[ When Valmont finally wakes up, it's in a cot in an unfamiliar room, with some pink-haired woman fussing over him. It takes him a minute to realize that he's in a Pokémon Center - which one, he couldn't say. Now how did he get here? Because the last thing he remembers is...
...What is the last thing he remembers? It's all gone fuzzy. He remembers a lot of explosions, and a feeling of absolute joy, which may or may not have been related to the explosions, and -
And the feeling of his own neck snapping. It comes back to him in a sudden, sobering rush. The boy with the hellbird utterly humiliating him, stealing the talismans, eventually killing him like it was nothing - the talismans! He quickly pats himself down, confirming his suspicions: they're gone. Well. Even if the boy hadn't taken them, Francis did say they'd disappear on their own in a few days anyway. Has it been a few days? How long was he out? And why doesn't he feel particularly dead?
Unable to come up with any satisfactory answers to these questions, he takes to messing with his PokéGear, idly watching his missed messages. As usual, there's nothing of interest... until he comes upon one featuring a very pissed-off Russian. For a second he feels a strange warmth in what passes for his heart (Ivan cared enough to ask about him?), but it's quickly replaced by annoyance at the description of himself and a looming dread at the prospect of facing Raikov's temper.
[video; a day later]
...What is the last thing he remembers? It's all gone fuzzy. He remembers a lot of explosions, and a feeling of absolute joy, which may or may not have been related to the explosions, and -
And the feeling of his own neck snapping. It comes back to him in a sudden, sobering rush. The boy with the hellbird utterly humiliating him, stealing the talismans, eventually killing him like it was nothing - the talismans! He quickly pats himself down, confirming his suspicions: they're gone. Well. Even if the boy hadn't taken them, Francis did say they'd disappear on their own in a few days anyway. Has it been a few days? How long was he out? And why doesn't he feel particularly dead?
Unable to come up with any satisfactory answers to these questions, he takes to messing with his PokéGear, idly watching his missed messages. As usual, there's nothing of interest... until he comes upon one featuring a very pissed-off Russian. For a second he feels a strange warmth in what passes for his heart (Ivan cared enough to ask about him?), but it's quickly replaced by annoyance at the description of himself and a looming dread at the prospect of facing Raikov's temper.
Still, he figures he'd probably better reply. ]
My nose isn't that prominent.