When We're All Just GhostsA hollow ringing in your head jars you awake. Red malevolent energy sears your eyes and your vision comes to life. You look outside at the Gunjynh horizon. The sky burns a muddy crimson, a telltale sign of sandstorms. You grin, zipper jingling from your mouth as you excitedly sprint downstairs like a child on Christmas morning. Except there are no gifts for you; no, it’s just another work day. But then again, you have the best job any Banette could ask for.More Like This
Downstairs, a Mismagius rests lightly on a chair, occasionally passing through it and jerking back to her original position. You bat at the rim of her hat, and she lifts up her head, eyes dulled with sleep.
“Good morning!” You chirp through your closed zipper. The irony in the statement is obvious, but you don’t care. Twilight is your dawn.
The Mismagius shakes herself awake, eyes starting to gleam with dark intelligence. “Good morning, Saren. What’s our job today, director?”
Prologue: Paint it Red[The following story’s dialogue has been translated from Farsi]More Like This
[September 26, 1:29 PM, ???]
The Smeargle looked up from his portrait. “Master?” he asked tentatively, with a quaver in his voice. He had every right to be; the client he was sketching was a very powerful Pokémon. Both in influence and strength. Like most Gunjynh leaders worth their salt. Except this client wasn’t most Gunjynh leaders.
“Yes?” He stirred, clacking, and stretched his claws out. Even in the dim torchlight, the artist could see the malicious glint of each blackened tip.
“Would it perhaps be better…to have some more light?” The client scowled, and the Smeargle shrank back from his canvas. Even his unfinished sketch looked fearsome; the Pokémon in the flesh was terrifying. Its steel-blue eyes shone eerily bright in the darkened room as they locked onto him.
After a few moments, the client shuffled and sighed. “Fine.” He nodde