Team Phosphorus Mission 5 Part 4Devonshire glanced at Ganymede in the darkness. His eyes were bright, and his teeth glinted in his thin smile.
"How do you feel?" he asked the Stantler to his left.
Ganymede turned his head incredulously.
"I feel like we're all going to die."
At that, Devonshire laughed. "That's the spirit!"
Just like a Ghost to talk that way.
When Ganymede had asked about anyone having suicidal ideas, he had only been half serious. Spectacular, painful death was inevitable no matter what they did at this point, but he hadn't exactly expected everyone to be so open-minded about it. There had been a little bit of discussion, yes, but at the end of the day they were still going with one of Havelock's ideas. In Ganymede's mind, that was synonymous with the end.
As it turned out, all the practical solutions for getting rid of the creaturea Heatran, as Devonshire had explained itweren't even allowed. Dropping a ceiling on its head or destroying the tunnel it was in was impossible because apparen
Team Phosphorus Mission 5 Part 3Fear the dark.
Havelock's father had said that to him once. Ganymede remembered it because the Serperior had been a dour and stoic Pokémon, incapable of fear because he was incapable of any emotion at all, and so the command had been strangely out of character. Ganymede had even laughed at it at the time, which had earned him that glassy blue stare that made his stomach drop to this day. But was there a more appropriate response? After all, there was nothing to fear of the dark. It was only now, years later, that Ganymede realized that the Serperior hadn't been warning against what the darkness was. He had been warning against what the darkness hid.
A blue flame on the ground crackled while it warred with the shadows on the wall. The dark retreated, then fought back, and if you stared you could almost see the silhouettes of soldiers. Ganymede watched the changing shapes warily, and kept his young companion between his folded front legs, just in case the shadows leapt off the walls
Team Phosphorus Written ApplicationWriting Application Sheet
Team Name: Phosphorus
Guild Leaders: _X_Rogues ___Merchants ___Rescuers
Name and Species: Ganymede the Stantler (yellow-green eyes, white tail that is half missing)
Nature: Adamant, quick tempered
Strengths: Capable of both dealing hits and taking them; terrible at giving up; can be incredibly devoted; is not afraid of hard work
Weaknesses: Irritable and poor at working with others; wary of selflessness; tends to be a bit of a jerk; attachment issues
Moves: Stomp, Endure, Thunderbolt, Confuse Ray
Accessories: Black Scarf (wears it around his back leg)
Second Member Information
Name and Species: Havelock the Snivy (scars on either side of face, tail leaf cut off in the shape of a ginkgo leaf)
Nature: Quiet, often lost in thought
Strengths: Very good at keeping his cool; is capable of working with others; can diffuse a situation
Weaknesses: Acts without explanation; bad at
Team Phosphorus Mission 5 Part 2Ganymede had always considered himself too stubborn to die. During the dubiously moral period that was his youth, he had lived a life which only the ferocious and the perverse could survive, and he had been a little bit of both. Over the course of a few years, he had been gored, cut, and crushed, and in spite of it all he had always come out with his antlers driving into someone else's gut.
Right now, though, he was dropping. He was falling down through a pitch darkness that didn't seem to end, and he was expecting to die when he hit the ground. The drop was too long, his body was too weak, and just a bit of tenacity couldn't hold up against cold hard physics. He didn't even have the energy to be angry about itnot angry at that stupid dragon, or that idiot Havelock for doing this, not at Destiny, and not at himself--and that was quite a feat. No, when he landed he thought he was going to smack his head open on a stone and lie there twitching as the insides of his skull drained ou
Team Phosphorus Mission 5 Part 1It didn't even hurt anymore.
When Ganymede had first started this journey, his legs had felt broken. The ice, which was a ferocious, biting creature of teeth and nails, had clawed at them, and fatigue had burdened them, and if he had been able to, if he had thought if it was even an option, he would have succumbed. But hours had passed, and then a day, then two, and then it had stopped. It had simply stopped.
The Stantler had been walking so long that his legs now seemed mechanicalunfeeling, and automatic, and cold. Someone had told him about muscle memory once, though he hadn't listened very carefully because at the time he hadn't really cared, but he liked to imagine that that was what this was. Beaten into them like the steps of an impossible dance, or the rhythm of an indescribable song, all his legs recalled now was walking, and so, instinctively, that was all they did.
So Ganymede kept going forward and forward and forward, unthinking, because he simply didn't know h