[lacedinshadow]

It's Just Business [Backstory] || Karen & Archer

[lacedinshadow]

Cognitive dissonance.

Her nerves had led her to be almost terrified of this man, and she had expected to loathe every second she was required to spend with him. She didn’t expect him to hold the door for her (though it might have been nice, what with managing a delicate dress with three inch heels), but she was at least expecting for him to wait for her to actually leave the cabin before he started walking.

Just before entering the dining hall he had stopped, and as she caught up to him, she feared—or hoped, she wasn’t quite sure which—that he would stop to tell her something, anything, that could lead her to believe he wasn’t just an empty vessel.

Instead, she notices a grin splaying itself out upon his face, his posture relaxing into a stance of easy confidence, and she blinked in surprise when he linked their arms. He had become an entirely differently animal, smiling and waving and exchanging brief pleasantries with the people they passed by. All glances spent on Karen herself, however, were largely ignored by their subject; no, Karen was far more focused on how he paced himself as he moved, as if he were suddenly aware of her fashionable hindrances.

Dear Arceus, did she actually shiver in anticipation when he leaned over to tell her something? Of course, when he actually did say something, it was in that horrid monotone, and anything she had felt was quickly put to rest—

Until he turned away from her and made a public statement, of course arceus this wasn’t fair.

But, she flashed a grin of her own, and replied, “Oh, darling, I think right here would be just perfect.” As she spoke, she gently led him to the table that he’d indicated prior, and as soon as they’d arrived he pulled out a chair for her, waiting for her to take her seat before easing the chair back towards the table. He himself then took the seat beside the man in the yellow tie.

And then it was just business. As Archer turned his charm on the man beside him, Karen resolved herself to consume as much wine as she possibly could—but not so much as to be unseemly, of course, she was supposed to be a proper young bride.

She snorted softly, wary of the eyes always on her. What even was a “proper” bride? Whatever it was, she certainly was not it. People would think of girls—not women, but girls—who matched the white dresses they wore, girls with large and innocent eyes, girls who had to stand on tip-toe to bestow a chaste kiss upon the cheek of a helpful gentleman, girls who—

She blinked. Well, according to Karen, proper young brides were fourteen. She snorted again, slightly louder this time, and froze, hoping Archer hadn’t noticed. She sighed when she decided she was safe. Still, she thought, as she began to make small talk with the other women as they also sat down—she wasn’t even a “proper young bride (tm)” when she was even that young. She was always the wannabe rebel, the girl who dyed her hair and wore leather and fishnets and dark makeup and combat boots.

She almost shuddered at the thought, but still did she wear a smile on her porcelain face.

How was she even any different now? She was the same little girl, wanting to spite her parents and party with the “cool kids”. Arceus, how much wine has she had to be thinking like this so early in the evening? The lipstick mark on her glass is the same, and her glass is nearly empty, but it would take more than that to get her drunk.

Her smile faltered for a moment when the other women weren’t looking. She stifled a sigh as the band picked up, and people began to make their way towards the dance floor. 

If she wasn’t tipsy soon, she may just regret it.

[archerapollo]

For all intents and purposes Karen and Archer performed impeccably. He lived up to the standard he had set for himself the moment he entered the dining room: though not the most conventionally attractive man in the room, he held himself smoothly and used an effortlessly assertive tone while speaking to guests which scored him many ‘alliances’ amongst their small table. The man in the yellow tie garnered most of Archer’s attention. A boorish slob, he was already heavily intoxicated by the time they had been seated. He introduced himself in a booming voice as Mr. Shibou. From the case file Archer had memorized this man’s face and attributes. He had been born into old money and lived a life full of excess, which was evident by his large size, designer suit –currently stained with the remnants of what he had been drinking-, and his wife, -the fifth- who seemed just as disinterested as Karen, but lacked her composure and exquisiteness.  

It was interesting to see the two men next to each other, Archer with his rather petite frame, pressed suit, quiet voice, and wine glass – filled with water. Next to the blabbering behemoth who couldn’t seem to not make a mess of himself and the surrounding area. They were utter opposites and still Archer was able to act more interested in what he had to say than anything Karen had said during their travels. – What a dick.

  Of course his interest was nothing more than an elaborate ruse. Shibou was an investment heavyweight, and securing his support would do wonders for Giovanni down the road. He was known for being careless with his money and a fancily worded contract could easily impress and successfully subdue any attempts he might make at asking questions. Securing Shibou would be a cakewalk for Archer.  They spoke through their appetizers and time and time again he found the man’s eyes not on his food, but on Karen – not that his reprehensible gaze was any different and by the time his steak had arrived it wasn’t clear what he was more hungry for, the steak or the blue haired beauty.

True to his nature he declines his main course meal, instead continuing to pick at his salad. An imperturbable smile graces Archer’s features.  It is moments like this a person analyzing his and Karen’s interactions could see through the carefully crafted lie. No self respecting man would allow his wife to be eyed that way, yet here he was seemingly turning a blind eye to the situation.

One thing that didn’t fall through his judgment was Karen’s alcohol consumption. She wouldn’t make a mess of herself, that he was certain but really now, was that any way for a young socialite to be indulging? He eyes a waiter harshly as he approaches again to refill glasses, a bottle of Aromanti cradled in his arm. The look is enough to redirect the man without a word. Before his actions can cause a stir he clasps his hands together, standing gracefully before the small circular table. “Darling why don’t we show Mr. and Mrs. Shibou a grand time?” His fingertips graze across her delicate shoulders a warm, fleeting touch that ultimately disappears as he extends a hand to Shibou’s much less attractive wife.  “You wouldn’t mind just one dance would you?”

  The other women at the table seem flustered to not have been chosen. For Karen however the reason for Archer’s selection would become all too clear. He wanted her to take a turn with the boar. Said man rises unceremoniously taking Karen’s dainty hand in his own meaty one, agreeing with a jarring laugh. Archer gives an encouraging /read: commanding/ smile as Mrs. Shibou rises to his side, jumping eagerly at the chance to dance with another man.

It is then that the blue haired man whisks the woman towards the crowd. The audience was older and they adapted to a fairly basic waltz.. still Shibou’s wife prattled on, hardly paying attention to the actual formation. It doesn’t take long for Archer to learn to tune her out, instead focusing on Karen and his target.

Of course this would be an opportune moment for Karen to showcase her more prominent skills, and if they played their cards right it would definitely give them irreplaceable information. Archer could feign friendliness for the entire night but that would do nothing compared to a few moments spent with Karen under the right circumstances.

The duo pivot around, Archer’s eyes never leaving his ‘wife’, waiting for any sign of actual distress. Distress of course being nothing more than a blank look of contempt once she had gotten a sufficient amount of information out of the man. Eventually Archer turns back to his partner pretending to be genuinely interested in…What was it? Oh yes the Swarovski crystal collar she had just purchased for her Snubull back home, how delightful!

[thekristalstar]

❄ When Hell Froze Over [AU]

[thekristalstar]

In the early days of the resistance, every trainer had been allowed their pokemon. Kris had Happy by her side day and night, and things weren’t so bad.

But then it got colder, and Happy became more and more lethargic. Soon he couldn’t even move on his own, and no amount of begging or pleading could change that. So Kris had to return Happy to his pokeball. She realized in an instant that all but two of her team members were cold blooded, and would never be able to survive in such harsh conditions. Madai was frail on the best of days, and she could never endure such frigid weather. And that only left one option, as the storage systems had gone offline with the attack.

She had brought out her own houndoom, who proceeded to scorch the food supply, burn down a bunker, and severely wound another rebel. Kris was the first survivor to have the partner privilege revoked. That was when her fighting spirit suffered the first major blow. For the first time since her childhood, she was truly alone.

A few weeks later the partner privilege was revoked for all but a few lucky rebels due to shortages in food supply, setting Kris back on an equal playing field with the others. But company did nothing to lessen the misery. If anything, it just made it sting even more.

"We don’t even attack," she said, a certain soullessness in her tone. "We jus’ make sure ‘dat ‘dey don’t attack us.” 

"I wish ‘dey would," she added. "Just fer… somethin’ ta happen, y’know?" She looked up at Archer, eyes sad and desperate. "But ‘dat ain’t happenin’, is it? Who would attack us. ‘Dere ain’t anythin’ ta gain." Had she been in a better position, she would be attacking him for his life choices, for his attitude, for anything and everything. Never would she be talking to him like a human being. And never would she be revealing things that had remained unspoken for weeks on end.

But perhaps that was because Archer was the only one who spoke to her. The only one to have any sort of interest in her, or what she had to say.

Before she could speak more, he uttered a single word. Two syllables.

Crystal.

Instantly she glowered, gritting her teeth and glaring up at the man. “How ‘da hell did’ja find out about ‘dat?” she demanded, tone angry and dangerous. Indeed, she had been riled up. She didn’t care if no one used her name for the rest of her life— calling her Crystal was a much worse crime. It reminded her of her mother.

Her mother… Kris’ brow furrowed. She was out there somewhere, wasn’t she? There was no way that she could have survived in this frozen wasteland. But how far did this tundra go? No one had come to save them, so Kris had assumed it was global.

If that was the case, her mother was dead.

A sick feeling of schadenfreude washed over her.

"I have," she admitted. A bit of pride dared to creep into her tone. "Gimme a chance ta do t’ings my way, and we’d be outta ‘dis mess by now." She flared up, rebelling against the very situation she found herself in. For a moment, the old Kris fought to come back.

But that fighting urge deflated. “But what if ‘dere’s nuttin’ out ‘dere?” she asked in a small voice, meek and scared and overall very un-Kris-like. Her gaze swept the flat horizon before looking up at Archer again, as if he were supposed to provide an answer.

The comment about being an agent made her sneer again. “Go suck a lemon,” she snarled. “Ya can’t win me over wit’ big empty promises.” She had already lost a once-dear friend to the ranks of Team Rocket— she wasn’t about to lose herself, too.

As much as she craved to act out against their supervisors, Kris let out a curt sound of agreement and gathered up her things. The two of them set off along the border in near silence, marching around the far perimeters of the camp as the sky got a bit brighter. Sometimes they split up. Sometimes they walked side-by-side. But they always kept moving.

Right around noon, Kris stopped in her tracks. “…huh,” she vocalized, turning her head to stare intently away from camp. There was a low hum, alien to the young girl’s ears. Her lips parted and she quieted her breathing, trying to gauge where it had come from.

Just in time for something large and gray to shoot past them, letting out an otherworldly scream just before it fired a beam of solid ice.

[archerapollo]

Dreadful, dreadful, a truly awful thing; Crystal Clarity was internally failing! Archer’s lips had pressed into a tense line as he paced back and forth on patrol. How dare she do that! Didn’t she know he was struggling? Didn’t she know he needed her to be the same infamously spunky fiend that he had grown to both resent and admire? It didn’t register in his mind that she; as a living, breathing, human being was subject to all and more of the same mindsets that he was struggling to cope with in light of Team Plasmas attack. This mentality of not being able to empathize with others had been one of Archer’s greatest setbacks since their world had been wholly transformed. One would think it easy for Archer to make his way through the ranks of the rebellious factions; He had years of experience as a tactical leader, it would be foolish to wager against him if he was ever pitted against the current ‘leaders’ However what they lacked in experience in skill they held in intrinsic ethos, they were old mayors, village elders, even occasional gym leaders, the survivors wanted to trust those people with their safety; no one in their right mind would listen to a washed up ex-executive of a botched criminal organization.

Alternatively though, there was Kris – Archer’s eyes would meet her own on occasion as they made their rounds. Hadn’t she been viewed as a pseudo celebrity due to her exploits as a trainer?   Yet here she was, completely beaten down by the circumstances she was living under.  If she could be rejuvenated, would the masses heed her words?

The hours seemed to drag on, with every step he grew more and more exhausted. Time and the environment had aged Archer: long gone were the days where he could afford hours to working out and keeping himself on a strict fitness regimen. His body was weak without a proper diet or physical excursion, and the biting wind only seemed to slow him down further. Vulcan follows faithfully throughout the process, yet the beast was also much worse for wear. This included his once superior hearing. blissfully unaware of the oncoming strike.

  Kris stops a few hundred feet before Archer, craning her pigtailed head to the side, clearly listening for something. Teal brows arch upwards in curiosity and he quickens his pace, arriving at her side just in time to see the defined form of Kyurem racing torwards them.

  In a perfect world, bacteria wouldn’t have infected the old beast’s ear canals rendering them nearly useless; Vulcan would have heard the tortured roars of Kyurem long before human ears could possibly pick up a trace of the echoing sound; The Houndoom would have alerted his master (and subsequently Kris) with plenty of time to react; However in a perfect world there wouldn’t have been any Kyurem for Vulcan to hear at all.  

As  fate would have it, nothing about this world was perfect and the only aid that the beast could supply was to bear low to the ground and manage to avoid getting hit.  

For a moment things seem to slow, chunks of earth and ice ricocheted around coating the trio in layers of snow ice. Archer’s initial instinct  prompts him to grab Kris’s arm, roughly pulling the teenager down to the ground with him as if they’d find safety amongst the ensuing rubble. The alert sirens wail and Archer curses, his breath right by Kris’s ear.

The legendary Pokemon rears back around, blasting once again into the complex. The man wipes at his face in vain trying to clear his line of sight.  He had never seen Kyurem- though there was no doubting that he’d remember it now. Still holding on to Kris’s arm he struggles to speak.

Kyurem roars deafeningly once more, the emergency sirens wail, successfully blocking out Archer’s words. Vulcan scrambles to gain footing on the terrain, dipping down next to them as if awaiting a command. The earth rumbles as Kyurem assaults the area once again with perfectly controlled rage.

In a better time, under separate circumstances Archer would be thinking clearly enough to recognize those strangled screeches as those of a Pokemon in pain, something he was absolutely no stranger to. But in his heightened sense of disconnect he couldn’t make that connection, instead his brain was wired on getting away safely. He tries to keep a hold on Kris, she wasn’t essential right now but Archer couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to keep her from doing something stereotypically Kris-like.

The sound of gunfire stops Archer’s train off thought. That in itself was an oddity in their world – though for Archer it brought back memories of his training in Team Rocket. Kyurem roars, though the pain isn’t caused by the shooting“Don’t you dare!” He shouts, a precursory warning. “Crystal doing anything but trying to wait this out is a death sentence!” He knows the futility of his words, especially to the young woman standing before him but still, she is the only scrap of normalcy he’d had in ages.

She knew the reality of their world just as he did – either option looked grim, whether it would be to charge into the fire fight or to put as much space between the compound and the conflict as possible.

 Kris would always aim for glory, wouldn’t she?

[archerapollo]

what's your favorite position?

"Any position of power."

[lacedinshadow]

It's Just Business [Backstory] || Karen & Archer

Karen applied her lipstick, smoothing the dark red over her mouth in that familiar circular motion, then gently pressing her lips together to even out the color, and reapplying where necessary, wiping off excess with her fingertips.

She slowly put the tube down by the sink, briefly clenching her jaw and flaring her nostrils as she let out a slow breath caused by her nerves. When she was nervous, she did everything slowly, she made sure every action had a purpose. She glanced at the door behind her, unsure if she should leave the bathroom, and risk catching her partner in a state of undress.

But men didn’t usually take that long to dress, right? And certainly someone as austere as he would take even less…

She chided herself for her nerves, telling herself that he was just a man like any other; even though he was her superior, he still had weaknesses. But at the back of her mind, she wasn’t so sure. There was that look in his eye—or, rather, the lack thereof. It just put her off. 

She inspected her lipstick once more, wiping off excess just to go through the motions, then checked her manicure—rich, dark brown—to ensure there were no chips and was thankful to find none. 

She glanced at the door again, moving to bite her lip but stopping herself before she got lipstick on her teeth. 

Would she be able to hear fabric moving from through the door? He could be sitting on the bed, anyway. She sighed, pressing fingertips to her temples. Was she getting seasick? She hadn’t been on a boat in a long time, and she’d never been on one this large before.

She checked her gown, a dress made entirely of lace, such that people would constantly stare at her to see if they could, ahem, sneak a peek at anything, and she ensured that the applied tape would keep it from slipping. Being a Rocket had its perks sometimes, and free gowns and luxury cruise tickets were part of them. All she had to do was act as arm candy and attend some dinners and presentations and the rest of the time she could enjoy herself.

If her partner was the type to let her go off on her own, anyway.

The thing she didn’t like about Archer was that she just couldn’t figure him out. There was nothing to grab onto, nothing to unravel. There was nothing but his desire to serve out Giovanni’s orders to his best ability, but even that didn’t serve as a foothold. There was nothing but cold duty with this one, and she couldn’t stand it.

She looked in the mirror again, began smoothing down her blow-dried hair but froze and brought her hand down. She couldn’t put this off anymore, she would get through this venture capital cruise and by Arceus, she would enjoy it.

She inhaled sharply and let out the breath, hesitated when she reached for the doorknob, then opened the door to the bedroom and stepped out.

"You ready to go?"

[archerapollo]

Twenty minutes early; to everything, for the entirety of his professional life. Yes, Archer liked being exactly twenty minutes early to everything that required his presence. It was when the blue haired bombshell of Team Rocket showed up five minutes late to their first mission briefing that he knew they would not be working well together.

Things went downhill for Karen from there.

Archer was pure obedience, law and merciless conviction. Karen was – in his opinion -  Just a striking woman who was able to keep her mouth shut. He knew little about her actual talents and from the impression he gave, it never seemed like she would be given the chance to chat about her qualifications. The entire time spent traveling to the cruise was spent in a stifling silence – one that was set in motion mostly by Archer’s stonewall façade.

Shouldn’t she have snagged a mission with Proton or someone who was at least a little bit fun? Instead of the world’s finest trained show dog? Archer wouldn’t even acknowledge her playful advances or any tactics to get under his skin. For all she was concerned he was some programmed impassive vessel meant only for missions such as this.

And it was to no surprise that when she finally emerged from the bathroom – looking as ravishing as could be, that the anomaly just nodded and stood. –as if he was immune to the very image she had cultivated so well.

He crosses the small cabin, slipping on his own suit jacket. The outfit is professionally tailored, every crease and corner is immaculate – He almost fits the bill as an investor. He places a hand on the doorknob, hesitating first before turning it.

“Just try to remember the duty at hand.”

  With that he opens the door, not bothering to hold it open for his ‘wife’ for the next few days. With that he makes his leave, the distant sound of a hub of people getting ready to enjoy the first real ‘dinner’ of the cruise echoing several halls over. – Oh yes Dinner with Archer, there would be nothing more entrancing.

He remains largely silent the entire trip – something that was quickly becoming a particularly exasperating regularity. And until they reach the doors he doesn’t acknowledge her at all – but at the first glimpse of another attendee it happens, Archer’s entire physical language changes; His arm laces with Karen’s slender one and his lips turn upwards in a proud smile. To an outsider it looks as if he’s on top of the world, perusing a five star cruise liner with easily one of the most beautiful women on board?  Oh he should be filled with mirth.

More than a few glances are spared their way as they enter the fine dining hall, Archer’s eyes scan the room giving assuring nods to those whose faces he recognized from the socializing they had done before. The machine had miraculously shifted gears – And Archer had never seemed more likeable. Catching the eyes of coquettish women and envious men, who seemed to be more concerned with the siren on his arm.

He leans over to her, voice quiet despite the jazz influenced band playing far in the corner and the sounds of idle chitchat. “We are sitting three tables over next to the swine wearing the yellow tie.” – The brief illusion is shattered, his dense tone a reminder of just who he was before he swivels back to the crowd at large. “Where would you like to sit my dear?” He croons playing the part of a mystified newlywed all too well.

[archerapollo]

There is a red string of fate tied around your pinkie! Who's at the other end?~

[archerapollo]

So archer how do you deal with the morning after sex?

Someone had opened the blinds – and as the light of the rising sun pours into Archer’s room his slowly awakening form shudders in disapproval. They always knew what buttons to push to make Archer remember their presence even in the most maddeningly infinitesimal of ways.  Before his eyes open he can feel that he is the only one in his bed – per usual after their occasional forays. However he was by no means truly alone; the other’s scent clung to Archer’s sheets, a vibrant strand of hair was left behind on the pillow next to his own, even his own body was more than enough evidence; Fresh marks on his back mingle with ones that had already left scars from meetings past. As he rises from bed the lingering ache in his muscles causes him to groan, they had such a way of exhausting him.

He dresses himself, clad in a thick robe to combat the near constant chill of his apartment. He’ll save the sheets for later – They, just like his body would undergo a meticulous scrubbing in order remove any un-anchored proof of his little late night tryst.

The apartment is predictably silent all but for the nearly inaudible padding of his own feet against the polished wood floors. His lips press into a thin condemning line, his home was constantly kept at a near showcase level of exactness but they always managed to leave something askew. In his kitchen a single coffee mug is overturned on the drying rack, another remnant. As he moves to place the cup back in its actual place he spots another mug located near the boiling pot; it had been filled and left to cool at room temperature, no sugar, no cream, just the way Archer had always preferred it.

It was the little things that drove him mad.

[archerapollo]

butt

A valiant effort was made in order to find an image of Archer’s plush rump, a valiant effort indeed — Instead several blurry images of his derriere have been handed to you in an unmarked envelope. - Most of them are covered by a scowling Vulcan.

Butts are serious business.

[d-esper-ado]

Cruel Intentions || Will & Archer

"In a dark time, the eye begins to see,

I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;

I hear my echo in the echoing wood—

A lord of nature weeping to a tree,

I live between the heron and the wren,

Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.”

- “In a Dark Time” - Theodore Roethke

♦♦♦

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock seemed to be mocking his impatience and anxiety with every small movement of the second hand. Will’s eyes were glued to it, hypnotized by the way each hand moved, sometimes reaching a a hitch and pausing momentarily before continuing. He’d reached a near trance-like state when a sudden cough was heard behind him, causing him to snap back to reality. They really need a new clock, he thought to himself.

He turned in his seat and glared at the source of the cough - a relatively young woman with long, silvery hair. She glared back, eventually causing Will to back down from their abrupt staring competition. Something about her - something about being alone in this room with her was making him incredibly uncomfortable. It could have simply been the room itself - the two were seated in an old warehouse, a few small offices situated on one side. Everything within the place was desolate and depressing - certainly not conducive to any sort of joking or happiness.

The whole of the environment brought up a big question: Why was he here?

No longer mesmerized by the mechanical time-keeper before him, the psychic allowed his mind to wander backwards. How had he gotten here?

Perhaps it’d begun the moment he’d run away from the orphanage after completely obliterating the old building’s dining room. To say that the event had been a mere tantrum was a bit of an understatement - it was more than that. He had been angry. Absolutely fed up with his life back at that place and sick of the way he’d been constantly treated – like a freak. It wasn’t his fault he was like this…why couldn’t anyone just accept that? Accept him?

After the whole ordeal back at the Goldenrod Home for Boys, the violette had begun working as a street magician, which he discovered paid little to nothing. His life began to revolve around stealing food from people, running from the people you’d stolen food from, and sleeping high upon a fire escape where he couldn’t be found. It wasn’t a good life by any means, but…it was a life at the very least. And things got a little better eventually. He’d taken a risk one dark, stormy night, and had happened upon Kris. Of course, she was gone now….he’d ruined that relationship with two single words: Team Rocket.

To be honest, Will didn’t regret his words.

“They’re recruiting new members, Kris! We won’t have to sleep on that old, disgusting mattress anymore! We’ll have food – meals – breakfast, lunch, and dinner! C’mon, we have to! I’m tired of living this way…I want more. Don’t you want more, too?”

The girl had not wanted more. Not if “more” was code for joining Team Rocket. In the blink of a masked eye, the two friends had gone from inseparable comrades to mortal enemies, and it was far too late to change any of that at this point. She was long gone, and wanted nothing more to do with the psychic. Though Will considered begging and pleading to have his friend back, he felt that he should stick with his decision – he was doing this for him. For once in his life, he was going to be selfish and take the rapidash by the reigns, even if it meant working with what was once known as the most nefarious group of people the regions of Kanto and Johto had ever known.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Team Rocket had done in the past. The thing was, he didn’t care. After spending months on the streets, stealing and lying and cheating, he could walk the walk and talk the talk. Hell, based on his actions during that period of time, one would think he’d been born for something like Team Rocket. And now….now….he was going to join them.

The fantasies ended abruptly when a calm voice called out his name from one of the offices. Will stood up with all the integrity he could muster – an ironic way of acting for someone interested in joining a criminal organization. He looked back at the silver-haired woman, gritting his teeth at her sly grin, and then moved his eyes up towards the clock. It gave one last movement of the second hand and ceased all progression. The boy gulped.

Once inside the office, Will scanned the room curiously, noting its bland interior – a simple metal desk, uncomfortable chairs, a plant growing near the wall. This obviously wasn’t the true office of a Team Rocket executive – it was a makeshift hideaway and a prime location for any furtive communication to take place. Like all other potential members of the group, Will had been called upon for some reason unknown to him at this point. Maybe it was to prove he could do this. Maybe the organization liked knowing its members personally. Maybe they already knew something about him. Whatever the case, the psychic now sat opposite a man with striking blue eyes which seemed to be staring right into his very soul. He felt a chill go down his spine.

[archerapollo]

Tick - - Tick - - Tick

His pensively tapping fingers betray his poker face as yet another prospective grunt stammers along on his supposed assets that could benefit Team Rocket. Most of them were the same, petty thieves seeking to strike rich in the recent boom of Rocket activity, and the more Archer listened to their stories the more he became jaded to their exploits.

“Ransacked a department store? Marvelous.”

“Oh you’re a master of your craft? Of course.”

“Morally ambiguous? Well you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Those that made it to this stage had been scouted by undercover rocket agents in the streets – and Archer loathed every moment of it. Why should a criminal syndicate hold interviews? There were better ways to do this and he was keen on changing the system the moment he had the opportunity to do so. But for now he would settle for being as difficult as possible.

They were nearing the end of the day now and only a few files remained untouched on his desk, either those who had chickened out or were still waiting in the parlor, he didn’t care enough to check. So many blank faces had come into his little makeshift office that he could hardly signal out any exceptional candidates.

 How committed would they be to Giovanni? Would they prove themselves to be unique and valuable? Or could they be molded into obedient little soldiers? Archer almost always doubted it. In the few moments they had spoken and even in the less time that Archer actually had been listening most of the hopefuls seemed to be spewing hot air.

It doesn’t take long for him to reject the nobody and have them escorted by an awaiting senior grunt.

Again he begins setting up for the next candidate. Before him is a picture – A boy’s name, his surname conspicuously absent, his age and a brief description of what exactly caught the scout’s attention. Archer raises a brow at this, tilting his head to the side as he stares at the masked boy in the picture. The grunt who had taken the other male out calls out Will’s name and right on cue the psychic walks in.

“My my.” He had thought the picture might have been stolen from a theatrical troupe’s pamphlet, but here he was; a clown in his very own office. “Have a seat then.” His gaze leaves Will and returns to the blurb about him. So was this the Goldenrod Boy’s home bomber? They already had pyromaniacs  and the like in surplus, that alone would gain Will no free passes.  “So William.” His voice doesn’t help the atmosphere that the cold room and his appearance create. His unsettling gaze again meets the violet haired teenager’s own. “Why do you think you are here?”

It was easier to begin this way – To get a feel for what exactly the newcomer thought they were getting into. Some took this question as an opportunity to discuss their own qualifications for the job, others would profess some  yearning desire to see their world change. Which approach did Archer look for? Whatever he happened to feel showcased the recruit’s honest belief. Other than the very vague (and often times largely incorrect) report by scouters Archer knew nothing about Will at all, and why not hear the testimonial from the beast himself?

[archerapollo]

Children

Archer is no stranger to the destructive potential of children.

But what about younger children, not trainers but actual helpless feeble children? “They’re dirty.”

Archer doesn’t have much experience with children- either from when he himself was a child or nowadays. Helping to raise Silver gave him his first experience with a child. And you can just ask Silver how well that went.

[archerapollo]

Hey mule, go fuck a flagpole.

"Proton I’m so thrilled that you want to include me in your favorite pastime but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass up this opportunity."

[archerapollo]

Death of your lush locks of hair.

“You know I believe this may be a question better suited for Proton.”

[archerapollo]

Death of Giovanni

“Straighten your back, unclench your fists, chin up.”  

From behind the ruby haired heir Archer murmurs a stream of hushed orders through gritted teeth. The boy doesn’t want to be here, that much is evident and for once Archer cannot disagree. He and the child stood next to the three other Executives waiting to address a mass of people.   – No Silver was more than that now, he was a man. A man who had been violently thrust the reigns of Team Rocket upon his father’s untimely death.

His father –

Archer begins to feel a hole grow in his abdomen. From beside him there is a faint ringing of a woman’s voice, Ariana was beginning the eulogy- addressing the few people that had the gall to attend the funeral of the infamous head of Team Rocket. Archer’s nails dig into Silver’s shoulder subconsciously trying to hold onto the scraps of his beloved leader’s legacy. As Ariana continues to speak Archer feels himself drifting – hadn’t that been all he had done recently?

Even after the collapse of Team Rocket Archer took egocentric pleasure in relying on Giovanni for ultimate answers and now he had departed- Yes, Archer wasn’t the type of man to believe in the afterlife no matter what those psychics promised. That left him with only one alternative. Giovanni; The enigmatic powerhouse, the criminal mastermind, the charismatic ruler, would be left to decompose with all of his goals and teachings.

To Archer this was unprecedented, the hole grows and he feels entirely exposed –‘ certainly the attendees can see.’ He thinks.

The rumor was that the man hadn’t said more than a few words to anyone but Silver since Giovanni’s body had been found. He had even been silent when the other three executives had brought him the news.

The silence from Archer said more than anything. It was the certain way he seemed to drift listlessly from task to task, sorting out Giovanni’s loose ends, hiding his paper trails, assuring Silver’s safety, making the proper arrangements for the burial. His eyes were hollow, gaze listless, movements slow and unfocused. Giovanni’s death threw Archer in to a dangerous flux ripping the shreds of humanity right out of him.

In Archer’s sick way he had loved Giovanni. No one had been greater. No one meant more. No one could ever fill his shoes.

Movement of the mourners catches Archer’s eye and he lifts his head in a stupor. Ariana had finished speaking, they were now coming to make their condolences.

They  - How dare they.

They who had never done a thing for his leader in so many years. They who had left immediately when Giovanni lost his power. They who could have never have been as truly remorseful as Giovanni deserved.  They repulsed Archer.

The grip on Silver’s shoulder tightens then slackens. The hole is widening, encompassing the small man’s frame. The teen eyes Archer inquisitively as he begins to move past him – Ariana stumbles on her words, Petrel removes his cigarette briefly as if to say something and Proton raises his head for the first time showing interest. Still the three of them seem bound to their spot as Archer continues to walk past the menagerie of Rocket grunts and past business partners. His white suit- the one Giovanni had presented him with all those years ago cuts through the sea of black mourners.

His grief is nearly tangible - a force radiating off of his body prompting no one to stop the blank faced male. He wouldn’t show weakness, he wouldn’t show grief in front of these imposters.  

Archer pays no mind to where he is walking; the destination is meaningless as long as it gets him away from the blasphemy occurring in the room he had just left. But more than that the man just doesn’t seem to mind where he ends up. The infamously strict interim leader was nothing without Giovanni. He was nothing now and he believed it whole heartedly.

What did he have to return to after this? His restaurant? The one that employed solely Rocket grunts? Who could he rely on? Ariana? Petrel? Proton? How unlikely, they had barely spoken in years. Who would he follow? Silver? “Silver.” The word leaves the man’s lips in a whisper. He has arrived on the front steps of the funeral home.

“Archer.” Comes a monotone reply from behind.  Archer whisks around and for a moment- just for a split bliss inducing second he sees the face of Giovanni. The illusion fades all too quickly, alas it is flanked with crimson red hair. “Silver..” Archer repeats himself taking a step forward.  There is a quiet moment between the two. Words don’t need to be exchanged- Years of Archer raising Silver have given them that much.

“You look a mess.” Archer ignores the teenager’s remark. Much like he had done when Silver was a child he leans over fastening the heir’s tie. 

The teen begins to shift away “You don’t have to do this any-“

“This was your father’s tie.” His hands slip away from the silk fabric.

Silver averts his eyes as Archer seems fixated on the garment. In one statement he had learned more about Archer than eighteen years of being around him had provided. Archer didn’t just believe in Giovanni and his teachings, he needed them. After all those years of arduous dedication he couldn’t tear himself away from wanting to follow and serve someone.  Was Silver just the next logical step in Archer’s misaligned dedication? The teen already knew the answer. “Archer, I’d like to go home.”

“Of course sir.”

[thekristalstar]

❄ When Hell Froze Over [AU]

[thekristalstar]

Kris very visibly jumped at the usage of her name. How long had it been since someone had addressed her as such? She’d been reduced to “soldier” for so long, now… only her pigtails set her apart from the rest of the rebels. Gym Leaders were no greater than mere hobbyists, the Elites were mingling with has-beens. It made Kris sick. But to hear her name— a warm, familiar word in this land of ice— gave Kris just enough energy to lurch into a sitting position.

She swiveled around, digging her hands into the ice as she did so. She narrowed her eyes, vaguely remembering this person from… somewhere. The cold had made her memory much more flawed, but she still prided herself in being much better at remembering things than most other people in the camp. And yet, this particular man made her pause. Where did she know him from?

It took until his next words, the unmistakable smarmy coo, for Kris to place a face to the voice. She never paid much attention to him— even during the takeover, he was little more than a body to go with that bright red ‘R’— but she would never be able to forget how oily and insincere his voice had been as she reached the top of the Radio Tower. Even with her on the back of Suicune, he kept his cool and didn’t seem impressed in the slightest. And that haunted Kris long after the Team had fallen.

The girl groaned and fell back, sprawling out on the ice as if she hadn’t moved at all.

“Shut it, pally,” she grumbled, making it a point to turn her face away from him as he crouched down beside her. She had on significantly less layers than he did, not because she was better adapted to the cold, but simply because the suffocating feeling of multiple layers was much worse for her than any chill could be.

Archer was here. Here, presumably working alongside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her face and let out a whimper, the cognitive dissonance too much for her to handle so early in the morning. How long had he been living in the same concentrated area without her noticing? So many thoughts flooded her brain at once and she squirmed in discomfort, a truly pitiful display she put on for the Executive. She could feel his gaze— cold, even in its amusement and excitement— on her, and that was enough to bring her back to attention. “Take a picture, it’ll last longa’.”

Gritting her teeth she sat up again, a hand flying to her temple as spots swam in her vision. She hadn’t eaten much, even considering the rations that they were allowed. In fact, she hadn’t done much of anything. Ever since she stopped waking up with the belief that she might be able to save the world that day, most of her existence had turned into a blur.

She was vaguely aware of a hand extended in her direction. She eyed it warily and almost considered grabbing hold of it— almost. That thought alone snapped her back to reality as she batted it away, getting herself to her knees and eventually her feet of her own accord. “You ain’t ‘da boss’a me,” she muttered, a shadow of her former spunk.

Even though she was somewhat revitalized (emphasis on ‘somewhat’) in the presence of Archer, her words still betrayed her helpless desperation.  She made a point of not looking at the man for as long as she could— which ultimately lasted for a few seconds. Her silvery gaze fell upon the houndoom by his side. She let out a small squeak of surprise from the back of her throat as she snapped her attention back to the blue-haired man.

“Why do you get ta keep someone at’cher side?!” she demanded. He couldn’t possibly provide an answer that could satisfy her, and yet she asked anyway. Angry, lonely tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away with her sleeve before they had a chance to fall and freeze. What would Kris give to have Happy at her side, or Rudy, or even Pants McGee? She just wanted a companion, that was all. Was that really too much to ask for?!

At least this discovery seemed to inject a bit of life into the girl, perhaps making her more similar to the lively, ferocious girl that Archer would remember.

[archerapollo]

There was no shriek of panic, no roar of animosity,  no look of apprehension, Kris simply flopped back onto the ice and dismissed the teal haired man informally, behind his scarf the corners of his lips curl into a smirk. Kris was just what he needed to keep himself sharp amongst all these flock minded individuals and power driven leaders with hardly any experience. To Archer they were all painfully simple, so predictable but Kris? What a riot! He leaned back on his heels, still crouching as he retracted his previously extended hand instead propping up his chin listening as the teen spoke.

Certainly her infamous spunk was fastened in place but she as a whole seemed to have wilted under the circumstances. It broached his concern that just wouldn’t do, she needed to be functioning at full capacity if she was to challenge him enough. He was faced with a problem that he had touched on briefly as the interim boss of the Rockets. Certainly Kris and her posse had presented a fatal challenge to Archer’s aspirations further down the road but in the beginning? It was just the Executives, the grunts and small fry jobs while they desperately tried to climb back up the criminal syndicate. And for the longest time Archer was so dreadfully bored. His saving grace back then was survival and Giovanini, though the former to a back seat to the wishes of the later.

How did that compare to this disaster? To Archer it was the same game with double jeopardy, there were no grunts to manipulate, Executives to conference in, A boss to idolize, or even a public that he could endanger. He was left with merely survival and listening to orders from unworthy superiors but if he didn’t focus on those aspects he would be terminated, if not from the raids than from the tundra that their region had become.

Archer had never been a fan of doing things out of pure necessity; he found an inevitable monotony in that course of action. Monotony led to boredom which led to petulance and Arceus knows that a jaded sociopath brought destruction.

He mirrored her and rose as she stood, ignoring her halfhearted jabs knowing how much ‘better’ she could be. He yanked his scarf above his nose again as he peered down at her making no efforts to hide his interest in the familiar face. Vulcan’s head snapped up towards Kris as she let out a slight cry. It had always had unnaturally pearly colored irises but now his eyelids were swollen and red, the eye itself glazed over. The Houndoom’s corneas had been burned by the sub zero winds and without the proper medication had developed into an actual disability. Still as the beast sniffed at the air it growled not fully recognizing Kris’s scent or voice. “There there Vulcan,” Came Archer’s saccranine voice as he stroked the hooked horns of the dog Pokemon. “No need to be puckish we’re all friends here.” He cooed looking at Kris from the corner of his eyes. “Ah well you see, Oh.”

He seemed ready to launch a undoubtedly sarcastic explanation until Kris wiped at her face. No no no- this wouldn’t do. The older man quickly looked away, she was worse off than he thought. Normally he’d relish and prod at any faltering of Kris’s emotional walls but right now he needed stability Justas badly as Kris yearned for the companionship of her old team. Coughing to clear his throat Archer looked away up in to the murky grey sky that had become the norm.

“He nearly torched the infirmary when they tried to remove him from my side while I was still undermined upon arrival.” His voice lowers as if paranoid that the wrong person might hear him even all the way out here. “Ridiculous really, keeping trainers from doing what they do best- If only they’d  gather intel on the enemy outposts, stockpile their power and attack as a solid force instead of scattered teams then they’d easily make much more leeway in the Plasma army.” He pushes though the raspy tone and for a moment he too seems re-energized just thinking about the prospect of forcing something, anything to change in their favor.

“Crystal..” He uses her full name slowly remembering the tiny things that got the New Bark native riled up. “I’m sure you of all people have given that plan of action oodles of thought hm?” It was as if his own memories about people were smothered in the same grey fog as the sky, but that was what she was all about right? Going for the gold, making a name for herself. A short amused noise exits him, hardly a laugh it sounds forced and unnatural. “You really would have made quite the agent back in the day, I’ll never forget about that.” A backhanded compliment? Very likely

Back in the day? It wasn’t that long ago, but time seemed extended out here, their own history included. Nudging Vulcan with his heel prompt the fire type to go Archer glances about once more, with the overlaying fog and murky skies it was hard to spot anything at all. Still the man clasps his hands together. “Well then we can’t get our darling supervisors pissed off hmm?”  With that the executive pivots away from the pigtailed girl. “I will guard everything within the limits of my post and quit my post only when properly relieved!~” He mocked the constantly drilled in details of their guard duty even as he scanned the horizon.

[thekristalstar]

❄ When Hell Froze Over [AU]

The cold was all that Kris knew nowadays.

Even the sleeping bags and the fire wasn’t enough to make her warm. The sun had been blocked out by a thick fog since the day before the attack: whether it had been specifically created as a cover for the enemy, or because of something else, had never been concluded. All that the rebels knew for sure was that the sky was gray and the ground was ice.

With a plaintive whimper— the only show of displeasure that she could muster lately— she hoisted her knapsack onto her back and tried to ignore the breath that was visible in the frigid air. In the earlier days she had been much more vocal about her displeasure— she hated the cold, why couldn’t it be warm, why did he get a warmer coat, and so on and so forth— but the complaining died down by the time they had reached the sixth week of solid ice.

Now it was week fourteen.

Stepping from the minimal comfort of her shelter into the no-comfort of the outside world, Kris caught sight of movement in the icy dystopia. She recognized him as a member of the gendarmerie. Shuffling her short legs as quickly as she could, she approached him. “Where can I find ‘da mornin’ patrol,” Kris asked in such a no-nonsense tone that it hardly even sounded like a question. She shoved her gloved hands into her pockets, trying to regain the feeling in her fingers.

The supervisor looked down at her and tugged the scarf from over his mouth so he could properly speak. “The patrol is supposed to meet at o-six hundred hours at the eastmost bunker,” he informed, stifling a yawn. “Roughly, that way.” And with a jerk of his thumb, he continued on with his business.

With a snort— the visible breath dissipating a moment after it formed— the girl started out towards the meeting spot.

✖✖✖

She gave herself too much time and she arrived well before o-six hundred hours.

With nothing worth standing for, the girl dropped to the ground and leaned her head against the wall of the bunker. It had once been the Burned Tower, before the beast had struck— now it was no longer a tower, but a single room that was mostly protected from the elements.

It was still dark. Not that there was ever any light, rather… there was dark, and then there was darker. And this time of day definitely fell into the darker category.

What she would give for a lick of sunlight on her face. Her freckles had mostly faded, her skin growing paler in the tundra. She glanced to the left, then to the right, and then— finally deciding that no one was within earshot— she let out a pitiful, heartbroken groan. Never before had she felt so… so powerless in a situation. She hated the cold. She hated Team Plasma. She hated morning patrol at o-six hundred hours.

And she hated not being able to do anything about it.

The girl’s butt slipped out from beneath her and made Kris fall further, sprawling out on the ground. She stared at the murky, bleary sky, and couldn’t even bring herself to get back up. The miserable girl wallowed in her own misery, so much so that she didn’t even notice as a second individual approached.

[archerapollo]

Change begins slowly and then ensues all at once. Archer had found himself in a constant state of flux since Team Plasma’s Kyurem wreaked havoc on his life. It had started seemingly ages ago with at the epicenter, Unova’s Opelucid city.. sure the news had sent  the citizens of Johto into overdrive wanting to send aid in any way possible. ‘Anyone wants to be a good person when it costs minimal effort.’ Back then they still had the comfort of knowing that the danger was thousands of miles away. It didn’t seem so horrible since the population couldn’t imagine it happening to them. Surely Team Plasma would be stopped, didn’t good always win after all?

But then they hit another town, and then a city, cities became routes, routes became districts, districts became regions and eventually the entire world was being enveloped in ice.

 Something would happen.

Someone would save them.

But no one did, and no one would. There were a few days of silence after the radio stopped sending out signals, Archer kept himself busy in his freezing restaurant with its long ago boarded up windows and barren pantry. He played chess countless times with himself, drank himself into a stupor until he was whisked to a better time day in and day out.

But even the most reclusive of people eventually need contact. Archer only had brought Vulcan with him on the fateful day he left his Sinnoh restaurant planning for only a weekend trip to the Kanto establishment, and for the previous nine long weeks the two men had been solely reliant on each other for company.

His breaking point poignantly enough was once he ran out of consumable alcohol, it took only two sober days for him to get the need to leave before going stir crazy. It took him two weeks to find the outpost of rebels in Ecruteak city, he was nearly shot by a man on guard patrol for all his trouble.

Ninety eight days since the original attack, and Archer was doing ‘better’ than ever. After spending some time recuperating from his frozen voyage, and the heavy damage done to his body by drinking so much in a short period of time he had assimilated easily into the militaristic schedule that the rebels ran under. They paid no attention to the fact that he was once feared as a criminal mastermind- no, none of that mattered in the tundra.

Archer kept his head down and things ran smoothly. Certainly he had paid his dues, menial grunt work wasn’t suited for a man of his caliber, he knew how to play this game and if he did it long enough he’d find himself where he belonged – in power.

But still he was a faithful follower once the cause suited him, even if it meant guard patrol at an ungodly hour. He could care less about the well being of the individuals he was set to guard but at the same time he knew he had found a safe haven and playing by their rules was his best bet for surviving this new hellish torture and anything was better than living reclusively as he had been before.  

Wrapped in several layers of thermal clothing he could still feel a chill in his bones. Archer tugged his scarf higher on his face glancing back at Vulcan who padded along dutifully. During his time here someone had gifted the Houndoom with a thermal vest, his inner body heat did the rest of the work in keeping him safe.  

The duo eventually made it to the designated area, precisely twenty minutes early, an old lingering habit of Archer’s and to the teal haired man’s amusement a small pile of clothes was slumped against the barracks – no it was a person, a girl.. “Kris..” He mumbled recognizing a tuft of her signature blue hair. “Kris?” He repeated asking himself more than her. Had he truly managed to miss her presence in the weeks he had been around? He approached, heels crunching in the mixture of ice and snow. “Oh how the mighty have fallen.” He coos despite being no better off, the smarmy tone of his voice is instantaneously recognizable even after all this time and under all that clothing. “My oh my..” He crouches pulling the scarf down in a similar fashion of the guard Kris had spoken to before.

He doesn’t have the energy anymore to laugh as he typically would; instead he stares at the younger trainer. A part of him is strangely thrilled; the feeling grows to a pit in his stomach. She is at both times one of his greatest adversaries and the only person in this encampment deemed worthy of his time.

“Well isn’t this lovely.” There is a rasp to his voice, a product of prolonged exposure to the elements. Wearily he stands, Vulcan  - the intrepid beast is poised on his haunches besides Archer. “Get up then- you won’t be much good to me if you lay around all day.” Quickly he holds out a gloved hand – Is this happening? Really?

His expression doesn’t change, he keeps it stoic as if they were only mere acquaintances back in the day.  He seems altered as if he, like Kris he had lost a notable part of his personality in this destitute world that they were now faced with.

[archerapollo]

Why disband an entire team over just a few losses?

“A few?” Archer’s fingers lace together, the movement is smooth but the ways his knuckles turn white indicate his reluctance to answer. “A few bad apples can spoil the whole bunch, losses chain together, one becomes two, becomes many.” Archer grows silent tipping his chin upwards resentfully. His lips twitch subconsciously, with an exhale he relaxes – how long had he been holding that breath?

It seems for a moment that he will say no more but slowly his shoulders slump, even in his sharply tailored suit he manages to look beaten in posture. “There were certain fatal flaws in Team Rocket that the general public wouldn’t be aware of. Giovanni’s departure left a massive void in the inner workings of the corporation, something the other executives nor I could ever hope to cover.” He shifts in his seat, his fingers still laced tightly.

“Not to say that we didn’t try! But those rare young trainers that- as I’m sure you know -” His pitch raises almost as if mocking the very words he is saying. “Can often be the harbingers of the most damaging of ‘losses’.

“I wouldn’t expect you nor many other people to understand this but I will never be able to achieve unassailable prowess that Giovanni held so effortlessly over is subordinates.” There is a passion in his voice, one he had once commonly used to motivate the squadron of Rocket grunts. Usually the passion is feigned and hollow but deep in Archer’s eyes a authentic emotion is brought to the surface, even if only for mere moments. In truth Archer lost his will to continue on with Team Rocket once Giovanni lost his desire, Archer has always been a follower of  the man, not necessarily his ideals.

“But I digress, in short? I disbanded Team Rocket for a conglomeration of things, not just the oh so publicized defeats by..children.” The word rolls off his tongue disdainfully. “Giovanni’s departure, the safety and the will of the heir, the wishes of the other Executives, the bumbling masses that were making more mistakes than  I could handle…” He trails off finally unlacing his fingers only to clasp them together. “I won’t make excuses but I assure you it wasn’t just a few losses that prompted me to end the most magnificent period of my life.”

“If Giovanni had stayed however, I assure you I would have remained a faithful partner until deemed unnecessary.” It was strange to hear the usually pompous man speak about himself as if he was disposable, though this was always how he viewed himself through Giovanni’s eyes.

[archerapollo]

[archerapollo]