GLORY, GLORY

[hellhoundoom]

“We are going to regain our former glory… I will not allow you to interfere with our meticulous plans!”

independent roleplay blog for Executive Archer from HGSS as told by venus rules x headcanons x tag dump

[hellhoundoom]

        “I think if I withhold Proton’s someone else’s paycheck I would have enough in our quarterly budget to build a rocket ship.” 

[fluerduremords]

 There was a challenge implicit in the way Apollo set aside his glass with so little care for the displays. He carries the air of a man who never did anything without reason – someone with every move pre-planned, words selected to produce the greatest impact. It’s evident in the careful way he moves his body, too; a step forward to tempt but not close the distance completely, dare Lysandre to take the final step.

 He does, without further hesitation (and no more than one final glance and a raised brow at the casually discarded glass of wine), leads Archer to the dancefloor. It’s instant the way the environment changes. Instant and familiar. Every partner Lysandre has ever dared take, whether it be chance or arranged, a stranger or long-term, has been scrutinized by the public. That is simply how it must be for the Prince; a title and a name too large to go without eyes.

 The music swelled, and Lysandre danced. He could take these steps even in his dreams, no stranger to balls and galas. This was a better dance than he’d experienced in a while, even so. His companion kept pace well – and he felt right against Lysandre. A perfect fit against him, the curve of his hip a tempting place for his hand to drift (he would not; it was by no means appropriate for the setting or the dance itself). The small of his back still suited well as they glided along.

 Up until Apollo pressed closer, so much so that he could feel the brush of his lips against his ear as he spoke.

 Lysandre decided, instantly, he’d made the best choice he possibly could the whole evening through. Perhaps the best choice in the past several weeks, if he were to be somewhat dramatic. His hand pressed slightly firmer into Apollo’s body in response, though he moves his face further away from his. He still speaks in a low roar, quiet enough to prevent anyone from hearing, loud enough to be heard over the music (with focus and some strain, perhaps, if Lysandre was correct in just where his tone was).

  “All this beauty surrounds you, yet you come claim to find the best art in a man? I’m most flattered, but I fear it may be far too soon for you to claim so in complete confidence. My process requires a bit more time to fully appreciate what a piece has to offer.”

 The Kalosian Prince flashes his winning smile – the one that appeared in just about every magazine he’s been interviewed for. It’s mostly for show, the truer, softer expressions reserved for the private, intimate moments of his life. “I like to observe, further out at first – then closer. I want to examine every detail as intimately as possible. There is ever so much you don’t see at first.”

 The song begins to wind down, the dancers beginning to seek their next partner or prepare for the next movement. Lysandre’s eyes search Apollo’s – daring him to stay, daring him to walk away and let the man pace after him like a Pyroar with prey before it.

   His move.

[hellhoundoom]

        The music thrummed with their every step, guiding them inevitably back into each other’s arms. They were, admittedly, far too close together to be entirely appropriate. Each step closer into Lysandre’s grasp felt a little more like surrender. When the prince at last spoke it was so low that Archer could mistake it for the tempo of his own heart.

        There is ever so much you do not see at first.

        It was a double edged statement, flirtatious but dangerous. Archer had well and truly bit off more than he could chew. Lysandre wasn’t about to let him slip away, nor did he intend to take his eyes off of him. When the music ebbed he at last (reluctantly) drew away. He carried with him the distinct scent of Lysandre's cologne. 

        He didn't flee. Even when reason nipped sharply at his heels he couldn't. “When I'm surrounded by unchanging beauty I would first look towards man,” he responded, trying to keep a cool head about him despite the heat building in his skull. “A statue can be beautiful for eternity but it cannot show me joy or passion. A suit of armor cannot dance me around a ballroom.”

        In the lull he flagged down a waiter but he did not dare flee, lest he be cornered again seconds later by a man who now had a taste for his blood. He needed to stage a distraction, one more dance would be enough for him to slip away to give the signal. He allowed himself one errant gaze towards his nearest window, staring fixedly out at the nearby building for a glimpse of something.

        Perhaps a glint of binoculars? A scope? He did so hope that his expert saboteur was not distracted in his own right.

      The waiter was fast, weaving over to the pair of them with bustling feet that would put an Indeedee to shame. He smartly brought two drinks, both the same deep shade of red that felt far more reminiscent of blood than wine. He thanked him, took the glasses and presented one to Lysandre. 

        Another test, it would be terribly rude to say no to a gentleman's offer. They were catching each other in webs of nuance and social niceties, ones that were increasingly difficult to turn down lest the whole of Kalos see.

        “I'm quite parched,” he intoned, allowing the rasp of his low murmur to do the heavy lifting, “Allow me but a moment before we continue.” He cast his eyes around the venue briefly, then dropped his eyes to his glass. The overhead lighting cast a lattice of patterns on his hand from the crystal. An entirely coy move, one that the Prince would not miss. There were plenty of other refreshments he could benefit from.

        Some of which he could slip away into a secluded corner for. It would be a perfect opportunity and alibi all in one. The music reconvened with a flurry of strings. Archer took a lazy sip of his drink and waited for Lysandre’s approach, eyeing him carefully.

        Archer could use this momentum to his benefit. Lysandre was just a mortal man; perfectly flawed and easier to control for it.

[hellhoundoom]

sorry I haven’t been present, I’ve been thinking about robots again (and I’m working 10 hour shifts), I’m going to chip away at things I owe 🥲

[hellhoundoom]

Playing with some outfit concepts for Archer…!!

[lupineshieldmaiden]

misc. pngs;; #19⋆. 𐙚 ̊

send requests .ᐟ.ᐟ જ⁀➴ ✉

[hellhoundoom]

WHAT IS IN ARCHER’S SOUL?

his soul is… alluring 

It draws attention from every corner of the ether... People come from far and wide to marvel at it. Statues, clay figurines, portraits are made in its likeness... Songs are written of its beauty and splendor. Every day it is greeted by hoards of ceaseless, staring eyes. Every day it is treated with visits from its enamored guest. You try with all your might to communicate with them. To engage with them. To be more to them than an object on display- unthinking, unfeeling. They can not hear you.

stolen from @diabotsis <3

[cosmoxdrome]

He stood there, leaning over Archer's desk as he spoke. She watched him closely, eyes trained on his expressions and mannerisms as he spoke. Petrel was known for how closely he watched people. It was something she enjoyed deeply— even if she loathed the person subjected to her gaze— even if that person was Archer.

While Archer did not give him a lot to work with, Petrel was sharp enough to catch the slip brief of his icy façade. It wasn't much, but it was there. And as soon as that crack in his mask manifested, it was gone. How interesting to think there may be something underneath that rigid, heartless shell of his.

Though Petrel wanted to continue arguing her cast, she knew it was pointless. Archer was as immovable as they came. But that didn't mean there was nothing left for Petrel to do. The tables could still be turned in his favor.

A slow, steady exhale left Petrel's lips as she sat back down, leaning back in her seat in kind. Then he kicked up his feet onto Archer's desk, right on top of the report Archer had slapped down— what wasn't scattered on the floor, that is.

“I can handle whatever you throw at me, Arch. The real question is— can you?" She smirked. If he wanted this to be a challenge, then he would have a challenge. “If you think I'm doing such a poor job, then why don't you step up and accompany me on my next mission? I mean, who better to be my wrangler than Team Rocket's very own micro-manager himself?”

[hellhoundoom]

        Archer’s cold gaze flicked from the shameful display and down to the scattered files on the ground. Petrel was running his mouth, bearing an awful smile that oozed undeserved confidence. The thin veneer of red that danced over his vision made him take pause, and he reconsidered the merit of this meeting altogether.

        He was a patient man, of course, but he was still human regardless of Petrel’s opinion of him. The fact was something that he doubly found vexing. “I see,” his tone remained flat, eerily so in the face of Petrel’s smug zeal. He couldn’t hide the irritation that swept over his face at the cute little nickname she conjured.

        Demeaning. Where had sir gone? He would keep that in mind, like everything else.

        The inflammatory comments, the derision— Petrel was trying to force him to rise to the bait. Anything he would say to chastise her would easily be batted away in favor of further needling. “What a rare moment of humility from you, Petrel,” He allowed a modicum of amusement to flit into his tone, his own little cruelty, “If you would prefer having your leash held I would be happy to oblige. What a wonderful idea, I’m so glad our little meeting had a silver lining.”

        He at last offered a thin smile, brittle enough that it threatened to shatter. “Thank you for swallowing your pride and admitting your own inadequacies. We will strive to break you of these poor habits. Because I’m such a fantastic micro-manager, allow me to pencil this mission into your schedule.”

        He made a show of rising from his desk at long last, sauntering to the end of the office to flip through his calendar. “Would you look at that! It looks like you have a sudden vacancy for the next two weeks. You’ll be free for a briefing on the mission this coming Wednesday.”          It wasn’t question.

[hellhoundoom]

Archer wants to be back in the field so bad. Trust this man with a knife. I'm sure it's safe.

[starkofson]

Halloween Aesthetic 6/? (Hellhound)

[hellhoundoom]

@windsofalola continued from here

        There was no hesitation.          Archer tossed back the shot with very little flourish. It went down smooth. It was sharp and hot on his tongue, but the natural sugars made it far more palatable. He enjoyed the burn, the spirits traced a thin line of flame down his throat and settled unhappily in the pit of his stomach. 

        “It's good,” was all he offered in regards to the Okolehao. Any more of it, however, and he would be well and truly on his ass like the stranger had promised. He flagged the bartender down and motioned for something he could nurse on throughout the night; he couldn't risk being trapped in the haze of alcohol in a completely different region when his Alolan was conversational at best.

        “The same goes for you,” He deflected, his words were a little overbright in the gloom of the bar. His sharp gaze flicked over the slouched form of the other man, observing the impressive array of shot glasses he had drained. “On a dark and stormy night, no less. You don't strike me as the type to make casual conversation anywhere but here.”

        He didn't answer the question. Very intentionally.

        “What's your story?” It was a bold question for a stranger, but they were both tipsy (or nearing it), so there was little risk in some daring. He liked to show a little spine. 

[mooncrcwned]

Yris had the decency to look ashamed at the question posed, her cheeks mirror pink in embarrassment.

The question brought up a lot of things -- circumstances best left behind in the past and never brought up. Flashbacks of a blinding light coming back to blast away at an entire town after her father had been defeated; his last ditch effort to take down the one who thwarted him, his own daughter. A little guilt hiding and even larger own. A pretty, timid smile hiding an ugly truth.

Her laughter came out as a nervous chuckle as she shook her head.

"Ah, no, not normally. Actually this is the fist time I hit someone right after a battle...I suippose you could call it a preventative measure?"

He would most likely be confused by that statement, but Yris did not linger on it for long, choosing to look at their immediate problems. In this case, how badly she'd injured Archer as well as the topic of being an 'enemy'. Despite her contriteness over harming the man, there was a slight puff of the young woman's cheeks at even the slight inference that they were not friends.

"I will not be taking any of that kind of talk -- I went out of my ay to battle and beat you because I consider you a friend, not an enemy." Her hands were already bringing more cloth to help ease the bleeding. This was her fault, so it was up to her to remedy.

[hellhoundoom]

        He didn’t spit blood, he was far more dignified. It would be an incredibly lowly display. Archer’s face was swallowed by the soft white of the cloth, leaching the red from his skin into the otherwise clean fibers. His first instinct was a pathetic one; apologize.

        It wouldn’t be a nice apology, of course. It would be all biting sarcasm and cold anger licking like flames up the words. Even if it wasn’t spoken with sincerity, even when wielded as a weapon, Archer would rather choke than let the sentiment pass his lips.

        “You’re enthusiastic.” He responded at last, staring steadfast at her face despite the crimson agony blooming between his eyes. “Have you considered going into professional fighting? You’re going to give that little fighting club a run for their money.”

        Yris was determined to look past the snarl in their newly formed friendship. A sharp laugh snake free from his ribs and rang hollow in his head, sending a jolt of pain through his skull as punishment. “I’m glad to know that your friends receive the brunt of your force. I would hate to see how you would treat an enemy.”

        Archer winced as the pressure was applied to his nose. He’d had far worse, it was mostly the insult and humiliation that made up the brunt of his pain. His gaze flitted from Yris’ usually sunny face to the pokeballs at his side. His team was, of course, worse for wear. They had given their all in the face of such overwhelming optimism. 

        “I have no further need for your aid. I'll take it from here.” He'd lick his wounds and bide his time, he'd unfortunately become rather good at that.

[hellhoundoom]

to you, what does team rocket's interregional outreach look like? : )

        Is this an interrogation?

        “It’s adequate, but I do wonder if you’re asking to take notes… or would you rather experience it firsthand?”   

[fluerduremords]

‘ i’m sorry i came to your party and seduced you ’

Poetry Starters

 Fundamentally, that is a ridiculous thing for him to say – not only because it sounds silly when put in such plain words, but because by no means is Apollo sorry at all. Lysandre knows this to be true, between the sly smile stained across his lips and the confidence with which the man carried himself even in the early hours of morning, when the sun was yet struggling to wake.

 He finds himself with a smile paid in turn, the slightest lifting of his brow. Very well, he would play this game, work himself into the clever back and forth that so thoroughly captured his attentions the very first moment it began. When was the last he’d met another who could cut so keenly without a weapon anywhere to be seen? One who was still willing to weave their words together with him?

 “Are you, now?” Playfulness fills his tone, eyes settling upon Apollo from where he leaned against the doorway, arms crossing over his chest. “The question still remains, for me, if that was your intention from the start or a mere serendipitous incident.”

 He left his place in the doorway then, prowling towards Apollo with the same ease and grace as the leonine Pokemon he styled himself (in part, at least) to resemble. Heavy footfalls, easy gait, command and danger all in one. He didn’t circle, though, opting instead to place one hand upon the other man’s shoulder, leaning down far enough that distance was just a suggestion, a thread, a ghost.

 “You may be sorry,” his words dropped to barely above a whisper, purposeful, somewhat theatrical. Another presentation, as it was, but this one with an invitation hidden inside. “But I am not by any means.”

[hellhoundoom]

I'll be a little sporadic for a bit with replies! I recently got a promotion to supervisor so my schedule is going to be a little crazy

[hellhoundoom]

'Describe me.'

        How did one accurately describe someone like Yris? Truly, the girl put her nose where she didn’t belong often. Her capacity for forgiveness was unparalleled. She did, however, have an irritating knack for wrapping him up in all of her affairs. 

        He wasn’t in the business of playing hero, it was all terribly inconvenient. It would be a lie to say he found her completely irritating, she was incredibly charming at times. Despite her mystical blood she was just a girl. That was admirable enough.

       “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone sprint around the city more than you. It’s exhausting. Aren’t you tired?”

[hellhoundoom]

Would you like to describe me, sir?

        “Dedicated,” too easy. It felt like cheating, but she was good at her job, and more importantly, her name stayed off his desk. “You’re very skilled. I think that you’re sometimes a bit too enthusiastic, but all in all there is superb room for growth.”

        Was this turning into a performance review?

        “I would like to see you keep up the good work, executive.”