“Well, that was, quite possibly, the most banal, uninteresting, boredom-riddled activity I have ever had the displeasure to partake in.” “Wow.” “What?” “That was unusually mild for you.” Sitting idly upon the oak bench, the sixteen-year-old student scanned the broadsheet newspaper, preferring proper news – as opposed to what he believed was trivial rubbish, contained in the tabloids that plagued the shelves so persistently. Sitting on his shoulder, observing the page’s articles was his guardian character – a much less serious fellow, to be sure. A vaguely noticeable amount shorter than a majority of boys his age, his build was slim, but not as athletic as it first appeared to most people. Skin slightly tanned by his mother’s genetics in him, his cobalt-blue eyes seemed dull and uninterested, the sparkle that should have been there at times instead replaced by a placid look of indifference. Mouth straight and not displaying as much as recognition of pleasantries at times, his hair was coal black and dull, reaching down to an extent that made it so it had started creeping over his ears. Garbed in a simple ensemble of an ink-blue polo shirt and light blue denim jeans, his feet were adorned with smart shoes, appearing to consist of brown leather. His guardian character, a considerably smaller figure, appeared to have the same sort of build as him – however, this was where the major similarities ceased to make an appearance. With his mid-short auburn hair gelled into skyward spikes, the chap’s eyes were the red of burning coals, a fiery attitude of determination and conviction clearly displayed within. Mouth turned up at one corner, in a playful smirk of sorts, his top was a racing red, a shirt typical of people having a kickabout in the park. His shorts, which appeared to be jogging pants that ended at the knee, were black, though with a noticeable streak of red down the left leg. Trainers of a similar design consisted of his footwear, rounding off the attire. “Jet. You seem to have gotten a little stiffer.” Tensing slightly less at the mention of his name, the guardian character returned his wayward gaze to his owner, and divulged what he suspected. “There’s an X Egg around here somewhere, John.” “We should deal with it.” “Be careful though… This one feels like it’s about to hatch, but into… I can’t say. Anyway, let’s GO!” Shrugging, the newspaper was folded, rolled, and slid under John’s arm. He was in no particular rush – it was his nature not to want to put much effort into things. He didn’t hate himself for it, but he wanted to change – he wanted to be somebody else.