She finally pays attention to him, and Grimsley feels a mild swelling of pride in forcing her to. He’ll knock her off her high horse, yet. And he managed it without actually getting bitch-slapped, too. Today was a day of small wins. In fact, his satisfaction grows when Malva admits this was information she hadn’t been privy to until this moment, and Grimsley’s sneer forms into a smirk as he leans back in his seat. Damn right, he was surprising. He was a walking surprise. Of mystery. He probably shouldn’t have had all of that champagne so quickly on an empty stomach.
“Everything I say is useful,” he tuts, “you just don’t like to listen.” He watches with disinterest as her fingers fly across the keyboard, rambling on about how these reporters were new and bad at their jobs (that’s what Grimsley chooses to hear, at least.)
“Frankly,” he drawls, “I’m surprised they were even there to overhear in the first place. Well, I mean, certainly they could have followed me, but I thought I’d kept my travel plans a little more under wraps than that.” He shakes his head. “Perhaps it would be prudent to begin the investigation there. I wouldn’t expect them to be very keen on talking to you, though.”
It always proves to be the best way to relax, meandering through the aisles that contained stories and information from all all over the world. They are appropriately worlds different from one another from one aisle to the other, but otherwise, appeared just as welcoming.
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Grimsley... doesn’t particularly care if he’s being loud or not. Not in this bookstore, of all places. Nor does he expressly care whether or not he’s bothering anyone, because after all, he can only make their day better by inserting his presence into their life. So it’s perfectly fine if he annoys Ingo for a little bit, and perfectly fine if he disrupts the book store’s peace while doing it. Right?
Ingo mentions he’s looking at contest materials, and Grimsley briefly leans to stick his nose into the book, reading a few lines before said nose wrinkled—psychology was boring, even if it was paired with the elegance of a Pokemon contest—and he straightened himself. “Yes, well, I must say, the book... suits you,” he replied. “And I’m sure you’ll find a lot of... similarly suiting material. Are you thinking of venturing into contests?”
Of course, when questioned on his own motives for coming to a store so far from the Unova League’s castle, he merely smiles brightly. “Oh, no, nothing of the sort! But the cafe in this store happens to be the best in the region, and in particular, I find a few of their sections tend to be larger than those at the shop nearer to home; frankly, I’ve powered through everything I had while I was abroad.” A pause. He leans in towards Ingo eagerly. “I don’t suppose you have any good recommendations?”
Beaches. They were one of Melanie’s most favorite places to go on earth, because no matter who you are, you can always have fun at the beach. It is, what Melanie considers, the perfect place to spend time at. The greatest thing about beaches? The fact that every region has one, of course! Especially here in the Alola region. Every other island had at least one or two on them, so of course she had to book a trip to the region!
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He expects their brief conversation to end with their mutual apologies (she doesn’t apologize, how rude) but it doesn’t. There’s a moment of silence that’s really quite awkward to him as they stare at each other, and for some reason Grimsley can’t bring himself to walk away yet. In that brief moment, his eyes wander from the woman to the pokemon behind her, and to his delight, a tyranitar is standing nearby. Well, isn’t that exciting! Grimsley is always happy to meet trainers of the same pokemon as he, and he’s about to announce that he, too, has a minitature godzilla when the woman brings up his complexion.
Honestly. How rude.
He clears his throat. “Yes, I’m fine,” he replies, “I’m sure my friends would say it’s because I haven’t drained the blood from enough mortals in the dead of night, but unfortunately I was simply very sick recently. I’m here on vacation to recover.” Though, all of those damned fairy-flies buzzing around hadn’t exactly helped matters. Still, it was hard to put a damper on his beach enthusiasm.
“My name is Grimsley,” he continued, and casually extended his hand to her, “I’m from Unova. It’s very nice to meet a trainer such as yourself. Is that your tyranitar? He looks to be in remarkable shape; I’m quite impressed. It’s not every day you find a trainer capable of handling one, they can be quite bull-headed.”
Alola’s famous Battle Tree: it was possibly the loveliest battle spot in any of the regions, purely due to its aesthetic. Frankly, the drab man-made walls of the various Battle Towers, the overall far too comfy Battle Maison, and the crowded, fast-traveling battle subway lacked something distinct that the Battle Tree had in spades: fresh air.
Grimsley inhaled deeply as he gazed upon the Battle Tree’s natural splendor, and somewhere in his heart he could feel the pressure of the arena, of the heated battles that came from such a marvelous battleground, and he couldn’t help but yearn to see the explosive energy that was likely running wild somewhere inside at this very moment.
“Alright!” he said aloud to no one in particular, “let’s see just what kind of place this Battle Tree is, hmm?” Oh, he was certain some of the others were here already, there was no doubt about that—Grimsley could only imagine Champions from all over the various regions coming out to play here—but not knowing who, exactly, was inside already, now, that was the thrill of it.
He was headed for the entrance, pokeballs securely at his waist and the pokemon within them ready for a good fight, when he noticed someone else making their way much in the same direction, and with his most charming smile, he paused to wait for her to enter first.
“Hello!” he greeted as they neared each other, “I’d expect you’re here for the same reason as anyone, eh? Have you battled here, before?”
“I’d say happy Fourth of July, but then again, none of you are American. You hear that? That’s the sound of Unova’s majestic state freedom bird, the glorious Braviary. Caw caw motherfuckers. Can’t hear your shit over the sound of all of this freedom.”
She doesn’t interrupt him as he speaks, and for a brief moment, Grimsley thinks he’s spared any more heckling or lectures. And oh is he wrong. Is he so very, very wrong. He’s startled momentarily as she tears into him, but slowly the more she takes her jabs his brow begins to furrow and he can feel the beginnings of a sneer curling at his lips. Goddamned reporters. Even though she dismisses him, Grimsley doesn’t move a muscle—except to reach across the table and revoke her champagne privileges, of course. That would teach her, he briefly thinks as he downs the glass in one go.
“Pardon me,” he hisses as soon as he’s set the glass back down (with more force than expressly necessary,) “if I was taking a moment to gather myself in the face of my imminent imprisonment. I don’t quite think you understand, Malva.”
But even then he’s not sure if she’s going to pay attention to him anymore, and it’s frustrating. He doesn’t want to say what he has to say, but for Christ’s sake, if he had to say it, she was going to listen. Without a second thought, he reaches forward to try and snag the tablet out of her hands, face set in a grim expression.
“In this article,” he continues, “there are things that aren’t wrong. What’s more, not only do I have rooted contact in Team Rocket, my first move upon entering Lumiose was to visit them for a civil discussion that, unfortunately, went unrecorded, so I have no alibi. So forgive me if, regardless of whether or not I join you on your vigilante journalism, I don’t see much of a path away from iron bars.”
He stops trying to manhandle Malva’s possessions and settles back in his seat, raising one hand to rub wearily at his temples as he crosses one ankle across the other knee. With a heavy sigh, he peers back up at her from under his palm. “It’s odd, though,” he finally muses, “that this crime spree would happen so in-time with the summit as close as it is. You’d think with so many of us coming into the city, it would all just sort of... taper off. Whatever’s going on, these thugs are fearless.”
Sometimes, there was a void of boredom that very little could fill. Television in Unova was horrible—hundreds of channels at the League, but nothing to watch. The theater was rarely better, and god forbid Grimsley went to play outside; he couldn’t bear the thought of getting dirt all over himself. At times like these, it was simply best to eschew the more common, mind-numbing forms of entertainment and to instead find a good book and curl up with a nice espresso.
Of course, that meant new books. He’d finished the last ones he’d purchased during his vacation to Alola, and was in dire need of more to last the next few months, so he caught a ride into town and found himself strolling down the city sidewalk and into one of his more favorite bookstores. The first thing he did was beeline for the in-store cafe and buy himself his favorite drink, and once it was finally in his hand, he set off down the aisles looking for whatever new caught his fancy.
He was pausing in the alternate history section to browse a few new releases when he caught motion in the corner of his eye, and book in hand, he whirled around to see the top of a head he was relatively familiar with. Yes. Someone to bother. Perking up considerably, Grimsley zipped around the aisles until he came to the correct one and approached.
“Ingo,” he greeted, “why, fancy seeing you here! Long time no see, eh? What are you looking at?”
Alola was a lovely place. It was one of Grimsley’s more favorite places to vacation (despite being overrun with the tiny, fluffy little murder machines known only as cutiefly) and normally he would have stayed in one of his family’s very fancy, very expensive vacation homes; unfortunately some asshole shitlords had taken up residence in the entire town and spray painted everything and the local police seemed to be not entirely concerned with doing anything about those hooligans.
So Grimsley had to find somewhere else to stay, and thankfully, his hotel offered ferry services to the rest of the islands. It was easy then to find a beach both he and his pokemon liked, and with plenty of water bottles in hand and dressed in his nice white yukata, he made his way and found himself at one of the many premiere beach spots Alola was simply famous for. Oh, he knew many friends who would be jealous of him right now; the water was crystal clear, perfect for his sharpedo, the sand was so delightfully warm against his feet, and there was a nice little restaurant at the far end of his vision that wonderful reviews online. Apparently they sold the best steamed corphish in all of Alola; Grimsley would definitely need to try it some time before he went home.
That would be for later, though, once he and his babies finished enjoying the sand, the waves, the sun. Dark type they all may have been, but there was something enjoyable about the summer sun beating down over the pendulus scraping of the sea on sandy shores. Grimsley. Loved. The beach. And so he prepared to let out his pokemon one by one, first his land pokemon, and once he was closer to the water, out would come sharpedo, and they would all have a good time. He was reaching for his tyranitar’s pokeball as he stepped forward when he bumped into someone, and he quickly turned to greet them.
“Ah. Pardon me. I was overexcited and neglected to watch where I was walking.” And then he paused to wait patiently for them to reply, gazing upon them with an expectant eye.
//Hey hey hey it’s your friendly neighborhood Tabs. I finished up my semester and I’m finally free to focus on RPing again for a couple weeks before I head out to study abroad. orz But in the meantime this is a stater call so if anyone’s interested please like or message me! Grimsley, Guzma, and Petrel are all open for more threads.
The door opens, and Grimsley’s mouth curls into a thin, strained smile that didn’t quite reach the rest of his face as Malva’s scowling visage comes into sight. She looks like she’s about to say something, but when she catches sight of the champagne bottle in his hand she instead mutters in French and ushers him in; Grimsley doesn’t complain, nor does he apologize. This is a bad situation. He needs a comfort drink.
She begins lecturing him after she makes sure the coast is clear, and still, Grimsley doesn’t say a word and just lets it happen. He’s only half paying attention as he fiddles with the bottle, popping the top off before setting down the two glasses he brought along and filling them equally.
Malva keeps demanding answers and refusing to give him the time to reply, and so while she bothers with asking where he managed to get the champagne, Grimsley prefers to instead sit and relax as best he could, trying to seem unaffected as he nursed his glass in one hand, drumming the fingers of the other along his knee. It’s a bad situation. A bad, terrible situation.
“What matters now is information, so… what do you know about that wretched article?”
He’s expecting her to rush over him again, lecture him a bit more, and so he takes a sip of his drink, waiting patiently for a beat until he realized this was his official cue to speak. Thank God for alcohol.
“What do I know?” he replies slowly, “well, I know for starters, my lovely little chat with your local police force was the first I heard of the matter. Frankly, I’m offended—all of this criminal activity we’re apparently coordinating together, and you’ve yet to ask me to dinner. I say, Malva, where are your manners?”
Another pause. He fiddles with his glass for another moment, eying the bubbling liquid thoughtfully. The smile finally drops from his face as his expression takes on a feel of exasperation. “I read it in full once I returned to the lobby. There were many accusations in that article. Quite a few seemed pure fiction. But I can tell you there may be... certain grains of truth sprinkled within, as far as I can tell.” He looks back up at her, meeting her gaze as his head tilts curiously. “Could I assume you would say the same?”
This massive conference of every Pokemon League official in the region had sounded like a great idea at the outset – everybody gets together, discusses the state of the League, compares stories, sets policies, so on and so forth. Now that Drayden was actually there, the slowly mounting boredom had led to him considering an attempt at boring his way into the floor with his forehead. Maybe it should have felt no different from his studies, but even he could grow tired of the sheer tedium of deciding whether or not casual Fridays were a thing to be permitted League officials.
They were currently on a break (thank Arceus) and he was standing, staring at a vending machine, trying to decide what to get to drink. The meeting was suspended for another half hour and he’d finally decided on something heavily caffeinated before sitting down at one of the tables and throwing himself a little pity party over how sweet Arceus above I’ve examined dragon droppings for two months straight and it was less tedious than this.
He let out a deep sigh, but straightened up as he heard footsteps approaching the door to the lounge. It might be anyone, they might not even be headed in, but he felt that certain appearances had to be maintained and the League’s unofficial grandfather slumping over a bottle of soda didn’t really match the aura of professionalism he projected to the others.
The Unova League’s conference was something that Grimsley could really, really get behind. Every official in the region had to drop whatever it was they were doing, Gyms and the Elite Four alike were closed down, and he got to keep all of the officials captive while he pestered them, zipped around to greet them and catch up on their lives, and what was more, he got to be the voice of reason when someone brought up the idea of casual Fridays. Casual Fridays were never something that could be permitted, period. They were League Officials, and he would fight Marshall with his bare hands if he had to in order to get the point across. He’d get his pasty ass handed to him in three seconds, but still, the point remained. League conferences always got him charged up.
But of course, everyone needs breaks eventually, if not Grimsley then the entire rest of the League, and as everyone filed out of the room to go find somewhere peaceful to contemplate their life choices, Grimsley himself made a beeline to cut Marshall off and explain to him, in detail, why casual Fridays were The Absolute Worst Thing. The conversation ended when Marshall excused himself to the restroom (coward) leaving Grimsley to find someone else to go bother. The halls were unnaturally quiet considering how many people were supposed to be here, but he didn’t pay it much mind as he wandered in his search for life.
It didn’t take him much longer to find it. Drayden. He was sitting in the lounge being very.... Drayden-like. Professional as always. After that heated argument in the conference room, Grimsley could do with a little professionalism right now. Offering the man a practiced, charming smile, Grimsley slipped all the way inside and took a seat nearby, leaning back as he neatly rested one ankle across the other knee.
“Well, for someone of your enhanced wisdom, you’re looking alright,” he jabbed, lips curling as he was unable to keep the mirth out of his voice ,“how are you faring, Drayden? Still willing to put up with the rest of us?”
Today is Cheren’s day off, and he will not allow anyone to ruin it.
He won’t allow himself to be upset when he misses the ferry to Castelia. He won’t allow himself to be upset when he instead hitches a ride on a fourteen-year-old’s Wailord, and arrives at the city relatively soaked. He will also not allow himself to be upset when a little girl trips, spilling her Castelia Cone all over his new shirt.
Even when the ice cream stain, despite multiple attempts to clean, begins to dry and leave a rigid, sticky mark on the shirt.
Today is Cheren’s day off, and he will not allow anyone to ruin it.
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When he sees the bags and all of the books and papers go flying, Grimsley feels a little bad. For a minute he considers helping, but the ground just looks so dirty and he’d hate to ruin his pants; they weren’t necessarily new, but they a favorite, more comfortable pair of his, and, well, cities weren’t necessarily the cleanest places, no matter which part of town he went strolling around through.
He’s about to huff and wander off like he owned the city when he followed the hand of the person back along their arm and to their face, and a delighted smile crossed his face. Well, look who it is! Isn’t the world a small place? Well, considering they both lived in Unova, maybe that wasn’t the appropriate phrasing, but that was besides the point.
“Cheren!” he greets, “well, now, I wasn’t expecting to run into you here, today!” Literally, in fact. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt?” Grimsley bends over awkwardly in an attempt to try and help while also not getting his clothes dirty, but he’s not the most flexible of people and awkwardly has to give up when his fingertips won’t even reach his ankles. It’s the thought that counts, right?
Eventually he settles back for watching, and as he continues to eye Cheren to make sure the bump didn’t do any real damage, his eyes can’t help but be drawn to the large stain on his shirt, and delicately, he points at it. “What happened there? That looks very.... erm... well, not exactly..... look, that’s not a very pleasing thing to look at. You’re not planning on wearing it the rest of the day, are you? Honestly. You’re a gym leader now, aren’t you? You can’t be walking around like that, not when you’re representing the Unova League.”
Elesa was trying to be as slow as possible with the preparation for her gym battle. Grimsley wasn’t here yet, and she knew it wasn’t like him to be late. Her opponent was waiting patiently, although Elesa didn’t tell him what was taking so long. She didn’t want the fact that a member of the Elite Four was coming to watch his battle to freak him out.
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Truly, truly a remarkable show; heated battles always got Grimsley’s blood pumping, but somehow Elesa’s managed to shock him just a bit more. The levels of experience didn’t matter–Elesa was a professional, the challenger boy was still fresh, who even cared? Even at this level, it was miraculous to observe and a promise of greater things to come.
Learn, he’d found himself thinking as he watched the boy take flight back outdoors, learn from this and one day come and challenge us. Yes, League season was always his favorite time of year. He could hardly wait. And his energy shows as he bounds to the front, greets Elesa, and grins like a doof as she replies in kind.
“No,” he agrees jovially, and dramatically throws one arm across his brow. “Why, that would be the biggest injustice of all! To leave so unfulfilled would be an egregious sin!” But the smile never leaves his face and he resumed his natural position one moment later, hand on hip.
He continues without missing a beat. “Well, you know,” he says, “if I go too long without seeing a good battle, I shrivel like a vampire. What did you think the secret to my youth and beauty was?” He tousles his hair. “And as well, just the fact that it’s been so long is reason enough to come by. How are you? What have you been up to all this time?”
The annual Pokemon League Conference was being held in Kalos that year, and Grimsley loved it. A straight week of the strongest trainers each region in the federation had to offer, elites the lot of them, and mingling and social functions and sometimes friendly battles. Kalos, itself, was a beautiful region, and one that Grimsley himself very much enjoyed visiting; getting to see all of his foreign friends was really just icing on the cake.
Today wasn’t a day he had to deal with panels, or anything—in fact, he was pretty sure it was just for Kanto–Alola relations—and so with the time off he, and one friend in particular, had planned a little get-together. He arrived on-time, as he usually tended to; in fact, he was about a minute early, and so he stood outside the front door of the mansion simply staring up and admiring it. It was maybe a little smaller than what Grimsley was used to, himself, but it was quite quaint. A lovely start for a bachelor. His smartwatch buzzed on his wrist. Ah, now he was on-time.
A friendly smile gracing his lips, Grimsley raised one hand and rapped deliberately on the door before folding his hands neatly behind his back and waiting. He drew himself up neater, taller, when the door swung open, and politely, he inclined his head. “Siebold,” he greeted, “it’s good to see you. May I?”
No one that he’s particularly aware of. He’s still relatively close with his family despite his differences with them, and he always tries to do right by his friends. He’s never even really been in a romantic relationship of any sort, either, and so there’s never really been a chance for him to break anyone’s heart, as far as he’s concerned. Sometimes he gets lonely, though.
Grimsley is charming. He was trained from a young age in the arts of proper etiquette and behavior at social functions, and he expects those around him understand how to behave at such events, as well. He’s good at socializing and tends to go stag to whatever event he’s invited to so he has an excuse for shamlessly flirting with anyone he finds attractive. However, flirting is usually as far as it goes.
Petrel is awkward. Social events are stressful for him as they usually tend to have more than a couple people attending, and Petrel gets tired of people and socializing very, very quickly. Many situations that arise at social functions are difficult for him to navigate without help, and there’s usually never anyone he can invite to go with him to do so, so if he can’t avoid it, he’ll end up going but standing in the corner the whole time eavesdropping on other people’s conversations and smoking, if he can get away with it.
Guzma is a paRTY ANIMAL. He loves parties. He especially loves D&D parties. If he goes to a social function and it’s too grown-up or there are no games to play, he’ll often be found hanging out with the pokemon or the kids if there are any and keeping them entertained. If there are games to play he’ll be the one trying to organize them and making sure everyone participates. Everyone. Party games are no fun unless everyone participates.
