Character Meme- Team Bonesaw

1) Hello! What's your (user)name, and how long have you been writing?

Oh, look, another one! Are these breeding? In any case, hi! Aimless-void here, but you guys can call me Void. I've been writing since, well…forever, really. I picked it up when I was little and never really stopped since, though I've only recently begun calling myself an actual writer.

2) Wow... That's, uh, impressive... *ahem* Let's move on... Care to describe your team?

Right! On to the meat of the matter…

Team Bonesaw is, so far, a two-member team comprised of Sylara, the Cubone, and Maverick, the Pawniard.

Sylara's the team leader; in deed, if not in title. She's level-headed, calm, and can be very cunning when the situation calls for it. She usually regards others with a cool distance, or outright coldness if she finds she's got no use for them. She's not one to run head-long into a problem, and prefers to think things out before acting; that said, she has no qualms about swinging her bone-club at anyone who gets in her way.

Maverick is about as short-tempered as it gets; just about anything will set this little Pawniard off. Combine that with an enthusiasm for using his blades, and you've got a dangerous little problem on your hands. Though he regards his partnership with Sylara to be on equal grounds, he's good at taking instructions, and more often than not will go along with what she says, though there are times he takes a bit of…'coercion'.

They've been together for years now. They'll take 'honest' work where they can find it, as mercenaries, armed escorts, and the like if the pay is good enough. But when 'honest' work is hard to come by, they've got no problems resorting to  things like theft and banditry.

3) So cool! Wait a sec, what guild are they in? How long have they been there?

They're Rogues, and have been since Mission 2. Given their history, it was really the only option that made sense.

4) I see... So what do they think of the leaders?

M: That Gabite ain't half-bad. He likes t'fight, an' he can do a heap o' damage! The whole pirate thing's pretty stupid, though. An' don't even get me started on that shiney-eyed putz with the frill on 'is neck! Friggen' poncey prick's a pain in the ass…

S: Devonshire's a respectable Guildmaster. He's intelligent, cunning, and definitely knows how to manipulate other Pokemon how he likes…

M: Careful there, Sylara, yer skull is droolin'.

S: Shut it, Maverick. As for Gunpowder, he's a decent enough field leader, though I think he lacks the faculties to be much of a tactician…

5) Speaking of, I know Devonshire and Gunpowder play chess/checkers a lot. What does your team do for fun? Write a little passage with your characters unwinding with their hobbies. Go in-depth!

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

It was a wonderful sound she hadn't heard in some time.

Sylara let out a long, contented sigh as the lack of sound filled her ears. It seemed she found so few times like this when Maverick was around. Thankfully, today he'd gone off to the Spinda Café, leaving her alone, with the base to herself. As she sat outside, her back against the cobblestone walls of her home, she wondered if she shouldn't be more worried about the trouble her partner was no-doubt getting himself into, but promptly decided that she really didn't care.

She reached down to pick up a small, thin piece of bone that rested beside her, a piece she'd plucked from the wing of a Zubat quite some time ago. Dipping its tip into a well of jet black ink she'd 'appropriated' from Palette's studio, the Cubone set her eyes on the parchment rolled out on the grass before her. Setting her pen to the paper, she set to work, swift, delicate strokes busily painting the landscape that rolled before her. Stroke by stroke, mark by mark, sketch by sketch, she crafted the scenery that surrounded her, from the buildings and Pokemon that made up the village to the imposing form of Monochrome Tower rising high in the distance.

It was all coming together quite perfectly, she thought to herself as she again pressed the tip of her pen to the parchment, letting its black trail fly across her work…

---------------------

…just as a foaming mug of Lum Rum came flying across the bar into Maverick's waiting claw.

Lifting his mug into the air with a raucous laugh, the already well-sloshed Pawniard, reared his head back for a hefty swig of the mug's contents, revelling in the feel of fermented Lum berries sizzling their way down his throat. As he drained his drink down into his gullet, Maverick hefted his now empty mug behind him, slamming the blunt end of his claw down onto the bar's well-polished counter top. "Keep 'em comin', Hops! I wanna drink til' I'm walkin' double and seein' in circles!" Lost in his mirth, the Pawniard hardly noticed the approach of a Pokemon behind him until he heard the audible crack of its knuckles.

Maverick spun on his barstool to see the source of the noise: a very agitated looking Electabuzz that seemed to be wearing his discarded mug as a hat, electric sparks flying from the beast's antennae.

The Pawniard reached back across the bar, again catching the mug that had been sent sliding his direction. As the large Electric type reared back, fist raised, Maverick flung his drink into the behemoth's face and lunged into him, blades flashing.

Arceus damn it all, he loved this place.

6) Wow. But I wonder... Do they do anything together? Give me the details, with an example.

---------Well, there is one thing they do pretty well together…

Sylara dipped to the side, just in time to hear the whirring ring of steel as a blade thrust forward, just a hair's breadth from her skull.

The Cubone retaliated quickly, lifting her club to bat the Pawniard's arm aside, quickly bringing it back down again the swipe of its opposite. As Maverick pressed his offensive, Sylara backpedaled, dodging left and right, keeping just out of reach of her partner's strikes, always keeping her club between herself and the sharp edges of Maverick's blades. An overhead swing sent her into a crouch, stretching her club out and swinging at the Pawniard's legs, looking to steal his footing, but Maverick leapt backward before she could make contact.

Without missing a beat, Sylara hurled her club forward, sending it flying as the Pawniard landed a few paces behind where he had stood. Maverick was ready though, and just before the whirling bone impacted, he crossed his claws before him, letting the club harmlessly strike the steel of his blades.

By that time, Sylara was on her feet, running at the Pawniard, snatching her club out of the air as it flew back to her hand. Maverick was ready, and leapt at the Cubone as she came forward, the two Pokemon locking themselves in combat once again. Their bodies clashed in perfect harmony as their weapons impacted again and again. Each knew what the other was going to do before they did it. Each had the other's style completely memorized, and knew every way to get beneath it and protect themselves from it. Each knew the other's strengths, and each knew the other's weaknesses. Each knew how to complement the other's every move, and create a single, unstoppable force.

Their song was ring of steel against bone, their dance was the parry and strike of their arms, the kick of their feet, the bend, twist, and dive of their bodies. It was a routine that they had spent years perfecting, and would spend countless hours filling in whatever holes could be found.

This was the great and deadly beauty of the Bonesaw.

7) Hah. Sounds like my friends. Hey look! There, at Spinda's Cafe! A surprise party, just for you guys! We're celebrating your guild work, whether it's a "Congrats, you're in" party or a "Nice job on that Mission" party. How does it go?

All it took was the sight of the massive keg sitting in the center of the café to send Maverick running, letting out a whoop as he dug a blade into its side and drowned himself in its foaming payload.

Sylara, meanwhile, was much less impressed, and as she looked up at the banner hanging across the ceiling, printed with their praise and felt bits of confetti flutter down to pepper her skull she let out an exasperated sigh, "I knew I shouldn't have come here…"

8) What'd you guys order? It's on the house! Oh, come on. Just tell us what your favorite foods are...

"Roasted Bouffalant haunch, and make it snappy!" Maverick eyed the massive hunk of meat hungrily as it was presented to him, driving his blades down into roasted buffalo and audibly wolfing it down piece by piece.

Sylara rolled her eyes at her partner's display before turning her attention back to her own dish. The glistening Venipede shell sat in front her, curled up tight. She took her club and prodded the shell, prompting it to snap open, revealing the sizzling insectoid meat within. With a pleased sigh, she took her fork and dug into the soft, gelatinous meat.

9) Yum... Too bad the party's already over, though. You guys should head home. Where is it? What does it look like?

From outside, their base looks like a small dome made out of several large stones they found lying around the countryside. It's got a small round window sitting just next to the door, and a small chimney sprouts from its top. Inside, you can see that the house is actually a good deal larger than it appears. The floor is carved deeply into the earth, the lower three-quarters of the base lying beneath the ground level outside. In the exact center of the room is a small fire-pit with a few Arbok-skin rugs lying around its circumference. On one side of the room lays Sylara's bed, a pile of stones with a large cushion resting atop them. The stone base is a product of Sylara's childhood, a great deal of which she spent in the mountains. On the other side is Maverick's hammock: a length of some type of loose, rubbery fabric, designed to withstand the edge of his blades, though he still seems to have somehow torn it in places.

10) Oh, I see. But... How'd you get here? Where'd you come from?
As I said before, Sylara spent a good deal of her childhood growing up in the mountains. She spent her formative years as any young Cubone would, doing her best to survive during the day and crying for he lost mother at night; at least until certain events and the arrival of a certain Marowak prompted her to move on.

Maverick's upbringing was fairly typical as well. He was raised in the forest in a pack of other Pawniard led by a Bisharp, hunting, protecting their territory, and carving out a living. From the way he talks about it, though, he doesn't hold many fond memories of his old pack, and he and his Bisharp didn't seem to see eye-to-eye.

11) And where do you want to go? Any ambitions?

Really, the two of them just want to get by. Maverick's happy so long as he's able to sink his claws into something bloody every now and again, and would likely be content to die with a drink in one hand and the other buried in someone's chest.

Sylara has somewhat loftier goals. She likes the idea of living out her final years surrounded by wealth and opulence, but doesn't want to let herself stagnate while getting there. She'll likely just keep working and fighting until she feels it's the right time to retire, though when that will be is anyone's guess.

12) Good luck, you'll need it. Wait, what's that sound? PK? Great, she says you guys owe her tons of stuff. Nice going. What? You stole it? H-how... Why... Give me a situation where your team would steal stuff! I don't care how justice obsessive they are!!!

It was a peaceful enough day in the marketplace, at least as peaceful as it ever was in that den of commerce, where everyone was busily trying to haggle their way into a better deal, or swindle themselves into a sizable pile of Poke. Still, there was a certain order to it all, and the Pokemon who frequented it had learned to live with it… At least, until it all decided to spiral out of control.

Cries rang out from one of the nearby stores, and a one-eyed Pawniard quickly burst out from the entrance, holding a pilfered berry impaled on his claw. The shop owner ran after him, yelling angrily as he was flanked by his assistant, chasing the departing thief.

Sylara watched the display with amusement as she strolled into the now empty store, a large, soon to be full sack slung over her shoulder.

13) ...Oops. Uh, sorry about that. Looks like that was just a zorua. I'm sorry! Here! I give you free reign of the world! ...Shoot, what are you going to do to it?

A malevolent gleam quickly comes to Maverick's eye as he brings his claws up before him, a dark chuckle leaving his lips and quickly growing into a murderous cackle.

Sylara eyes the increasingly crazed Pawniard flatly, "You'd better take that power back. I really don't think you want to see what he does with it."

14) Really? Tell me more about it.

The Cubone levels her club, ready to strike if it proves to be needed, "I mean it, you don't want to know more. Let's just keep moving, shall we?"

15) Hate to say it, but that was a dream. Speaking of dreams, a lot of people in shows switch bodies. What would happen if your characters had this misfortune inflicted on them?

"SYLARA!!"

Sylara slowly opened an eye as the scream jarred her from her slumber, grumbling softly as she was forced out of what had been a rather pleasant dream. She hoped for Maverick's sake he had woken her for something important. She hated being woken up by the sound of her own voice…

…wait, what?

Sylara lifted herself up, or rather, she tried to, for as she attempted to maneuver her body, the loose fabric of the hammock she'd been laying on gave way and promptly dumped her out onto the floor. She pressed her hands to the ground to push herself back up, and as she did one thing became abundantly clear…she had no thumbs! Bolting upright, she brought her hands to her eyes, seeing only the nicked, metallic sheen of a pair of blades looking back at her! "What the he--mmph!!" She clapped her blades to her mouth as she heard Maverick's voice speaking for her, quickly looking around, hoping that the dread growing in the pit of her stomach would quickly be disproven.

But as she caught sight of herself quickly advancing toward her, any hopes of that were dashed.

Maverick stomped toward Sylara, his hands busily fiddling with the skull resting on his head, audibly cursing the bony helmet, "Arright, Sylara, what gives!? I want my blades back, and I want 'em now! And how the hell do you see outta this stupid thing!?"

Sylara stood silently as she looked herself over. She felt so much heavier in this body! Though she supposed that made sense since Maverick's bones were made of steel. Still, it made her feel so bulky, not to even begin to mention how weird the sharp barbs poking out of her torso felt! Still, there was something nice to it…something powerful…

Maverick meanwhile, was much less interested in the soft, fleshy vessel he'd been stuck in, "Hey, Sylara, are you listenin' t'me!? I want my body back right now, arright!? Sylara? Dammit, listen t'me!!" Without thinking, the Pawniard-turned-Cubone flung his arm out, driving his hand into Sylara's side.

And splitting pain filled seared up his arm as he jabbed his hand straight into the side of one of Sylara's barbs.

As she watched herself gripping her hand, blood pouring from the wound Maverick had given her body as a slew of swears flowed from beneath her skull, Sylara wondered over the fact that she had barely even felt Maverick's strike. It seemed that most of her senses were dulled in this body, save for smell. She tried to reach over to Maverick in order to calm the raging Pawniard, but every time she reached for him, she only seemed to grip air. With a frustrated grunt, she lurched her arm forward…overreaching herself and sharply prodding Maverick in the side, eliciting another howl of pain from her partner.

Depth perception…right…

This was going to take some getting used to…


16) Okay, okay! I said if! Geez, no need to get so worked up... Fine. To make it up to you, I'll let you write a short story about them... As humans > Any genre is fine, gijinkas and anthros are okay too. They don't even have to know about pokemon *gasp*!

It was an odd sight to see as the carriage made its way down the forest trail, ambling its way along the clear path that wound through the trees. It wasn't so much the idea of travellers making their way through the woods that was strange. Surely enough this trail had seen its share of traffic. It was really more the nature of the travellers themselves…and the opulent carriage they rode in.

The carriage itself was made of the finest wood, painted jet black and polished to a sparkling sheen, its edges framed in glittering gold. The horses that pulled it were of the finest breed, their manes tied into tight rows of buns along their neck, their coats shiny and brushed to perfection. The driver himself was dressed in full armor, links of chain mail clinking together with every turn of the wheel, a polearm strapped firmly to his seat.
Yes, this was no ordinary peasant's carriage. This was a carriage made for someone important, someone of high repute, and most importantly…someone wealthy.

Sharp eyes watched as the horse-drawn vehicle ambled its way through the woods, their emerald gaze narrowing as it drew ever closer. They looked across the path, staring into the trees on the opposite end. A small glint of light from between the branches came in response.

He was in position.

They were ready.

In flash of movement the trees on either side of the approaching carriage burst open, two figures leaping to the ground on either side. One, a man dressed in patchwork red armor, sharp edges jutting from all sides and wielding a pair of swords rolled forward, coming to his feet just next to the team of horses. With a vicious swipe, he brought one of his blades down into the horses' restraints, slicing clean through, and letting the panicked animals run off into the distance.

The carriage driver leapt to his feet, crying in outrage as he reached for his own weapon, but not before the spiked head of a mace bashed itself firmly into the side of his head, sending him flying from his seat and tumbling to the ground, gouts of blood pouring from his punctured helmet.

Sylara snorted at the pathetic sight, "Some guard…he should really have a word with his blacksmith…" The woman leapt from the carriage, chestnut hair flowing behind her as she dropped to her feet. She reached up, adjusting the skull-mask strapped tightly to her face as she looked to her partner. "Come on, Maverick, let's see just who it was that fool was guarding, and how much they feel their lives are worth…"

17) Well, back to the real life. Problem is, they're not humans. Final comments?

Ahhh, but if they were…

This thing was a blast to fill out, and it's always fun to have new reasons to write for this team! Sorry if some of the answers were kinda long. I got a little carried away on a few things. XD

18) See you! (Tag people! At least three! Now!)

M: Tag? Oh I'll show ya tag!

S: Oh just shut up, Mav…