As of about ten minutes ago, I am the proud owner of a level 45 Lugia.
Motherfucker took me about three and a half hours total, over a span of two days. I don't even want to think about how many Poké/Great/Ultra/Net/Dusk balls I've lobbed at this guy. All I can tell you is that I am physically out of breath.
To say that shit got real would be an understatement. Shit gained a sort of hyperrealism wherein we are all just shadows reflected on a wall in a cave in Shit's subconscious.
Whenever I wonder if I've outgrown Pokémon, if maybe my loyalty to the game is more out of nostalgia than anything else, if I even get anything out of the game anymore, I need only think back to the muted klik! of my Ultraball as it locked itself around the target, cementing my victory. That's what being a Pokémaster is all about.
And for the record? My Lugia (Ulysses) looks simply majestic following me around. I have a feeling that this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.
A more in-depth post later on. I need to go recover.
The best thing about this catch is that the general stress level in the house has dropped considerably. Remind me to sleep over at a friend's house when it's time for another legendary pokémon. ;)
ReplyDelete-Laura