The OC Above is Too...

"You're too relayed on that Seth guy, " she said while shaking her head. Totally not getting the irony of this entire situation. 'Does he give ya a sweet goodnight kiss, wipe your butt?" She taunted. 

--

"I don't need some cheesy words from some eldery folk!" She said. Her ears dropping. Her eyes stinging with tears. "I'm perfectly fine on my own and I will not get in any trouble!" She hisses. "And if I do, I fight myself out of it and I don't need your..sympathie." Her ears drooped a bit more and with frustration Leika kicks a peddle away. She snorts, her hands angry clenched into fists. (:^( she so needs cheesy words from some elderly folk)

Letting out an audible "hmmm," Dolores scanned the young girl with a slight frown before putting her own hand up to her chin.

"I think you might have too much fighting words in you, young lass," the elderly woman mused - her voice so quiet that it was almost impossible for anyone to hear except the person she was directing it towards - "Of course, I can see why you'd say such things, but... Words do have consequences. And if you're not careful, you might get yourself into a situation that you can't get out of with a few..." She trailed off slightly, the next word staying stuck at the tip of her tongue. Wait... "Weapons."

Almost immediately after saying that, she held up her hands and hastily insisted, "That, that isn't an inherently bad thing, though! I admire the confidence that young people like you seem to have nowadays! In fact, I'd love to have something like that..." Dolores stopped speaking once more, her voice suddenly becoming more somber. "It's just that it borders on recklessness sometimes, and I wouldn't want something bad to happen to you because of it... That's all."

"Ah, hmm...? Well, I'd have to say you're too optimistic for your own good, mate. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing; just that I think that's the case." Tempest leans her weight on one foot, relaxed, and looks at Dolores with a sleepy grin, the softening of her eyes betraying the worry she felt for the old woman. "I mean, that situation in Sinnoh sounds like some right nasty business, huh? But you're taking it on the chin from what I can tell; moreso than a lot of others would in your position I think. But don't be so optimistic you let people get away with treating you badly, 'cause you seem too sweet to have to deal with that sorta thing." The gym leader places a hand under her chin, tilting her head in offer. "'Course, if anyone keeps giving you trouble, I can always smack 'em right of their nest for you if you'd like, granny. So you can keep all that 'too much' optimism~"

"THERE YOU ARE!!!"
Schwann was charging towards Tempest at full speed, a cloud of dirt left in his wake. Once he caught up to her, he put his hands on his hips, giving her a disapproving frown. "You're sleeping AGAIN?? In the middle of the day??? Have you exercised at all? Today? Once?!" He shook his head. "Tempest, you're too lazy! Pokemon are only as strong as their trainer, and if you don't have the stamina to hold out in a battle how can you hope to do multiple gym badges a day? Come on! Get up, we're going jogging!"

Schwann? What is one thing that Stewart has too much of? Finnigen has put too much thought of it as he can't necessarily find anything about him too much. But he had an idea:

"Too much energy! You're too bedazzling! So bright it's blinds me sometimes!" But there was something optimistic in his voice, "Please don't get it to your head. Something I just said is good too! Keeps me back up on my feet just.. sometimes keeping up with you is a bit tiring for an old man like me..."

He reached to scratch the back of his head, a bit hesitant of what he said - hoping that he had not offended Schwann in any way. "So would you be able to slow down for me a tad bit? I'm not as young as I was before..."

"You appear to be a bit too clumsy and forgetful. Or is the word scatter brained? Language changes far too much over the years. Perhaps take time out of the day to reflect on what needs doing. Your work is important, and should continue to be treated with the upmost care." That was all, he motions that he is finished offering his unwanted two cents.

"Aren't yer a cute lil critters. A small pupper, " he said with a wide smile. Roswell had a weakness for foxes. Maybe it was the stereotype 'thieving and trickery ' that made the ol man soft. His smile, however, froze when Mon told him his age. "Yer wat nouw? No, no dats way too old."

--

"But Oi give back to de community, " he said. Placing his hand on his chest. "Oi run a soup kitchen, doesn't yer know?" He asked. Roswell smiled at him. "A wealthy do-gooder like yisser should consider pledgin' a donation or two. Fur de poor and de homeless." (Don't his """soup kitchen""" is his thief hideout )

Totally ignoring the hypocrisy present in his argument with the utmost intention, M. Pourife raised his hand and stated, "Well, I believe that you are too materialistic for your own good. It seems that your obsession with shiny objects, especially coins, has been quite the controversial interest, and I cannot say I oppose the reception. It almost seems... Peculiar that you would be interested in those goods to be honest."

He stopped talking for a bit, but not because he realized that what he said roasted himself in the process. Rather, it was just due to the fact that he had to stop and think of what to say next. Was an impending ramble next? Or an impressive monologue about the nature of science? Or even just an attempt to change the subject and go over to small talk, which wasn't exactly appropriate given the situation, but... Nobody ever said the middle-aged man wasn't a flip-flopping coward when it came to his words, damn it.

"Why not focus on something a bit more sustainable for the future?" he suggested while letting one of his fingers rest against his chin, "Like looking for knowledge? Or perhaps giving back to the people around you? I personally prefer the former very much, if it was not obvious, but hey, maybe you could find some use in trying to increase the level of peace out there or something involving more abstract concepts. There is no such thing as too much peace after all, right?"

Maribelle couldn't help but gawk. He wasn't an... ugly man, no. Really, she was more thrilled to meet such an articulate man, as he was quite unlike those back at Laojin Base. His style of dress was charming, and he himself appeared kind enough, and she already had a soft spot for the sciences and literature. She could listen to his ramblings for as long as she was here. At least it was interesting. The more she listened, however...

"You've a lovely voice, Monsieur Pourife, and you're as equally a lovely man," she droned out, her dull expression unwavering other than an uneasy smile, not unlike that of a nervous dog's, "But-- and I'm truly sorry-- Gods, must you... must you be so loud? Too loud, too loud..."

She wasn't going to even mention his mustache.

The two sat in silence, with the prince taking a thoughtful sip of his tea. After a moment, he set the glass down and said, "You're too tragic." He smiled lightly at her. "It shows a little on your face, but I know it better through your heartbeat. A steady rhythm that's not effected by anything. You have a lot of walls built up, I'd imagine. Perhaps a destiny you're set on doing before focusing on relaxing? A shame. I would have loved to see such a pretty face smile."

"You seem like the person who's too carefree for their own good," Smithson immediately answered. Just from a superficial scan of the younger man, he could tell that the other man was the type to never take things seriously, to always play along with the jokes, yada yada yada.... It was all something that Smithson personally wasn't fond of. Like, at all. Already, he could feel a swell of disdain start to rise up inside of the aristocrat, but for the sake of reasonable conversation, he ignored it.

Or at the very least, he replaced it with a more... Fatherly approach. Sure, it still reeked of the same pretentious attitude that he always adopted towards people like this prince - let alone young people like this prince - but it was... Sort of a step above what he initially had in mind. If you asked him why he felt this way, Smithson would insist it was because he felt that one should befit their rank, and the fact that the prince didn't seem to follow that was... Quite astonishing, to say the least. That, and the younger individual reminded him of his son, ever so slightly... It pulled on his heartstrings.

Rubbing his forehead while trying not to appear too much like a grumpy grandfather (although calling him a stressed father wouldn't have been too far off anyways), he added with a gentle but still clearly irritated sigh, "Listen, I know you have potential, but... I don't believe that you'd be able to reach it, not when your mind keeps wandering far too often for its own good. It's nice to be able to sit down and focus on one thing, if I'm going to be honest. Hell, I'd consider it a necessary asset for someone like yourself."

Otto wasn't one for confrontation, and he tried to avoid any words that could come across as impolite, but for the sake of everyone else, and for the man he saw now...

He wore a pensive expression, and an uncertain little smile. Decker reminded him of his uncle, who he knew to be blunted by the cruelties of the world, and those cruelties he committed himself. The difference was that Otto had to treat Decker more tactfully. He looked the man up and down, taking in every inch of his appearance, from his darkened eyes to his unshaven face to his scruffy clothing... Otto pitied him.

"You and I have a few things in common, dear sir." He commented. A bit touchy-feely, he reached in to drape his arm over Decker's shoulder. "The difference between you and I, however, is that it seems that you've given up. How sad... You could be something-- the something you used to be-- you know. You have the strength to be, I know that, and if only I had the openings, I..." He trailed off, immediately changing his mind on what he was about to say.

He resorted back to pondering. "You're too... lifeless. Like a slug, you are too slow to move, too slow to act. I only wish you the best, darling, but really? It will take you some work to be truly happy."