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Tainted White was not his favorite color. In fact, he didn't really have one. Many assumed, however, that he did, and also that that color was blue, but he didn't really hold that particular hue above any other. Really, it was just a matter of what he looked best in, both in his own mind and in the mind of the public, and he quickly found it. Blue: the spectral manifestation of calm and poise; the color of the strong, enduring sea; and the color which cooperated most harmoniously with his eyes and the eternal ring of the Phantomhivesboth a deep, regal cerulean.
So why was it, then, that white took such precedence in the gardens surrounding the Phantomhive estate? Many had asked, but no onenot even those closest to the young masterhad any idea.
During the early stages of the renovation of the mansion
Nuzlocke Emerald-Chapter 2 Professor Birch's lab was smaller than I'd thought it would be, or at least it seemed so if I didn't look up. Its high rounded ceiling gave it the illusion of size, but one only had to focus on the ground to see that this place was in desperate need of some kind of addition. There were shelves crammed with books shoved against the walls and tables piled high with papers so close to each other I wasn't sure how his assistants actually sat down. Against the back wall, in what I assumed to be Birch's "office" was the large machine I'd seen in Pokémon centers, flanked by two large tables holding books, loose-leaf paper, and one with a few pokeballs.
A few seconds after we stepped inside, Stephen leapt off my shoulder and bounded towards the machine, nearly falling underfoot of two scientists, who were too busy mumbling and staring at their clipboards to pay
FrivolitiesPepsi and potato chips.
The slippery leather chair growing warm
while the sun ambles off into the darkness
without a word.
But it can do what it wants.
Time is kept for us in hour-long blocks,
divided by foraging and bathroom breaks.
It's monotonous and juvenile
nothingness held within four walls:
stupid laughter and an idiot box;
plastic innocence in our hands;
and we could be doing so much more.
"What show is this again?"
So a toast with blue aluminum
to pizza-tinged belches
and pixel-filled screens,
and scary crime dramas
and curious dogs.
To another summer day's escapades
in the air-conditioned basement,
growing pale beneath fluorescents.
To 'being 12'
in the summer before simplicity
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