during his explanation, his actions would become so complicated that his limbs would twist into one gnarled pretzel. He would stumble and trip over his own clumsy oafness, falling face first into the moist soil with a soft "oof!" Ares was quick to attempt to shurg this off by hoisting himself to his feet and brushing off the loose dirt, but his ego would never recover.

Cyrus wasn't impressed by his companion's boast. He crossed his arms and waited impatiently for the Charmander to finish, muttering words unfitting of a prince.  They had a goal, and the Snivy was keen to see it done, but at this rate all they were doing was attracting attention  -- attention that could very well get them both killed. The two were at an impasse; Ares, too stubborn to heal himself, and Cyrus too stubborn to let his command go ignored. He wasn't sure whether he should be thankful that he wasn't left to wander the fogs alone, or incensed that his only company in these dark times was this boorish idiot. He pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled slowly.

Ten... Nine... Eight...

By this point Ares had started... dancing?

Seven... Six...

Aaaand he was on the ground. Cyrus threw his arms in the air with a frustrated groan. Counting backwards from ten had never worked before, anyways. "Listen to me! I am the Prince of Redthorn Forest and you will listen to me!" He was done being overlooked because of birthright, he was done never having any power, playing the second man, watching others get all the glory when he was the only one who got anything done. Cue another round of awkward silence while he held his breath, glaring daggers.

It was the second time the duo's clashing personalities had attracted unwanted attention. A high pitched cry pierced the calm night, and a dark shape burst from the trees, blotting out the moon with its wings. This wasn't about food anymore; the travelers had killed its friend and now it was out for revenge.

There was a moment's hesitation as the Charmander's eyes widened and his mouth inverted into a twisted, tight grimace. His voice, though originally arrogant and pompous in every measurable fashion, grew dry and stiff. Perhaps it was this sudden admittance to royal heritage that caused him to grow tense, or maybe it was a sudden realization that this Snivy was truly shaping out to be a stranger that he knew next to nothing about.

"You're a prince?"

That was all he could muster as he attempted to slice through the inflated, awkward silence that embraced the aftermath of their squabble. Not to mention that an unwanted intruder had decided to barge in on their conversation.

It was the screech that made him turn promptly around towards its origins and caused a growl to warble in his throat. His flame grew intense as his beat up frame identified a new challenge. Prince or commoner, aristocrat or peasant: none of that mattered when a monstrous sized Pidgeotto was flying their way. The mere presence of this "alpha" bird, who was missing an eye assumedly from a battle long since won, was enough to snap anyone into attack coordination. This was going to be interesting.

Whatever vicious accusation was on the runaway prince's tongue was forgotten with the arrival of the angel of death. He yelped, stumbling backwards in a desperate attempt to avoid the raptor's descent. The wind from the Pidgeot's wings was enough to send the Grass Snake tumbling through the grass. The Warp Orb -- their only means of escape -- was ripped from his claws, clinking as it rolled into the tall grass.

He had enough time to steal a glance at Ares, just to make sure he was still alive, before scrambling desperately after it. The Snivy was nearly blind in the dark -- even with the moonlight, there was little chance he'd find it before they were both snatched. He'd lost track of how many near death experiences he'd had in this night alone. Life of a runaway, huh?

Ares noticeably cringed and buckled at his hip as the large Pidgeotto swooped by them. The claws upon each of his toes dug fervently into the earth, refusing to yield or give leeway for the rest of his body to be completely toppled like the fate of false gods. His hands cradled his face - particularly his eyes - protectively in an attempt to prevent debris from becoming uprooted and embedding themselves in those soft sensory organs. His tail's flame streaked a good foot off course due to such a tremendous gale. They were going up against a worthy adversary.

The air settled uncomfortably around them as the raptor screeched, announcing its ascension into the murky abyss that labeled itself the sky. The turnaround for it to once more swoop by was undoubtedly a short span of time. They would have to not waste any time in organizing a counterattack. Ares kindled his bravery as he would square off against the beast, allowing a Growl attack to weaken this newcomer. Sure, it might not do much, but it was better than doing nothing.

Screw valor, Cyrus wasn't about to stick around and fight a battle they clearly couldn't win. As the oversized bird returned to the air, the snake pressed himself lower to the ground, his green scales indistinguishable from the tall grass. Thank goodness for Ares, whose growl had distracted the Pidgeotto long enough for him to disappear.

His feverish scramble for the orb payed off as just about bumped straight into it -- it was about time something went their way! A wave of excitement passed through the Snivy, and he stood proudly to face their adversary.

"Hey, ugly!" he sneered. That got its attention. The bird screeched a battle cry and cut through the sky after the snake. But he was ready. He skirted to Ares's side, just in case the brute decided to change directions, and held the orb high. It shimmered pale blue in the moonlight and Cyrus felt his stomach flip now that he could get a good look at it.

The orbs surface was marred by a long, spidery crack. He yelped and dropped the item like a hot potato only to have it catch a few inches from the ground. It shuddered, the cracks expanded and then there was a bright flash and a loud pop, like a light bulb going out.

When the blue light faded, the pidgeotto would find that its prey had simply disappeared.

Oops...