Executive Malpractice

"Oh, come on, hold still. I'm a doctor—what's there to be afraid of?" [Indie TR Executive Petrel blog]

[thekuraning-art]

I’ve been working hard at profiles for like the passed six months and this is what came of it. I’m pretty happy with this Petrel. Maybe with some more work I can get a full side view of him. uvu

[medical-mishap]

Summer Smog

Petrel considered himself to be something of an expert when it came to koffing. He had well over thirty, after all, and each and every one he treated with a reverence that he’d rarely shown another human being. He spent years devising diets, individualizing them for each of his babies’ differing needs ans tastes, observing and recording their smog output and toxicity levels, and the curious thing he found about any subspecies of koffing he could get his hands on was they all tended to enjoy the heat more than the cold.

Summer was premium koffing training time because of that, and forming their separate teams was quite simple; the jungle koffing, they preferred the more humid days in the more green sorts of areas, the volcano koffing leaning towards more dry atmospheres, and his city koffing, well, they really just liked to find wherever the grossest smelling pits of shame happened to be. Today was one of those days; as close to the dump as Petrel could get without the smell along singing his eyebrows off, he slowly began letting them out one at a time; there were a handful of them, but nothing near the amount of jungle koffing he had, and less likely to choke him out.

He was pretty used to the black, tar-looking smog that billowed out of them as they happily announced themselves, after all, and he inhaled the smell of it deeply—rot. He didn’t know quite what kind, but definitely the funky kind. It was invigorating. “Alright, kiddos,” he told his small army of smokebombs, “we’re going to get you warmed up before we hit any real training. Let’s see…..”

Pausing, he looked slowly around, passing over something so peculiar he had to do a double-take. A person? What were they doing so close to this shithole? “Hey,” he greeted awkwardly, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he looked them over, “don’t suppose you’re doing anything important right now?”

[thekuraning-art]

Sat down to play with the new sketchbook pro update tonight. Of course, it’s Petrel.

[medical-mishap]

Raise Some Hell || Guzma & Petrel

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cxrbstxmp:

“That’s the spirit,” He concurs. Laying on the charm? Easy to please? No, nothing of the sort, this was simply a silent connection, impossible to argue. A language of sorts, communicated from one goon to another. 

Guzma gives the can a brief shake, the hollow clattering inside ringing out into the street, alerting those nearby exactly what was about to take place– A damn good time. Their put off expressions however, only told him that they do  not know the meaning of the word, and so he spits as if to say more fun for me, then, losers.

“Guzma,” He answers, passing the can back to its rightful owner, “Ain’t never turn down a fight but I ain’t never turn down a chance to leave my mark either. But I figure you know all about that by now, ain’t ya, pal?”

“And you?” He continues to drag his feet nearby,  not yet recognizing that chance to put forth a more creative energy as opposed to something more violent as the blessing that it was, though excited still, “Where you headed, anyway? I don’t know where shit is here. Bet you know all the best spots, or whatever.”

Petrel’s not really into the whole making friends scene, but if this is all it took, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Then again, whether or not it would work out remained to be seen—how fast could this punk run? When the cops were breathing down their necks, that’s when the real fun started. Petrel didn’t get up for anything less than a fully armed SWAT team.

His brow twitches as Guzma clatters the can around, introduces himself—so much noise, unnecessary noise, noise only drew attention and half the fun was getting away with it. Petrel didn’t want to be interrupted before their art spree even began. But he can’t fault him, necessarily; it’s hard to resist the temptation. He almost does it, himself, after Guzma introduces himself and hands the can back.

“Me?” he replies, “call me Petrel, my guy. Not always in on the fight scene, but I get the feeling just fine—gotta say, not too easy to find like-minded comrades on the streets this early in the day.” Upon being asked where he was headed, he motioned grandly to the city around them.

“Wherever I haven’t hit in a while!” he announces, “it’s a big place. A lot of nice little nooks and crannies to get lost in. A lot of nice stores to pick and choose from. You know, show of good faith, why don’t you tell me what kind of place you’d like to hit? I can lead you just about anywhere around here.”

[medical-mishap]

how do you feel knowing Gio has his eyes on Mathew?

“Ｗｈａｔ? Come again? Where are you getting this idea from? He can—Master Giovanni can just go—!!”

“………Whatever. It’s… not up to me, who Mathew’s with.”

[medical-mishap]

Do you really think Mathew loves you?

“!!!!”

“….I… hope he does. I haven’t…. ugh…. Look, it’s just… it’s been a while, yeah? Since I’ve…. and the last guy I was with, he—but Mathew’s so sweet. A-and he says he does. And I should trust him. Right? I don’t—fuck—I don’t…..”

“…..Understanding people is hard. And it’s none of your goddamn business.”

[medical-mishap]

How do you feel about Giovanni?

“Master Giovanni? He provides safety and shelter to all of us. His leadership inspires us to work for the good of Rocket. I’m fortunate in that he felt I was competent and efficient enough to be allowed such a high position in this organization, and furthermore, I’m grateful for the opportunity he has provided me. I would die to ensure his glory and leadership continues unmatched, as any of us within our ranks should. I will gladly perform any task he requires of me with pride, as it will unfailingly be for the glory of Team Rocket.”

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Relapse || Mathew & Petrel

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rockettheory:

      “Yes, it would. I could make the move with you. But I won’t alter it. Not in the way I’ve altered the others. It will be a normal move and a Pokemon won’t be harmed from it.” He leaves it at that, knowing already by the look on Petrel’s face that he just doesn’t understand. How could he when he’s been doing it all his life? He shakes his head and focuses on the bacon while Petrel works, trying not to invest too much thought into whether that really bothered him or not– after all as long as it wasn’t him it was fine, right? Right. 

      You’re a coward, Jermain.        I know…

      “I’ll never be able to think the way you do about people and Pokemon. Not fully.” He admits as the bacon crackles and fizzles on the pan. He believes it’s ready to come off now and so he flips it, checks for it to look like the other side before removing each piece and placing it on a clean plate. There’s only so much he can do now as Petrel works on the eggs and pancakes. Really, how does he juggle it all without burning the food and getting it everywhere? 

      Speaking of everywhere he sets to clean up the egg yolk he spilled on the counter in silence, now worried yet again that he’s not fit to be there within the ranks of Rocket. I’m just an outsider looking in. What can I possibly hope to achieve here besides paying back my debts to them? He exhales yet again and tries to push the thought from his mind. He’s doing his best and so far the results have been perfect. No complaints. No squandering the progress of Rocket’s goals or ambitions. What more could he ask for? 

      “You’ve taught me a lot from our cooking lessons.” He admits, having cleaned up his mess now and so he awkwardly waits for something else to do. It helps keep his mind at ease, and helps keep him from thinking about the past. “Is it almost done?” 

A pokemon won’t be harmed from it. It seems like that’s Mathew’s bottom line, and Petrel doesn’t have the heart to tell him that one way or another the move will hurt a pokemon, anyways. If he didn’t want pokemon to be hurt, why even bother programming battle moves? It seems inconsistent, and it’s confusing, but Petrel doesn’t want to argue right now. Mathew just stopped crying not too long ago.

The bacon is smelling pretty good, and as Petrel listens to the magical melody of the sizzling fat, Mathew explains that their ways of thinking just don’t line up. Obviously. They’re not the same person. But Petrel can’t help but frown and muse on his words, and he’s not sure how to feel about it. He knows he’s not exactly normal, even by Rocket’s standards, but is the way he thinks really so different?

“I don’t know if it’s that hard,” he disagrees quietly, “a lot of people manage over the years. It just takes time.” His working slows for a minute as he loses his concentration, eyes darting to silently watch Mathew cleaning the egg yolk every now and again. “....Are you scared?” he finally blurts out. “Of me? Are you scared, do I... if I’m like that, and you’re not, do I worry you?”

But yeah. It’s almost done. Petrel picks the pace back up on his cooking, and the eggs are just about ready. “Can you get some plates? We can serve everything up, and then.... however you make coffee, we can do that, and then we can eat.”

[medical-mishap]

//Oh my gosh so many new friends hi new friends!!! It’s nice to meet everyone! I am Tabs and I am back from mystical adventures abroad whoooaaAAAAAAAA so shiny.

//Buuuutttttt in being away so long I can’t remember if I was plotting with anyone or who’s who or if I owe anyone replies other than the obvious coughmathewcough so if we were plotting or vaguely hinting at each other through fluttering eyelids and coy smiles that we were interested in becoming plotting partners please let me know. Or if you’re just generally interested in a thread with this purple-dyed bastard let me know and we can cook something up.

//In other news I can’t say anything for certain right now but I’ve had a couple muses clawing at the back of my mind for over a month, so I may be bringing in someone new soon potentially! We’ll see how it goes. In the meantime I’ll be getting back in gear on Petrel so I’ll see you all on the dash!

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Relapse || Mathew & Petrel

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rockettheory:

      “Y-you do?” He hums in thought and wonders if he can ever pick up from where he left off again. It feels like a far off memory to be able to work on TMs as he did before. Now all he does is alter them and try as he might to produce results that appease Rocket and keep a Pokemon safe he can only do one or the other. It’s disheartening compared to what he used to do for Pokemon and people alike, but it’s all he has. He finds he has to work in order to keep some fragment of who he was before everything that went wrong as it’s all he truly knows, even now. 

      “I’d like that but Rocket would… they would want it for different intentions and it really wouldn’t be a complete TM. Not when it harms the Pokemon who learns it and uses it. I can’t possibly be satisfied with it if it’s incomplete like that.” He exhales sharply, and tries not to meet Petrel’s gaze. He knows how much Rocket means to him, but even still Mathew isn’t completely ok with how they treat Pokemon and other people. “I don’t think you understand, Petrel. I used to make TMs for people. Now, now I just break them and make them a hazard. Pokemon will die because of my work instead of battling safety.” It used to mean a great deal to him some time ago, but now the words feel hollow in his mouth. He can only tell Petrel how he truly feels about it all, but never expects him to understand or comfort him on the matter. 

      Instead, he moves to focus on the bacon as instructed and though he’s asked for it he finds himself completely nervous about the entire thing. The last time he’s cooked with Petrel ended in disaster– turning it up too high, pouring too much oil into the pan, and now he wants him to cook and flip bacon? 

      “O-Okay.” He grabs the thongs and slips each piece on the pan, careful with them as they crackle and pop. “I usually just microwave it for 2 minutes!” He admits helplessly before the pan, already wanting to flip the pieces over to see but it’s too early. Right? It must be. So he waits, turns the dial up on the stove a little more in hopes that it will cook faster. 

      It doesn’t take the bacon long to finish up and he flips it, casting Petrel a look for approval as he sees it’s not burnt and that it looks pretty crispy. “There’s one side done…!”

“Yeah,” he replies, “yeah, I do. It’d be nice. Wouldn’t it?” He hopes he’s not overstepping any boundaries. He likes hearing about Mathew’s work, and it stands to reason he’d like to participate. Learning about Mathew has become one of his more interesting, favorite hobbies, and the more comfortable he becomes spending time and opening up to Mathew, the more curious about him he finds himself becoming.

But it seems that’s one request that Mathew isn’t ready to take yet—he goes on about what Petrel can only perceive as what must be Mathew’s morals, and Mathew’s right: Petrel doesn’t understand at all. It would be a benefit for the organization, and that was a good thing, therefore, Mathew wasn’t breaking TMs, he was making them better. Petrel can only frown as he mulls over this consideration.

“I guess you just think differently from the organization,” he finally settles for admitting, “I don’t see the problem. But if you do, then I guess I can’t necessarily say you’re wrong. You... you get that sort of thing better than me, I think. Maybe some day it will happen, but if you don’t want to I won’t pester you, for now.” But there’s also bacon to think about, and when Mathew announces he usually just microwaves it, Petrel can’t help but cringe. Microwaved bacon? Who microwaved their bacon??

Still, Mathew works as he’s instructed him, and while he cooks the bacon, Petrel focuses on getting what’s left of the eggs into a pan while he mixes the pancake batter. Eventually Mathew flips the bacon and calls Petrel’s attention to it, and while Petrel i expecting a blackened piece of charcoal, he’s pleasantly surprised to find it looks... pretty alright. “Yeah, there you go,” he encourages, his lips curling in a faint smile, “that looks good. You’ve gotten better.”

[medical-mishap]

Relapse || Mathew & Petrel

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rockettheory:

      Mathew fidgets as he waits, unable to keep still as he watches another work for him. He’s never been able to handle it very well and as such he finds himself easing out of his seat onto his feet, moving to stand by Petrel as he works. He wants to do something, more than just talking about his TMs and while he knows Petrel won’t approve of it, he can’t help it none the less. He clears his throat and starts to awkwardly whip the eggs, splattering some of its contents out across the counter. He’ll clean it later, but Petrel is busy with other things and the few things he knows how to do in the kitchen he’ll gladly do with him. 

      “Y-Yes, you can just create a move if you want to. How do you think HMs were developed in the majority of our regions? It’s just like training a Pokemon or teaching it a move from a move tutor only it’s in the form of a disc. I…I had a dream once to make a ghost type move. I didn’t know anything about ghosts though and handling them were… difficult… but I wanted that more than anything so more ghost types would be appealing to people. You know of Dazzling Gleam, right? Well, that’s a move you can only learn by TM as of right now.” He’s getting excited, he knows he is and it shows in the over exaggerated sweeps of his hands to the poor over battered eggs. 

      “I helped construct Dazzling Gleam for the Kalos region for their beloved fairy types. It was my most recent project before… well… all that happened.” He stops whipping the eggs into shape and holds the bowl out to him. There’s considerably less egg in the bowl now, but he’s tried his best. 

      “Please, is there anything else I can do. I… just can’t sit still.” 

Petrel is in the middle of preparing the bacon when he spies Mathew moving closer out of the corner of his eye. He slows in his work briefly, feeling the little flags going up in his head—is something wrong? Does Mathew need more comfort? But he merely comes to start whipping the eggs, and while it goes everywhere, Petrel merely eyes his technique disapprovingly but says nothing. He’s happier with Mathew close to him right now, and nothing weird is in the eggs, so he’s not going to complain.

His mind refocuses on Mathew’s explanation as soon as he’s sure that everything is still okay. It makes sense, he realizes, and he’s never considered the fact of the few TM-only moves that existed, and he finds himself with a new level of understanding and even appreciation of Mathew’s work. “I have a ghost pokemon,” he interject quietly, “a sableye. If you... if you still want to make that ghost-type move. You can borrow him if you want. I’d love to help you. Maybe... maybe that’s something we can do together. I’d like to see how you work.”

Okay, Mathew, you can stop whipping the eggs now. Okay. You can stop. Petrel eyes the eggs wearily. They’ve been ready for a while now, and quite a bit of them are now on the counter. It’s very messy. Maybe he should’ve just sent Mathew back to his seat, but even now he doesn’t exactly have the heart to tell him to. Instead, as Mathew asks to keep helping, there’s something in his voice, in his tone that Petrel can’t simply deny, and his eyes quickly dart between the different foods as he tries to find something to put Mathew in charge of. Slowly, he comes to realization that the only option is....

“Why don’t you cook the bacon, sweetheart?” he suggests, and gently guides Mathew to switch places with him. Briefly, he seasons the pan himself and makes sure to add just enough oil to it before grabbing a pair of tongs and handing them over. “Put the heat on somewhere between medium and high and get those suckers in there. Flip them every now and then and when you think they’re done, we’ll look at them together. Okay?”

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Totally Professional || Proton & Petrel

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exec-pr0t0n:

He had almost gotten the earbud into his ear and drowned out the world before a low voice commands his attention. Such a voice is easily identifiable as Petrel. Well, not the worst company Proton could be stuck with. Despite the adequate company, Proton flashes a bothered look between the man and the elevator buttons. Surely Petrel could reach himself. Nonetheless does he abide (albeit with an exasperated sigh), pounding the lobby button with a touch more forceful than necessary. (He’s headed that way, too, anyways.)

He successfully achieves his goal of stuffing the earbud into his ear. Peppy swing music floods his head. “Busy? Hah, I had to get my ass up before dawn to set the grunts on a five mile run for a warm up. Can’t give them liberties or else they’ll get lazy–you know how it is.”

Of course, he had to join, too, and thus would like a breather. He crashes against the wall of the elevator. “I was just going to go relax out in the fresh air. Gets too damn stuffy inside. You?”

Petrel watches idly as Proton hits the lobby button, the meaning of Proton’s expression lost on him as most expressions tend to. All he can in fact tell is that Proton has complied with his demand, and Petrel is satisfied with that. He remains quietly tapping on his phone as Proton explains the finer points of his morning that day, and a smile breaks out over his face as he chuckles.

“Better you than me,” he snickers, “five miles? No thank you, sir, the bed’s just fine.” He shakes his head subtly with mirth as he finishes on his phone and slips it back into his pocket before turning his attention fully to Proton. “But hey, someone’s gotta whip those fuckers into shape, may as well be you. You do seem to get the best results.”

It doesn’t take long for the elevator to lurch to a stop at the lobby, and as the doors open, Petrel mockingly gestures grandly as he offers Proton to go first. “After you,” he says, and waits for Proton to exit before he steps out, himself. “I’m thinking of heading out, too,” he continues, “been inside for a few days too many, starts to stink in here after a while. Want me to walk with you?”

[medical-mishap]

Raise Some Hell || Guzma & Petrel

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cxrbstxmp:

So Guzma decides to take the aimless route when hitting the streets. Being no one, going nowhere. Yeah, that’s got a nice ring to it… Some days it’s easier that way. But that doesn’t mean for a second that being run smack into isn’t inconveniencing anything.

He whirls around in an instant, chortling through his blatant offence, “Oh! Oh-ho, buddy! You think that I need to apologize for you runnin’ into me? It don’t work like that, yo…”

The collision was strike one. Pointing their finger at Guzma was strike two. So now he edges closer, knuckles cracking as fingers wrap tightly around nothing but air at his side. And what will be the third? He wonders.

Keep reading

Ugh. What a punk. Petrel spent most of his time around shitty little grunts in Rocket to know the type. Scrappy. Unrefined. Looking for trouble. And Petrel could do with a fight. He straightens himself a little, ignores the popping of his spine as he prepares to throw down.

He doesn’t budge as this asshat refuses to apologize for what was obviously his fault even as he moves toward him. Petrel just takes a long sip of his frappucino. He’s an executive, goddammit. He doesn’t get intimidated.

But the attempt of intimidation isn’t where the confrontation ends. One second, Petrel is enjoying his delicious drink, and the next, the guy’s hand shoves firmly at his chest. Petrel doesn’t stand down, and maybe that wasn’t the best idea; one of his cans of spraypaint comes loose and falls with a klang to the ground. Neither of them move or speak for a moment, but then he guy picks it up off the ground.

Petrel is prepared to grab his forearm and break a bone or two when the guy offers subtly to forget the whole kerfuffle and join in on the fun. Petrel eyes him wearily a moment longer and takes another sip of his fancy drink. Well.... he could do worse for a partner in crime. His usual mechanical smile spreads slowly across his face.

“Yeeeaaaahhh, man,” he finally agrees, “accidents happen, I suppose. I’m not one to turn down a helping hand when someone wants to get in on the action. Who do I owe this pleasure to, then?”

[medical-mishap]

You can count on it being creative. They don't call me the cruelest for nothing.

“Oooohhhh, I’m positively shaking in my boots. The scarest and cruliest cruton.”

[medical-mishap]

If you couldn't choose cake or pie, what would you choose?

Petrel slams his hands down on the table in front of him with surprising force.

“I would choose a different goddamn planet.”

[medical-mishap]

Shiny Stone

How are you a positive influence?

“I positively influence people to survive through physical trauma. How’s that?”

[medical-mishap]

Moon Stone

What do you dream of doing?

“I have to say, it’s really a long time passed for dreams, anymore. I’m at the best I’m ever going to be, and there’s no changing it, no matter how I feel about the fact. Now it’s just maintaining my place in life.”