Information

Ichi has a minion!

the Pruteekt

Ichi
Legacy Name: Ichi

The

Custom Common Jollin
Owner:

Paula

Age: 10 years, 9 months, 2 weeks

Born: June 29th, 2013

Adopted: 1 year, 1 month ago

Adopted: March 17th, 2023

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

Level: 218
Strength: 545
Defense: 545
Speed: 545
Health: 545
HP: 545/545
Intelligence: 571
Books Read: 565
Food Eaten: 2872
Job: Whats-His-Face the Assistant

CREDITS

Profile template (c)

helix (get yours here);
Free background from Wallpapers.Net;
Adopted from

Damon;
Overlay by

dalice;
Story by

Pureflower!

That blasted, bone-headed, ground-shaking, lip-wagging oaf!

He's never around when I really need him. We could have this safe sprung in five seconds and make out like bandits if he wasn't off stuffing his face and flirting again.

Okay, so maybe I was the one to tell him to take his enormous butt outside because (as usual) he was making too much noise and being annoying. So what? That doesn't mean he has to go wandering halfway across the continent and leaving me to do this job alone.

Men are dumber than rocks sometimes. Scratch that. Most of the time. How did I ever get myself landed with such a lump?

Okay, I know the answer to that one too. I went and tackled the one bounty hunt I never should've touched, not for all the gold in all the safes in the world. It seemed like an opportunity I couldn't pass up, even though I knew I was in way over my head.

I still like to think I could've pulled it off.

Tel saved my life that day. Not that I could ever let him know I'm grateful. He'd never let me hear the end of it.

Plus, it wasn't entirely my fault that the target got tipped off.

Or that those blaring alarms just about drove me insane. Nothing that loud should be allowed within fifty feet of a living being.

I lost my eye in the fallout. The team keeps reassuring me it could've been worse. Satochi swears the makeup on my good eye takes all attention away from the patch. Vos spars with me as if I was still my old self. They're good people, my fellow hunters. They know how much I hate to see my own reflection now. To know I'm damaged goods, even if I've rebuilt my skills. I'm the only one who knows that I'm a fraction of an inch slower, thanks to the missing eye. I used to go into every mission fearless and confident. Now there's always that split second of hesitation.

I hate it. I really, really hate it.

Getting back to my partner, I think I'm going to put something slimy in his bed. He knows I can't do these high-stress scenarios. My nerves are crap. I'm literally shaking right now, which is not helpful when working with delicate wiring.

Tel is only really good for two things. Annoying the crap out of me and demolishing the foods supply of small countries in the span of an hour.

I suppose he isn't totally useless, though. He does have the strength of ten and when he can keep his mind on the job and off bacon for more than five minutes, he does make a pretty spectacular battering ram.

Which brings me back to this stupid safe. He could rip the door right off, alarm wiring and all. The thing wouldn't even have time to buzz.

I hate how much I need the big lunk. I hate how his breath always smells like onions, even when he's eating candy. I hate how every time he laughs, it sounds like a fart being let out of a bag.

I love the warmth of his tank-sized body when I'm sleeping beside him.

What? Who said that. I never did. I don't love anything about Tel. Not a single blasted thing. Especially not how he handles everything with brute force. Knives are the mark of a truly skilled hunter. Only noisy, stupid bunglers have to rely on stinking guns. A real artist such as myself knows the angle to throw a knife based on the heft of the handle and length of the blade. When I aim at something, I hit it.

What was that?

Probably those blasted agents, on their way to be a source of annoyance once again. Nosy busy-bodies, always getting in the way of us completing our own missions. I especially can't stand that golden boy Talryn. That perfect hair and that chiseled body and that voice like warm honey trickling over musical notes...

Who says I have a crush on him? I certainly didn't. You really ought to have your ears examined.

Oh...not the agents. It's my noisy, lumbering partner finally checking up on me. He makes enough noise to draw every law enforcement person within a twenty-mile radius, laughing at the look on my face. Tel doesn't get the concept of irritation. If you snarl at him, he will most likely shove some disgusting plastic package of junk food in your face and insist you must be hungry.

There is no greater tragedy in Tel's world than running out of food.

I scoop every last stack of cash and bag of what I hope will be priceless diamonds into my sack. Perched on his massive shoulders, we make our getaway.

We finally make it back to our lair, with me darting my head in all directions to look for signs of pursuit. I have to remind Tel for the nine thousandth time to go through security measures, not just go barging inside like he thinks the cave is his vacation home or something.

I go for the panel that will let me into the vault. Tel (shockingly) heads straight for the fridge.

Those bags of precious diamonds?

It turns out they're boxes of a discontinued brand of rock candy.

I'm thinking there is nobody in the world more annoying than a rich person with a sweet tooth.

Until I hear an almighty crash that can only be Tel breaking something that we'll have to spend good money to replace.

My snarl carries all the way from the heart of the vault. Tel is standing there looking sheepish when I burst into the kitchen.

He doesn't even protest when I throw my knife precisely to knock the sandwich out of his hand and pin it to the wall. With maddening patience, he plucks each layer free, one at a time, and proceeds to eat his third lunch with disgusting lip-smacking sounds.

I really, really, really hate him sometimes.