You've got fire in your eyes.

---

In the distance hungry waves gripped and gnawed at the shoreline, lapping away at the sand like a starving predator. Every now and then it would give a dying roar and sink back into the depth leaving nothing but a frothy drizzle of it's saliva. The water was alive. Dancing in it's own rhythm in an attempt to entice you over. Lulling you in gentle rocking motions before it sucked you down crushing the air from your lungs.

Normally the beast would be at ease throughout the day, for it was nocturnal, but the sun was slowly sinking beneath the waves. Overhead a vary faint pattern of glittering stars shone brilliantly in contrast to the pastel skies. The calm before the storm, for already the waves began to pick up it's pace. Though you were safe from it's grasp you can't help but notice it. Prowling and waiting for the next gust of wind turbulence to set the small town that roosted on it's bed to ruin. But it never came. Though the sea thirsts it never was quenched. Rainfront still sat defiantly, tall and leering. As if mocking the ocean to do something and the ocean never complying.

Even so the oncoming darkness was a relief to some of the inhabitants. Throughout the day it was humid, sticky, like a never ending haze that tried to constrict you leaving you sweltering in your own body heat. While the waters became more hazardous it's waves spliced through this heat like a knife. Spraying droplets of salty-dew over the sand. Though it never reached the town the oncoming wind would soon lend a hand in cooling the area off.  The only downside was the sicking saltiness that lingered within the breeze.

It tickled your nostrils and sent your tongue ablaze. You desire a drink but the water is tainted. Dulling your senses almost like you were already in the water below. Why anyone other than water pokemon would like to stay here was unknown. Even so one curious bystander loitered on top of a  driftwood fence. A normal type judging from it's creamy-chocolate fur and cream hues. Somber eyes looked across the newly unfolding scenery that splashed out before him, sending out wavering bouts of extacy to all his senses. A pleasuring sight even if this wasn't his preferred surrounding.  It was different, each land holding it's own story or meaning. The air was never the same even if you've only walked a mile, maybe two or three. Hidden secrets laid strewn about that only your eyes could unfold. What secrets did you retain? That, Giles wouldn't know but what he did know was that with every breath came a sense of  freedom.

There was a succulent, rich brilliance that came from the dazzling display of a dying sun. Instead of ebbing away into nothingness like many mortal beasts did, it went out with an eccentric display. The typical rays of blinding, yet pure, yellow and white drenched themselves with the blood of their falling master and exploded out in stunning reds and oranges. As the darkness approached, these jets of light would grow darker and darker until they, too, were consumed by the horizon. Though it was a silent, melancholic passing, there was a sort of showy fashion about it that made it quite memorable. Perhaps the sun, should it be sentient, knew it would resurrect within hours and reverse the aging process: once more the rays would paint the sky with splintering reds and pinks before transcending to yellows and whites and once more falling from grace. Such cyclical death was something quite profound.

It seemed like such a long time since Ares had finally arrived in Rainfront Town. He had successfully arrived before the front gates and had gone about his business; however, some things were not as he expected or had initially dreamed about. Such instances were very well predictable, but all the while something that his optimistic side had hoped would not occur. They were mediocre in comparison to the range of possible problems that could persist in such an environment, but such extremes were unwise to compare them to. More or less, they could be described as "inconveniences".

The first issue he had with Rainfront Town was its climate. Though the tropical air and warmth that permeated in the air might have annoyed creatures with fur, it did not irritate him. He thrived in warmth, and often felt quite isolated and lonely when it was stolen from his orange body. This was more or less a symptom of his typing: though he might do "alright" in the cold, he would perform his best in locations where the heat was on. The trouble with such a tropical atmosphere was the fact that it came with a tropical climate. Rain was a common occurrence in this place - as indicated in its name - and often pelted poor Ares before he had a time to react to the previous downpour. As a Fire type, the rain was horrible for him: he could handle a little drizzle or light misting, but full out rain? No thanks!

The second problem presented itself in an unusual way. In an attempt to remove himself from the unusual peppiness and upbeat nature that had plagued Grassveil Town, he had apparently gone to a complete, opposite extreme. Maybe it was the foul weather that tainted everyone in such a foul mood, or perhaps it was a sense of foreignness that he ebbed, but they were not as pleasant as the 'mons just three days away. Ares had certainly raised his standards and had had them dashed quite excellently.

As he traveled through the congested streets and the humidity reached its breaking point, a light drizzle punctured the air. This was all well and good, except for the fact that the clouds apparently released the flood gates and an entire tropical storm was soon splattering itself upon the ground. The plopping of each individual raindrop was audible as it increased in intensity and ferocity, and soon the Charmander was forced into some shady location. Though perhaps it was "up there" on the list of fine establishments, this place reeked of piss and slobber. Between a rain storm and a thug place, he would have no other alternative but to take a seat at a round, uneven wooden table not too far away from the door. He was sopping wet, and quite certain he would be mugged, but he would handle all of it one at a time.

As if the gods were mocking him the display of peace was abruptly interrupted by a downpour. While usually he'd sense the change in weather ,the pungent scent of salt muddled his senses leaving him blind. Maybe it was the fact that he was born in a land ridden with snow and he'd never seen the ocean up close, or maybe his mind was in a different peace of mind. It was unknown. What Giles did know is that he didn't like being left in the dark. Being left in an unpredictable situation would leave anyone who was sure of their abilities uneasy. 

Leaping down from his perch the rabbit lowered himself down onto his haunches and lifted his hands to his dark brown eyes. Glaring over the ocean with an unsightly frown. What are you up to? It was pointless to ask for the weather did as it liked but the question still rung in his mind. As the gale continued the rain thickened to the point that the drumming was nearly deafening. While his precious tranquil scenery erupted into a new found canvas of power and ferocity that he desperately wished to observe he knew he couldn't. As the heat could be deadly to his kind, so can the water.

While normally swimming can be seen as a fun sport the fleece that clung to his hind limbs acted like a weighted sponge. Sucking in water and weighing them down. If stayed wet they could become sick with the chills. For realistically one built for speed would have many flaws. It was only the ones with a strong mind that could overcome this weakness. That is what he was taught. Even so, he wasn't stupid. Without a second side glance he leap forwards bounding off into the downpour, heading straight for the more populated part of the town. It was only when he reached the door to one of the Inns that he realized he had no form of currency. Cursing aloud he fled away from the confines of one shelter to the next.

Either way he knew he wouldn't be let inside. For anyone's concern he could be nothing more than a petty thief and looks alone wasn't in this buneary's favor. Scowling he licked his lips clearing them from the pesky water droplets for the time being. It was almost blinding and it burned. Unlike the water from elsewhere this was evaporated concentration of saltwater. Bitter, but still tasteless. Though enough to cause slight irritation towards the skin. Already he felt like clawing his hide off as it seeped into his pelt.

Finally he hopped onto something that would last him long enough to find something better, then again, for all he knew the squall would end soon. Or get worse, so said the annoying voice in the back of his mind. Either way the tin above his head was enough to give him a moment to dry. Slicking back his ears he began kicking about his hind paws he strew about dampened sand.

This of course dampened his mood. Especially since he just arrived into this place. The other town was disgustingly cheerful and unrealistically optimistic. Rain-whatever was simply the opposite. A slum. For a second one would think it was beautiful till you entered the backdrops. Nothing but the poor lived there and the rain washed up vile things. Smelling nothing more or rotten trash and dampened hair. It was enough to cause anyone to turn up their nose. Alas he had no room to judge. The sight wasn't his main priority of the time.. it was finding shelter. Quietly muttering a few words to himself, Giles gripped his crystal in one hand and raised the other over his eyes. Scoping at the area for a new place to reside for it was always better to move about than stay in one place. If none was to be seen he'd simply lop about again.
Plain and simple, that's it. That's all you need.

There was a murmur that maintained a common level in the background ambience of the pub as he contemplated his options. He was sitting close to a window, and, from what he could tell from the blur of rain water that pattered the brittle looking glass, the freak tropical storm was not yet at its peak. As the water gushed down across the window pane and threatened to breach it, a single drop of water would plop and splatter against the stool across from him. His reptilian eyes, slitted and unnerved in appearance, would snake their pupils up towards the roof and investigate the source of such a frequent and consistent drip. Though perhaps the solution to the problem was quite obvious, Ares would have to see it to believe it: there was a leak in the roof.

Of course, the creaking sound that the wooden structure gave whenever the wind blew was quite ominous in itself. The pub had undoubtedly seen better days, and the blistering gale that began to kindle itself into existence threatened to rip it straight out of the ground. There appeared to be some resilience in this old structure, however, for it denied the wind on each attempt - though a slight sway was slightly detectable in the support beams. The rain, still peppering the ground and buildings like bullets from a rogue machine gun, seemed to roar alongside the wind at the world's defiance. Some 'mons, whose bodies were distorted from the river that seemed to be running down along the window, were quite alright with the rain. They had long since grown accustomed to the unpredictability that the tropics had become, and simply meandered home with little haste. Perhaps they predicted that a storm with such ferocity would merely peter out within a short time span.

As the Charmander noticed these observations, a rather rough and beat up Kangaskhan approached his table. A snaggletooth sprouted from her crooked jaw like a daffodil in spring, and her head was held at a 145 degree angle. She was cocky, tough, and aged - most likely because she had seen it all. Though she did not say anything and simply stared towards the hunched over lizard with an expectant look, there was a sudden rush of urgency that gripped at his innards. It clawed at his stomach and threatened to rip into his lungs and heart: such a sensation caused him to reveal his insecurity at being at such a rugged establishment. That persisted coarseness and low-end demeanor that ebbed forth from the Kangaskhan did nothing to alleviate his sudden nervousness.

She moved her hands into her sagging pouch, and Ares braced himself. What would she withdraw: a serrated dagger to vivisect him with, or a rusted razor to shave him with? None of these were the correct answer, for she had merely retrieved a damp looking piece of floppy paper and a writing implement. A snarl lingered on her lips as her glare intensified. The young drake, having just become aware to the fact that she was possibly the brewmaster or pub girl, simply offered an awkward smile. Oh gosh, he probably had to buy something, or else they might toss him out!

"Berry juice," he would meekly respond. Berry juice? What was he, a baby? This was a pub where thieves and robbers lurked!

The Kangaskhan gave no response sans body language: a mere shrug was given as she deposited the freshly obtained order and moved off towards the main wooden slab that acted as the bar. Crisis averted.

The sudden outburst from the sky continued on, increasing in strength the longer it drawn out. Simply put maybe the sea was angry and trying to take back it's once beautiful beach? Maybe there were people mocking it giving off the aura of a challenged which was finally accepted? Who knows. There seemed to be no sign of a storm, at least in Giles mind. To someone who had no knowledge of this place the sudden change was rather queer. There were no sign of a gale. Everything appeared clear, not even a cloud. The sun was just now setting and there were stars, were there not?

It simply seemed to baffled the rabbit on how this storm came about. Even more so that everyone around him seemed to have known it was coming from the start. To the right other pokemon sat outside continuing on their evening as if nothing happened. Every now and then they'd get buffered about at the wind but their bodies stayed anchored to the ground. Steadier than stone. Though that's to expect from water pokemon, or 'mons with water ability in them. They were used to this and probably enjoyed it. He begged the differ. It was enlightening to see the rain no doubt, it brought life into the would and had it's own unique nature..but this? No. This wasn't idealistic at all. He was still getting drenched from the pathetic metallic shed he called a shelter, it creaked constantly and groaned against the wind. Threatening to collapse but still somehow managed to keep hold. The ceiling leaked pitifully from the many rust and forgotten drill holes. Amateur building, he huffed and crossed his arms while in thought. Pitiful excuse of a shed.

Without even thinking he lunged a kick the side of the building in disgust and for a moment it held. Swaying about in a rickety fashion and for the moment seemed to have stopped, or as he had hoped. Before he had a time to react the building leaned over collapsing on top with only his own body keeping it leverage. Great. Just great, now he was drenched and his belongings would also become just as drenched. Alas before he could let out a barrage of rather distasteful words the sound of a mocking laughter caught his ears. Drowned out abet from the rain, but it wasn't subtle. It was a groggy old wartortle that had a stone within his ear. It must have kept him from evolving judging by his wrinkly old mug.

Words couldn't describe the bitterness than coursed though his body towards that old man. Then again, it was his own fault. He simply wanted to blame someone.

" You know kicking that rickety thing wasn't such a good idea 'lad," the old coot croaked through the roaring rain. It was fascinating how the buggard could manage to speak up past the sound of the roaring rain, but he managed. Of course Giles didn't retort back..though his face obviously said 'you don't say' for the old turtle kept babbling. Really? Now of all t-

" 'ya know there's a bar not to far away from here. It might be better than getting all sopping wet. You normal folk don't seem to do well with weather changes. Now hop along before you drown."

Even if the wartortle's tone was quite playful he instantly took it as an insult. Normal folk. How dare he? He could manage just as well as all the other damn types. Normal types are just well off. Even so he was still just standing there becoming one with the mud while some older stranger mocked him and he didn't feel like wasting energy on a snippy reply back.

So instead he gave the turtle a scornful look and dropped the metal that he was holding up only to dart off. Hopefully the idiot was telling the truth and wasn't just making a complete fool of him.

There was nothing quite like feeling like a sore thumb or out of place in a less than favorable or hygenic location. The low rumble that consisted of hushed nearby conversations or busy, idle chatter constituted for the vast majority of the locale's ambience besides the ferocious pounding of the rain, and that in itself was enough to drown anything that produced a sound wave into near obscurity. As the Charmander apparently was the closest one to the nearby window, which was blurred considerably by the downpour that streaked its already muddied exterior, he was the one who was able to get the most analysis of the world now drenched beyond his safe haven. Admittedly, safe haven was more or less a poor description of the environment that he presently occupied. A more accurate term might have been forced cohabitation with a slumbering Ursaring: the beast was going to wake up at any moment and realize that easy prey had wandered willingly across its threshold.

The thick, voluminous streaks of rainwater that poured down the side of the window provided a blur on the outside world that greatly reflected this town's circumstances. Perhaps there were nicer locations to this town, or maybe there had been a better era in which material and spiritual wealth flowed evenly throughout, but such was not this time. The water types that did live their lives and attempt to create some lucrative business seemed to have fallen with no way of getting up. Such a steep financial division stripped the town had mostly stripped the town of its beauty and, should the rumors prove accurate, it all had to do with some tragedy that befell the local Dragonair family. Should that prove accurate, then it might explain the freakish nature that the weather displayed: sunny one moment like an idyllic day on the beach, rainy and storming the next. Ares was determined to at least do some investigation in the future as to why, seeing as he had been so determined to relocate here while preparing for another training expedition to Mt. Frostmeer.

As such thoughts were processed in a more or less time consuming fashion, a sudden creak in the floor boards drew the young drake's attention from the blurred window panes and towards the main body of the bar. Though his eyes and pupils frantically searched for something to focus upon, they found their mark quite quickly as the Kangaskhan returned. She held a beaten up, tin jug containing a strange goop nonchalantly in one hand and a crooked, damaged, wooden bowl in another. Little care was given as she thrust the oval shaped bowl across the table towards the skittish boy, and even less interest was displayed as she sloshed the slop into its target. It splattered him slightly, but perhaps that was the intent as the coarse female removed a wooden spoon from her sagging pouch and gave it to him. It was slightly moist from who knows what else was stored there. Admittedly, Ares was taken aback by such terseness , but certainly would not lob a complaint: he was simply happy that they even had something complimentary here.

As the Kangaskhan turned her back upon him and went back to cater to her other clients, Ares stared cautiously towards this increasingly curious gruel. Its consistency was atypical of that of soup - even though that was obviously the intent of the concoction - and its viscous seemed more common of that of porridge or dense oatmeal. There might have been more solids located in it than the water had the capacity to dissolve for make soupy, but still it might provide some nutrition. Even if this place was a dive and had an unsavory crowd that dined here, certainly the food couldn't be all that terrible, right? It certainly had customers for a reason. Wiggling the spoon nervously in one hand, and squeezing his knee tightly with the other, the little lizard would gingerly dip the wooden surface into the gelatinous like substance. It bubbled ominously, and the food clung to the spoon. Here went nothing.

It was so-so. The warmth from it was gladly received, for soup was a common food to be devoured and enjoyed upon rainy days - even if it was tropical. The bland taste was not so graciously received, though this was probably for the better. Ares would have been more worried if it had had an exotic, uncanny taste that could only be replicated from the meat of vermin. He would hazard another bite, slowly ingesting the substance as the rain hammered on around him.