[Ever since he was little - saying since he could remember wouldn't be an exaggeration - Pokey had wanted power. And through the years the reasons he had wanted power had changed, becoming more tyrannical as he grew up in Onett. In Mayfield, he had desired power in order to help those he cared about, but it didn't change the fact that trying to have power of some type, any type, was important to him.
And now he does have power. He can feel it in him. It's odd, now that he does have it; he isn't particularly hesitant to use it, just unsure what he wants to do with it first. What he wants to make first, if that's what it's for.
It didn't take too long for him to decide what he wanted to make in the end. Just a bit longer to steel himself to get ready to make it form. And to try and drown out his excitement some. In a way he doesn't understand why he's trying to drown it out; as far as Pokey is concerned he has ever right to be excited about this. But at the same time it's the first time he's ever done anything like this. It's intimidating, not that Pokey would ever admit it. But it takes him a moment before he tries to focus on it.
When he was much younger - and even just the time period right before he came to Mayfield you could say Pokey was much younger than he is now - Pokey new the exact kinds of things he would make for himself with this power. A castle made of solid gold with drapes and tapestries made out of hundred dollar bills, a monument to excess and greed that would've covered up the sun itself with how high he would build it. He'd make hoards and hoards of robots and monsters and servants who would love and praise him. He'd make himself a badass trenchcoat because it just looked cool. But with how limited his power was he couldn't make something that extravagant or grandiose here. And even if he could, Pokey wouldn't. Not here and now.
Instead what he pulls forth is a plaque. A short, stone wall like you might see outside a monument. On the plaque are several names engraved in the polished stone. There's no header above these names, but Pokey hopes the sentiment, and the reason those names are there, would be obvious to anyone. People are coming back, but not everyone has. And Pokey would like there to be a reminder of the people who haven't come home yet.
The process itself is draining, more so than Pokey had imagined. Considering the people in charge of Mayfield had seemingly torn down and built up the town again and again with ease, the act of making a simple plaque took far too much out of him. It was like every muscle had a dull ache at the moment it was finished, and alongside it was a sense of emptiness. Not of discontent or emotional emptiness, but as if Pokey had been a reserve for something, and now so much of it was gone. There was a little left, but not much. Not enough to do anything to substantial with.
Pokey reached out to touch the plaque, and smiled, taking satisfaction in how real it was. He ran his finger over some of the names, remembering the faces put to them. And hoped they might end up coming home soon.
Once upon a time a selfish little boy who never thought of anyone but himself was caught in a cage. He came in entirely alone, with nothing that had even been his. None of the possessions he had claimed and made and held on to in his selfishness for years and years. Over time many of those possessions came back to him; but what he received as well was something new to him. The boy who had been alone for so long was no longer alone. He couldn't explain it then why it was happening, and at times he still couldn't explain why it continued to be so. But with companionship, so much of his selfishness had melted away, slowly like hard ice after a frost, but melting away if slowly. Trickling away still, even now.
A selfish little boy had gone into the cage alone. When the cage was opened, what came out was a boy who had learned friendship, even if he still didn't speak it well. And he did not come out alone.
Slowly, Pokey took his hand off the plaque. Deep inside him, he could still feel a bit of that well of power he'd felt before. Feel enough to create one more thing.
Pokey looked around slowly, from side to side, to make sure no one was watching. And when he was sure no one was?
A nice, fitting trenchcoat formed over his clothes. Pokey looked at the sleeves for a moment, pulling at them to make sure they were right, before smiling widely.]
Outside City Hall
And now he does have power. He can feel it in him. It's odd, now that he does have it; he isn't particularly hesitant to use it, just unsure what he wants to do with it first. What he wants to make first, if that's what it's for.
It didn't take too long for him to decide what he wanted to make in the end. Just a bit longer to steel himself to get ready to make it form. And to try and drown out his excitement some. In a way he doesn't understand why he's trying to drown it out; as far as Pokey is concerned he has ever right to be excited about this. But at the same time it's the first time he's ever done anything like this. It's intimidating, not that Pokey would ever admit it. But it takes him a moment before he tries to focus on it.
When he was much younger - and even just the time period right before he came to Mayfield you could say Pokey was much younger than he is now - Pokey new the exact kinds of things he would make for himself with this power. A castle made of solid gold with drapes and tapestries made out of hundred dollar bills, a monument to excess and greed that would've covered up the sun itself with how high he would build it. He'd make hoards and hoards of robots and monsters and servants who would love and praise him. He'd make himself a badass trenchcoat because it just looked cool. But with how limited his power was he couldn't make something that extravagant or grandiose here. And even if he could, Pokey wouldn't. Not here and now.
Instead what he pulls forth is a plaque. A short, stone wall like you might see outside a monument. On the plaque are several names engraved in the polished stone. There's no header above these names, but Pokey hopes the sentiment, and the reason those names are there, would be obvious to anyone. People are coming back, but not everyone has. And Pokey would like there to be a reminder of the people who haven't come home yet.
The process itself is draining, more so than Pokey had imagined. Considering the people in charge of Mayfield had seemingly torn down and built up the town again and again with ease, the act of making a simple plaque took far too much out of him. It was like every muscle had a dull ache at the moment it was finished, and alongside it was a sense of emptiness. Not of discontent or emotional emptiness, but as if Pokey had been a reserve for something, and now so much of it was gone. There was a little left, but not much. Not enough to do anything to substantial with.
Pokey reached out to touch the plaque, and smiled, taking satisfaction in how real it was. He ran his finger over some of the names, remembering the faces put to them. And hoped they might end up coming home soon.
Once upon a time a selfish little boy who never thought of anyone but himself was caught in a cage. He came in entirely alone, with nothing that had even been his. None of the possessions he had claimed and made and held on to in his selfishness for years and years. Over time many of those possessions came back to him; but what he received as well was something new to him. The boy who had been alone for so long was no longer alone. He couldn't explain it then why it was happening, and at times he still couldn't explain why it continued to be so. But with companionship, so much of his selfishness had melted away, slowly like hard ice after a frost, but melting away if slowly. Trickling away still, even now.
A selfish little boy had gone into the cage alone. When the cage was opened, what came out was a boy who had learned friendship, even if he still didn't speak it well. And he did not come out alone.
Slowly, Pokey took his hand off the plaque. Deep inside him, he could still feel a bit of that well of power he'd felt before. Feel enough to create one more thing.
Pokey looked around slowly, from side to side, to make sure no one was watching. And when he was sure no one was?
A nice, fitting trenchcoat formed over his clothes. Pokey looked at the sleeves for a moment, pulling at them to make sure they were right, before smiling widely.]
Awesome.
[Well.
I never said the boy became perfect.]