Newcomer in Grassveil Town

As he landed in a tree overlooking the bustling town, Pilot wondered to himself what his new life would be like. He had nearly nothing; he had spent all of his Poke on Cheri Berries, which he had eaten on the way to Grassveil Town. The only possession that he had was a small messenger bag, which was only capable of carrying a couple of items.

The very real possibility of starving to death didn't phase the young swallow pokemon. As long as he got a job at the Grassveil Guild by the end of the day, he would have nothing to worry about. No need to steal from the markets, or relocate to Pecha Forest. After all, who wouldn't accept him into their guild?

Finally deciding to make his first appearance in his new home, Pilot hopped off the tall tree, plummeting to the ground. Just seconds before impact, he spread his wings, and angled himself perfectly so that he shot into the sky with blistering speed. After doing several loops midair, the Taillow swooped down, landing just outside the market area. Judging by their facial expressions, he could tell that quite a few pedestrians had been watching his aerial antics.

The young Charmander, ornery and determined as ever, had recently met his match during a training excursion in the woodlands surrounding Grassveil Town. Though he had emerged victorious after that prolonged brawl with an unusually pugnacious Tranquill, it had left him in a rather dour and solemn mood. Past a superficial examination of his body language, which indicated a present introverted mood, anyone who possibly knew his personality type would understand that he was in shock as to how close had come to being defeated.

The battle replayed from a third person perspective within his mind: the Jigglypuff appeared, angered by him haphazardly firing off his Dragon Pulse during a training exercise, and set about using Peck upon his orange mug. Ares had fought with great tenacity, becoming a living incarnation of a god of war, until the moment he tripped over a rock.

A rock.

That nearly cost him a victory!

A disgruntled snarl warped his facial features as he found himself bubbling with inward rage as he examined his battle further. By the time he passed through the ornate archway that designated the genesis of the main path in the rural town, the flame upon his tail was burning with the same power and might as a conflagration. It was fueled by the coals of rage, and once more he found himself planning another expedition. This time, he would take his training to the edge of Rainforest Town. This time, he would-

Swoop!

A gust of wind whooshed overhead, distracting the venting Charmander from his chain of thought. Wide-eyed, Ares noticed how quickly his body had assumed a defensive stature, how swiftly it had prepared to be hit from a flying enemy. Identifying the culprit to being nothing more than a Taillow, a sickly, hot sensation trickled down from his face and into his belly: embarrassment. Though he was physically uninjured, his pride and ego had been wounded by he had been startled - they screamed and writhed for vengence.

As others might have been swooning over such a display of aerial mastery, Ares found himself exhibiting a rather opposite reaction: rage. He marched up towards him, and halted a mere two yards from him. Extending forth a clawed finger upon his right hand, he designated the Taillow as the focus of his voice, "Hey, you! Hotshot! What's the big idea?"

The Doduo was sitting in the shadow of a small alley, the head known as Jerret was snorring loudly while his twin Rannon kept an eye on the streets. Jerrets head was layed back and the corncob he had been chewing on all day was slowly sliding out off his beak.

Swoop!

The Doduo jumped in surprise causing Jerret to drop his corncob, quick-witted Rannon caught it out off the air handing it back to Jerret immediatly. 'That Tailow is a pretty good flyer, at least I am still faster.' they thought simultaneously 'I have never seen such a good flyer here befor. He must be new here.' They started walking towards the market to get a good look at the newcomer.

Pilot stared at the fiery lizard for several seconds, as if sizing him up. While the Charmander was significantly larger than him, as long as he kept his distance, the Taillow was sure that he could take the pokemon on. Also, judging by the numerous scratches on the Charmander's body, he had been in a fight subsequently.

Taking notice of the Charmander's boiling rage, Pilot decided to try and take advantage of it. Perhaps if he got the lizard angry enough, it would be unable to control its ember. "Hey, looks like I already have a fan..." The smug bird pokemon muttered, just loud enough so that the Charmander could hear.

It would appear that, for the first few moments of time that spanned after the young drake's accusatory question, this bird was going to put a target on his back. He had seen that look before: it was haughty, opportunistic, and bold. There was no denying the fact that this Taillow was exceedingly pompous and egotistical - it was evident in the way he prided himself upon obtaining a "new fan" - but there was the matter of how reckless the bird would be in a location adorned on all sides with bystanders. Ares wasn't one to back down from a fight, let alone with one who needed to exhibit more of his superego, but this was a less than ideal place to fall back upon claws and talons.

Sure, he was mad, but he wasn't shallow - and he wasn't going to back down. Not from a verbal altercation, anyways. Nobody who was intelligent enough to recognize that this place was crawling with "feds" would be idiotic enough to assault another right in front of their faces.

A puff of grey smoke was spewed forth from a single nostril as he returned such a haughty gesture towards his opponent: a single flick of his tail was given as his nose proceeded to be pointed upwards towards the heavens. Ares gave a dismissive wave of his hand at the Taillow, as if fanning away a rather aggressive, unsavory stench. It was a swanky, boastful move on the Charmander's part.

"A fan?", the lizard inquired, a laugh bubbling slowly into existence as such a notion beckoned itself from the bird, "Sure, if you count enjoying the absurdity of someone attempting to bolster their own deprived self-confidence by feeding off the adoration of others." Zing.

Pilot, still completely unphased, cleared his throat, and then began to mock the Charmander. "Your petty efforts to intimidate me are fruitless, filthy lizard," The bird sang, perfectly imitating the pokemon's tone. "Especially considering that you have no pokemon to back you up. Where are your friends? It appears that you have none. What a surprise..."

Eyeing the crowd that began to gather around the two, the Taillow smiled. He was going to put on a good show for his audience.

Jerret & Rannon arrived at the market as the Charmander said: "Sure, if you count enjoying the absurdity of someone attempting to bolster their own deprived self-confidence by feeding off the adoration of others." They didnt really understand the context but, Jerret could simply not comment it with a silent "Ouch". But however that didnt really hit the Taillow as it would have hit Jerret.
It was Rannon who commented on the Taillows respond. "1:1" But immediatly he let Jerret know that he didnt really like the upcoming situation, while Jerret was just being amused by what was going on.
The few pokemon that were paying attention to the both quarrellers seemed kind of amused aswell, but worried at the same time. Jerret dropped his corncob which was picked clean completly by now and pulled another shiny, goldbrow roasted corncob out of theire courier bag. "This is gonna be good" He said, eager to see what would happen next.

Filthy? Maybe, seeing as he had recently taken a spill in the dirt. Fruitless? Most certainly not! A fruitless effort would have not produced such a display, and would have resulted in the bird merely prancing away in a showy fashion or attempting to disengage - not to mention that such an adjective was unfitting for a creature of his stature. Was it an attempt to describe him, or his actions? He fancied the bird was attempting to pursue the latter. While certainly it was not as close to the intended result as it was initially desired, the young offspring of war could pursue this rather sad, pathetic attempt to malign and diminish his self esteem.

A hearty, mocking chuckle was given at such vanity, eyes sealing shut momentarily as he thumbed his snout at the flittering, feathered creature. It would appear a decent sized crowd was gathering around the duo's confrontation, of which had initially been summoned by the subpar aerial acrobatics of a smug Taillow, but what concern did the young drake have? None, so long as he was not the first to draw his blade in the attempt to duel and relocate this humorous, living caricature back into his natural place.

Should such a foreshadowed duel commence? As the confrontation progressed onwards, it became increasingly closer to fruition. This prey animal, small and agile, appeared to be suffering from the illusions projected from "small dog syndrome". Though often such a plight could tarnish and strain any relationship or give the sufferer a false sense of superiority. Ares need not ascertain his diagnosis through mere dictation and degradation of this Pokemon's character - he would successfully be doing so in front of the public. An excellent first impression, no?

That was not to say that this Charmander was not also hindering his chance at meaningful interaction with this town, also; however, where he could go without recognition and friendship into the heart of danger, it appeared contrary for this "show off". Thus, such words were conjured forth in the most simplistic of mannerisms. He would maintain his tone, but address the other as if he were instructing a mere toddler.

"While some must feed upon the attention and adoration of others to survive and grow in strength," he would coyly rebuff, "I fear that I am out of that disabled minority. I know: the lack of a need for social recognition by the masses is a frivolous dilemma. Unfortunately, my ail needs not to be rectified - unakin to yours."

The Taillow chuckled, looking back up at the Charmander. "Is that why you have no friends? Because you don't need them? No, don't lie to yourself, Charmander. You have no friends because you are incapable of having them. Nobody can stand your superiority complex."

Pilot wondered to himself how exactly the fiery lizard had been reduced to his current state. Had a traumatic event of some sort caused this? Or was it simply genetics? The bird mentally shuddered just thinking about the possibilities.

(Are we going to be following a specific post order with the established contributors to this thread?)

A superiority complex was news to Ares. In the short interim of their interaction, which had spanned a mere exchange of repeated jabs at each other, the other's debate had expanded to include something that could only be inferred after a great deal of interaction. Where did that bird get off saying that? Certainly this rather primary exchange wouldn't allot such a rushed diagnosis? Quite the contrary - it was deeply apparent that this feathered fiend was spot on. While certainly it was a rushed, hasty conclusion to reach, such a reaction that required a "superiority complex" had been instigated by the main sufferer: this Taillow.

Perhaps that was the destiny of all denizens and creatures of the land and sea that contained such bold, recklessness within their genetic code and personalities: it was why the majority lived solitary, isolated lives. While prey animals, such as fledgling birds, required the sensation of dominance through the recognition of their own kind, predators, such as himself, required the recognition of their peers through feats of brawn and strength. Their isolation was driven up until the necessity of interactions between two individuals of their race, and ended in jousting.

Supremacy and dominance: the very fibers that drove society. Some obtained it through fame, others through infamy, but all in all it required one to become the best.

Yet, this was not to say that such events could not transpire and inflict grievous ailments upon a creature's view upon its world and its status, leaving it wanting more. It would crawl upon its belly through shards of glass to defy the position that Nature graciously blessed it with, it would pursue even its natural enemy for the mere sensation of power: such were the symptoms of those who had tasted the intoxicating will to survive and felt the quivering heartbeat of the world turning slow and grey. Mere intense, critical moments had evolved to transform a fickle being's personality and thinking, forever scarring their disposition and unleashing them upon the world to spread their plague.

So, was it nature or nurture that afflicted this Charmander?

More likely it was both.

Like a predatory creature, he would allow his senses to analyze his opponent. His ears would recognize the pitiful jabs that attempted to crack his self worth like a vulture attempting in vain to crack open a turtle's shell. His eyes would spot what appeared to be a moment's recoil: had Ares's opponent just shuddered? Was it towards inward thoughts, or regret for attempting to engage this warrior-god in a battle of words? He would personally favor the former, but would engage the latter.

"Look at how you shake," he would project as he announced his analysis, "as if your body cannot even support such a theory - it is, indeed, quite foolish, when one considers the bigger picture. What boon comes from being social? In my culture, it is a hinderance: the best work and concentration is a feat achieved when one faces the world alone. The world longs to dominate you, to place its heel firmly upon your throat in any fashion possible - whether that be confronting you head on or attacking you through your social circle. To prevent such a fate, it is perceived to be best to cut all ties and tackle the world alone, and learn to cope with isolation and draw energy from yourself."

He would give a dismissive wave of his hand, once more preparing to fan away whatever insult might be flung next from the combative Taillow, "In short, perhaps it is true that I cannot maintain close associates, but it is not only for their own good, but my own. Perhaps it is also due to a 'superiority complex', but that would take one to know one, bird."