Grace was certainly more on Leaf’s side than Red’s in life, and probably more for the other guy of the group. With his ‘helping’, hands full and feeling more dumb than anything shuffling his feet awkwardly, Red was more relieved the mess was swept aside for his own benefit than for safety (though, that’s good too, he guesses).
People return easily to far better amusements; but with Leaf’s approach, Red was more of less still, with Pikachu animated and cheerfully squeaky at the sight of her.
“Did you…see that?”
“See that?” Red echoes, confused; but he thinks for a second, swinging his head to observe the crowd briefly before looking back. “The mess? I don’t know what made the mess.”
If that’s what she was even referencing. Regardless, he nudges out his plate, offering any of the tiny snacks with a “Want some?”, waiting for her maybe to elaborate.
She could take his drink too. He wouldn’t stop her.
Eyes flickering between the frigid air and tears welling because of such, Roxanne gently nods in the direction of each of her companion’s teammates. Clearly, this boy—was he a Champion? Surely, she’s seen his mug plastered somewhere, pray tell where—isn’t out of his element. He’s mad calm, or at least appears to be, despite being within the threshold of Sinjoh.
There are reasons this area is restricted to humans.
Reasons for which Roxanne is beginning to uncover, firsthand.
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The snap of the cold follows them inside the heavy darkness, the engulfing black—no matter how it tries—useless in pressing in Pikachu’s light as he extends it out, making his own being closer to a golden figurine than something living. For wherever this cave-in happened, it’s not in its hall: the ceiling extends surprisingly high above their heads to fit maybe even a gyarados, rows of column stone erect on either side, with some collapsed and made obsolete. Remnants of statues can be spotted deeper inside the room in the far distance, a platform of some sort, and markings can be seen in the stone underfoot in colours faded by time.
Familiar, perhaps, from text books. Red sees them, but doesn’t make too much of them. He’s focusing ahead, around them, figuring which way it is they need to head for. Mentally noting his company’s mentioned pokémon, and the basic use they offer—basic anyway, of what he can assume of their skills by their species—in this rescue effort. A good team. They have a chance. A chance is good enough.
But as for Roxanne’s inquiry: “Mystery.” It’s a flippant-sounding answer, but fortunately, Red goes on. “They found this place some years back. Meant to be some place of worship, but they found more recently.”
He glances her way, adds meaningfully, “I’m just help if things got dangerous.”
Translation: I don’t know the details. He just knew some of the people on the expedition, as often as was the case for him. Didn’t mind that. It was better to wait for the smart people to figure out the deeper meanings, and just for him to do what he did best.
It’s a mystery though why they left her out of the details. What was her role? Impressing her? He wants to figure it out, but turning back his head around, Red spots something of what he was searching for. Signalling to Pikachu with a quick command, they change the angle of their direction, give Roxanne a “There”. They’re still going deeper into the chamber thick with silence, with foreboding, but now specifically for one of the farther pillars.
Roxanne may see it too: trunks settled in place, gear left by the researchers by the look of it. Espeon keeps up with Pikachu if with a distance, her fork-tail raised as she keeps a different sort of wits about her than what can be seen.
Pikachu knows to keep a distance from interesting things while so bright (so warm), though he rounds himself away from the group, so as to provide light, and to do his own snooping—and far behind him in the room wall, a dark circular hole can be seen. Another way forward, etchings around the new rocky mouth.
Dissonance ringing from acoustic to acoustic, Dawn watches in awe as the battle erupts with fire and water, the targeted steelix writhing in agitation. Several burrow away into the moist earth, their caterwauling emitting from within fresh tunnels that could swallow the adventurers whole. Lo is recalled into her capsule, while Dawn strategizes on the fly, withdrawing two previously-underutilized pokéballs as she holds her balance amidst the tremors diffusing from below.
Concentrated within her gut is a weightless sensation, not unlike those dreams in which one’s floating mid-air. Or, one characterized by the feeling of falling, of gravity pulling one closer and closer to target. Even between haggered breaths, Dawn’s eyes peel apart the scene surrounding her—Red’s assorted gang evening the playing-field substantially, her own team raring to go at a moments notice.
Weightless, yet grounded. Confliction only the heat of battle can bring.
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The racket is a concoction that would knock even the most soundproof of exploud out cold. Their steel snake friends are the worst contributors, but with plenty of help from the intruders: those not made motionless from the winter spell—though those haven’t lost use of their cavernous throats—grind from their joints where ice has stuck to them as glue, some shedding with a snap of light selection of their steel frames to free themselves of their weight of themselves, and the weight of the frosslass’s trap.
And those affected that find the passing flood of Charizard’s flames don’t find comfort, much: with the heat meeting the sub-zero temperatures, the pain it sears through it greater than what comes alone from the flames torching metal plates. There’s not much room for the majority of the steelix to move between their opponents and the now ruined state of the once picturesque chamber, and the chance to reorganise or re-orient themselves becomes slimmer and slimmer as well.
Red can't hear himself through the chaos: he doesn't know what's his nerves, the vibrations of voice or action, numb to it all at this point. But being taken down to your bare senses has always been exhilarating, and he can still engage. Blastoise has taken cues from the freezing apparel glittering over the monstrous snakes, introducing a blizzard that takes advantage of his previous flood to turn mud sticking to boulder limbs into further deterrents. He and Charizard do well—despite the latter’s wings naturally disagreeing with the cold air, but being well accustomed over the years—to help with the surrounding issues, and Snorlax helping to keep at bay another metallic brethren. Its aim had been first the multiple of frosslass buzzing in the air; but Snorlax, easily impatient when without a target amidst a battle others are enjoying, saw opportunity in its approach; and came at it with a rush more of a hop, to get into a position for an unseen ground-splitting assault, but not unfelt.
It was Pikachu’s ears that twitched to the breaking ice: insignificant amongst all the rest, and so not caught right away. There was a shimmer too, a fracture of light in already a million fractured lights, glistening as jewels more than the stones trapped in the underground with them; created by the ice, the steel, the colours of their battle. The small rodent’s ears burn deaf in the onslaught of sound, keeping his position where it was to make the humans his priority than the ensuing mess around them; and so he sees something unusual in the motionless leader of the steel-types, something off about the energy inside.
He squeaks, not so much the noise of it expected to be heard but the engine, scampering towards the Red and Dawn. Stopping a way too, just in case; that he might he needed there, ready to wait on further instruction.
But the beast becomes unleashed in that instance: nothing now but a form heightened and engulfed within its own power, and now stampeding for the mamoswine with a greater power than before that won’t be stopped—not easily, and willing to continue its warpath for others deserving of its attack.
SS Seaking had docked approximately an hour before Leaf had arrived in Vermillion City. Pudge rested quietly upon her shoulders, not bothered by the growing volume coming from the trainers who had gathered. In her hands was a ticket that she had purchased, at least a year prior. Much like the SS Anne, this ship had a battle competition. But unlike the other ship, this was more of a leisurely activity. Fruity drinks influenced by the more tropical parts of the region, along with nightly activities.
If she didn’t know any better, she would consider this a vacation for the elderly, and sadly, she enjoyed that.
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The leisure cruise wasn't just colourful: it was explosive. Imagery of the ship's namesake splashed out from bright waves from the bow down to the hull, and the interiors were a combination of saffron and ultramarine across walls and decorations. Then there was everything else, from the guests, the entertainment, to the foods and drinks, to the sounds of music and boisterous conversation, and Red didn't know where to focus first.
Well, other than the food.
He balances a plate of starters in one hand piled high with the caution of someone used to taking advantage of free food, a drink in the other, keeping both close to his chest as he shuffles his way through idling and moving bodies. It was a battling cruise, but there was no less the sight of pokémon one would suspect to see on a boat of pleasure: hoppips, jigglypuffs, meowths, vulpix and eevees, and all their evolutions under the sun. The swimming pool was large enough for pleasure and battles, and that was at least fun to watch, but in shorts and a shirt and no towel, it wasn't the option, for the moment.
Plus, his adventure senses were tingling for him to go elsewhere.
Walking along with his skewer sticking bobbing out of his mouth — and Pikachu with his own roasted fruit-stabbed stick poking out of his maw, cheeks stuffed the same as a dedenne's, — the real signal of excitement comes over the noise of instruments, a scream and the backing of bodies making room for something other than themselves. Red squeezes, arms packed even tighter with prayers for the protection of his food, into the most underwhelming sight of broken glasses. The owner of the scream still whines at the startling noise and its sensitive nerves, a snubbull held to their trainer's bosom.
Red breathes through his nose, deflating—then sees the spread of lengthy brown hair is more than just a reminder for a friendly face, and the actual owner of said friendly face.
...unfortunately, doing anything other than dumbly stand around is out of Red's hands, both already fully occupied by greed. Pikachu has no hesitation in making mangled noises inside his stuffed maw, which has no presence over the live band finally finding their rhythm.
So Red attempt the most risky, stupid interpretation of “helping”: he nudges some of the shards of glass towards the shifting hands, definitely not in the position of kicking them with his worn, dirtied trainers.
"And now it's time for our intrepid contestants to discover their partners! Will we this be the partnership of a lifetime?”
Red's cheeks are chilling nicely thanks the crisp weather, the signs of autumn’s approach already in the dulling leaves littering the tree tops and their roots. It makes breathing out trails of white smoke fun, waiting for the announcers on stage to play out the dramatics of the event with only half an ear on what they say.
He already knows the deal, anyway: Get paired with someone at random, work together to find the clues leading to the end goal and win a fabulous prize. Ditch your partner and still find the thing, get disqualified for not being a team player.
"Now, please open your envelopes...!"
It could be fun. And dressed in a windbreaker, jeans, a cool guy hat and cool dude shades to seal the deal, Red had done well to keep certain attention off him. Nobody would take a second look at a guy in a windbreaker. Which is a crime—seriously, they'll make a comeback one of these days.
But the tag he wore on his breast is more useful than knowing his face, the name on it now in someone else’s envelope, while his had his mysterious partner’s inside...
A mystery person who would either reach him first, or Red would them, and receive the same lax greeting out of his mouth:
“Hey. I’m Bruno.”
Somewhere in the world, a well-toned man sneezes suspiciously.
Stumbling along with Red as out of the way as possible, Dawn watches with a tenseness while Snorlax stomps forth, craters left in the earth upon each step. The angered beast rockets closer, now encased within a blinding glow, Red’s own offense slowly (but surely) closing the space between the two parties. Lopunny darts from the line of fire, but not before inflicting the agitated creature with a magnetic gaze that seems to bite off a bit of its overflowing power. The encapsulating, bright light dims substantially, although no speed is lost in the catastrophic collision.
Between stray bolts of electrical energy, and the bombastic impact of the two pokémons’ forces—a blast that rattles the heavens above—Dawn would very well be thrown back, be it not for Red’s inner arm stationing the two upright.
Through the burning smell and kicked-up dust, Snorlax remains standing, albeit heaving between cries of exasperation. His opponent, slowly lifting itself up from the cavern floor, merely glares upon the two humans and their pokémon, snarling while invoking a stillness quite unlike its rampage just moments prior.
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It’s obvious: the most useless of reactions, the most unnecessary of thoughts. But when the heads fill a number of the holes between the iridescent stones helping to light their arena, the realisation — the dramatic howling before — kicks into Red with the same exhilarating reaction that their current battle had once already shot into his limbs. More challenges. A more intense battle.
Who the hell needed a fancy tournament with league rules when you had this?
The leader of this engagement allows their extended help to butt heads while Red, aware too of the clash between the lithe pokémon and the metallic monster that towered over her, and yet shows no pains in the blow smashing the steelix back — he judges the horned beast’s steel gaze, the way they don’t miss Red’s eye, locking in with the same unfaltering composure they warned his and Dawn’s approach with.
Snorlax’s heaving eases inwardly, but sounds no less like one of the lungs of mine’s tunnels come alive. Without words exchanged, the urge for battle remains between trainer and pokémon.
—for everyone.
“Think we can take ‘em all?”
Red laughs, an added noise drowned by the rowdy animation as the question itself. He couldn’t feel any looser and more ready for anything than by the situation before him, and he takes in hand a pokéball, then another, unwilling to allow the agitated crowd wait any longer for the turn they were jeering them for.
“Let’s find out!”
Said, as if talking about a lighthearted sport not involving a dozen of unruly steelix waiting for the first chance to shape them into human stunfisks.
In the same breath, Red launches one ball upward and the other following in their direct vicinity. The one above blossoms out a fire and a roaring charizard, flying into the heads of steelix, one of which snaps for her as it realises its opportunity. But her flight path isn’t straight-forward, and she swerves ready; the ongoing fight and situation not oblivious to her inside her containment. Flames light out and engulf ahead as more of the heads roar and thrash for her, hitting empty spots, meeting fire or butting into friend before foe. Some of these steelix disengage from the area they’ve trapped around Red and Dawn and their current partners, but not all; and the ones who’ve stayed — or some: Red and his teammates can’t have all the fun — are greeted by two shoulder cannons poised and aimed, the jetting water creating two piercing beams that hit a few steelix, but create a domino effect. Those few tumble into more, causing a greater chaos in the blockade made by steel limbs that allows others to be hit by the blasting water, while others try get around the collapse, and also the stone platforms in the way.
But this is a chaos solely on one side, while the others are open to create a war path towards Red and Dawn and co. Directly before them, the leader pokémon of cobalt blue rises into action with first by a blade-shaped protrusion manifesting between its jagged horns, wider and higher than either. It resumes its attack for the one first before them, Snorlax, with speed on its size for anything more than the rotund pokémon to do more than meet the attack with its thick paws meeting the blade with a protection bound into them. It’s an efficient but weakened move, still the energy blade melting through the resistance only meant to dampen the attack as it shoves the blade forward with a thrash of its head, cutting into the upper portion of thick fur and skin before Snorlax’s head.
It pushes him back with a vile roar, the blade coming again for him, but the impact is interrupted by a forgotten lightbulb amiss the crowds of oversized boulder-snakes: Pikachu, a second time, but this round coming with a brick break to the hind legs of the opposition.
He swings in as a blade, tail used once again to situate the energy and then — as if inspired by the grace of Lo — swoops into the legs, tumbling the blue foe this time completely unexpectedly. Snorlax, not one to miss a chance at revenge, swings a fat fist into the stunned face once and then a second time, before the leader pushes both him and Pikachu back with a roar that slices the area surrounding them with unbridled power.
It’s the briefest of pauses before they’re up and on all fours again, ready to resume—and there’s also the rest of the fight, readying and going on around them.
Be it five, ten, even fifteen minutes, before Roxanne is roused from her subconscious, she’s met with both the Blastoise and its respective boy. An effervescent knot forming in the pit of her stomach and slowly rising to surface, the Leader takes a rather difficult gulp, her nerves ironing themselves out in simultaneous fashion.
And, as it pains her, there isn’t much in the way of berating his (second) late arrival—not when it quite potentially has helped them to avoid disaster.
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There is no further teasing a reasonably ruffled woman with too careless an attitude. Red realises the situation before them now, reads the mood in spite of how tightly the woman attempts to compact her own, and doesn’t interrupt her pokémon as they assess the damage. He knows what a creature like a lycanroc would be used to search for, before Roxanne confirms it aloud. It’s a grim part of reality.
‘The stench of blood.’
Red takes in a deep breath, and lets it right back out. There was more than a few options to take, a handful he could conjure up without too much thought. But the woman states her own — which, in actuality, is their own, as she explains it. Red doesn’t need pause to consider this or argue it: helping was why he was here, after all.
And what was more helpful than giving a potentially dying person a chance at life?
“Think they’ll find help, that person?” That is, the one who left. With the question, Red takes out team mates himself: an espeon, manifesting from the beam of their pokéball to his side, and a pikachu following next. The trio — including Blastoise at the back — walk over to where the woman and her pokémon stand, at the fringe of their duty: the fringe of life and death for others, and possibly even themselves.
He brings himself into her frame, to give a quick point to each one of his team mates. “Light.” Pikachu. “Rubble mover.” Blastoise, who gets a thumb pointed at over Red’s shoulder. “Roof holder.” Espeon.
Simple and easy. With that, he turns towards the objective looming in the ring of the cavern’s mouth, and walks inside it, while continuing to talk. “I’ve got a donphan and snorlax who can help carry people if they need to. Who’ve you got with you?”
Best they know where each other might be useful in terms of pokémon now, rather than later.
Eyes training on the looming force before them, Dawn—for the briefest, most split of seconds—looks beside her, only to see Red’s gaze fixating with her own. It doesn’t take any word, any gesture, to convey what they are both thinking; the rattling urge to spring forth is overwhelming, to be put mildly, and the two are insatiable. She nearly rips from her skin with an impulse to dive towards the creature, who’s beginning to paw at the ground with a hooved heel, a low growl emitting in response to Snorlax’s.
She can see the corners of Red’s lip rise, hesitating to get too toothy, but the sensation between the two is there nonetheless: there’s no time to lose.
The release of Lo is a signal, separate from the mutual agreement shared in a glance between Red and Dawn, but including this time the cobalt-blue beast. Its answer to unheeding humans is expected, but Dawn’s counter to it isn’t, in its extent: the summoning of mega-evolution, the switching build and the clash of two powers spitting sparks of energy with the same heat of steel being tempered into shape.
It’s the sort of sight to get your heart pumping, when a merciless force is halted by one matching its anger in strength.
Dawn’s cue is briefly needed. Red requests both quick yet calmly, “Pikachu,” his arm bent up and ready. The still-lit pokémon gives a singular flip to perch himself on the upper limb that only twitches to the added — and familiar — weight; and again, Red’s instruction is short:
“Iron Tail.”
The world becomes a light-show frenzy when the light-bulb of a pokémon — using Red’s arm as a point to jump from — transforms into a spinning scythe, using Red to give him distance, his powered tail to catapult him to a height to overcome Lo’s barrier, and to strike at the figure threatening it.
It’s not an entirely unseen attack. The opponent pokémon had begun to glow as its righteous scorn against the group grew, and yet with the force of Pikachu incoming — and despite the speed he does — the pokémon reacts, if not fast enough. It swings its body to try and move out of the way, but is bulldozed in the side of its stomach, stumbling back.
But not stunned. The four-legged beast’s hooves turn metallic as it raises and crashes down its front pair at the pikachu now grounded, who flips back, and a stomp is directed at Lo and their shield, as if a warning or distraction, if they were to lower it.
And a distraction it is when the horned beast shows its speed and flexibility in turning and jumping for one of the farther platforms, its hooves continuing to blaze in a similar energy as the jagged horns burning bright. It howls a call that deafens the walls of the chamber, piercing through the stone tunnels dotted in the upper portions.
Around its body ignites a haze that intensifies the hues of its body, the pressure of the room becoming thicker, blades clashing above the creature’s form.
It comes for them harder a second time, its head encased in a helmet of power double its size, and not as convincing that barricades may work again. Pikachu sprints nimbly onto the wall of the nearest platform and climbs it with his claws, giving him safe height and distance to shoot off swift bolts of electricity to the stampeding force. To pester it or throw it off would be ideal, but neither work; and at the same time, Red pulls Dawn towards him without more of a warning than “This way!”, his next move given just a second ago to the Snorlax behind them—and now thrusting all his weight towards the speedier target.
A gargantuan truck versus a speeding train. Lo may want to get out of the way.
hi WE! haven’t roleplayed since i was last around but thought i’d take it up again. :) uhh i don’t remember what people include i these but i’m willing to take 1-2 threads, so hit me up or like this and we can sort something out!
Tension digs into them as the exterior force it is: a business end of a blade under the chin, a grip around every limb. It's a warning and a threat, a danger that any can understand once they enter its sphere. Red and Dawn aren't deaf to it. The question of if has already evolved into the answer of yes, both aware of the unknown challenge.
Because beneath the foreboding, an invitation awaits—to those brave enough to accept.
Bright light curtains the exit of their tunnel, a pinprick of burning white to the eyes amidst the blackened walls of their path. That's how it feels to Red, regardless of the glow coiling the immediate walls thanks to Pikachu and Dawn's pachirisu electricity. He hopes to hell it'll clear by the time they face whatever awaits, but it's a buzzing combee next to his real priorities. Blind him if you want, life; he knows something venerable awaits him, and what better prize is there to find than a being with the presence that speaks their existence?
The metaphorical end of the blade presses in. Red welcomes it, and the mouth of the tunnel opens wide, the light spilling over them.
It takes a moment for either of their eyes to adjust. The chamber rings enough times for any amount of onix to comfortably move, tables of erected stone scattered with their surfaces wiped clean of jagged intrusions. A rock-type gym leader could have designed this—there's certainly no rhyme or reason to it for the miners to, and there's no tracks or carts. Just the odd rubble of broken stone to disturb the otherwise snaking paths on the ground.
Crystals glint off one another, giving their illusion of daybreak; and with the beams falling like spotlights, under one stands their awaiting force.
Snorlax rumbles from the belly; hunger, or a growl? For him: both. He's situated at the back of the humans, and Red knows what he must be thinking. The big guy's never been appreciative of being looked down at, after all.
As for Red, he's assessing. Soaking in the friction thick enough to slice with a knife, noting the judgment being put upon them, of being assessed back. The next few moves will dictate the pokémon’s, and Red can go for any of the possibilities. Any of them.
It’s a hunger in his own gut. Red regards his company with a glance—an other, not usually present in these moments with him. Tries to tame the manic smile that wants to break across his face, and keeps it down to twitching lips held tightly in place, but still pulled upwards at the seams.
His arm still aches, but there’s another buzzing combee to give no attention to.
He asks in a look, not knowing if she’ll understand—Do you want a fight?
Withholding a gulp at the mere mention of a midday meal—she hadn’t realized just how famished she’s become, not between all of this excitement—Dawn lifts the man up, hands clasped with a tightness. “I’m not really feelin’ like a snack, if we’re being real here,” she quips back, sly smile still hanging pleasantly.
But, adventure is awaiting, and if she’s on the menu, then the best (and only acceptable) option for her would be to serve it hot.
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You've got a mouth. It's what Red nearly remarks, fondly, teasingly, but the moment passes for him to, if not the smile that would've gone with it. Hands locked with an occasional foul-mouthed girl with Pikachu a partner that keeps him from darting off bravely to see who they're upcoming foe (or friend?) may be. Electricity tingles between more than just the smaller pair, Red finds; his heart pumping by more than just blood, but anticipation. The true nectar of life.
He won't tease his companion for her next words though, awkwardly fitted together as they might be. Words are hard. He knows that. "Sure," he begins, the word echoing softly like a pulse against the moist rock, making their throats taste like dirt and stone. "I don't know what becoming a Champion was like for you, but for me—" here he pauses, just for a second, "—for me it opened the world."
The answer is easy in contrast to the question. But Red knows that's because he's cheated; the Champion shit isn't what he talked about at all, and that takes a more careful pause, brings a more unsure edge to his words—"Not the Champion shit part of it anyway, I didn't really stick around. I did a while, but you know, it was..."
He wiggles their hands a little, elbows rising, mouth twisting in a goofy shrug his one sore arm doesn't appreciate, even in its lack-lustre state.
"I didn't want to hang around when there was so much more to do," Red goes on, ears warming, only the slightest, for the immature note in his voice that reminds him too much of his youth. "I hadn't been a trainer for even a year by then." Nearly, but not quite. "I wanted to see the rest of the world."
He's not unaware of their destination, waiting for them from a gaping mouth. Danger or let-down; he knows which his beating heart is focused on, which he's prepared for, hoping on. God, danger, let it always be danger.
It only lowers his words by a note, barely that; torn between hushing for an element of surprise too late to initiate, and keeping levelled by a refusal to be tamed.
"Why," Red speaks with that voice, lowered but far from a whisper, defiant of all, "do you stick around for everything?"
Some Champions do, some don't. Never really mattered much to him.
Even behind ‘Protect’, the lashing winds whip and wry around, making the trek that much more strenuous. Roxanne heaves and hos through, hellbent on reaching the destination unscathed, for missing any breakthrough of any sort would be a massive blow to her ego. That thought, and her feet seemingly begin to carry themselves, all up to the point the mouth of the ruins loom before her now, ready to devour her whole.
“Quite right,” she reaches forth to pat Carbink briskly, the rosiness of her cheeks flushing the rest of her face to a bright scarlet. Sinjoh — ominous, gaping, hollowed out and anything but welcoming — awaits that first step. But before such a step can be made, her mind catches up with her, at long last and not a moment too soon.
The boy! The Blastoise!!
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In the flurry of snow, a fog to the eye, the ascending aerodactyl—distinguishable only through familiarity, but maybe even then, Red's wrong—is like a slab of stone going upward, disappearing to where Red can't follow, the skin of his face being pelted by the elements.
But his plan has worked to lead him straight to Blastoise, who stands with distance from the woman from earlier, half-turned in preparation to meet his trainer. They share a short exchange, before Red trudges the rest of the way in the thick layer of white at his feet, the bossy woman a vague target, but the target nonetheless.
"What's up?" Red speaks over the winds, curious: about the pokémon before, about why someone who'd been so impatient before was still standing outside than in. Had it been her pokémon he'd seen?
But it's a little after that, that Red catches sight of the frame of her face, the expression etched into it; and his ease stiffens inside his belly, unsure of if the look was nothing, or something.
“Yeah…. well,” Dawn can’t even compile a quick list among the readily-available Pokemon for insult, not even the barnacle-y one from Kalos that nobody’s fond of. She can only gather herself, lend her ear to the interiors they now inhabit.
“As long as you’re not dyin’ on me already.” She smirks, shadowed by the dimly-lit discharge of two frivolous, electric rodents, each pilfering ecstatically through the cavern’s entrails. “Not sure how used you are to this sort of thing.” She means it in jest; his aura, chaotically-earnest as she’s grown to adore, is more comforting in such a situation. He’s no rookie - shit, do your homework.
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"Nope, never been in a cave my whole life," he answers her jest with feigned honesty, holding back the dry humour for another time. Inwardly, he's 20% smug over her lack of a pokémon named, but a 100% more racking his brain for that weird, prickly green pokémon he'd seen once upon a time. What the hell was it?
He was wishing too he had a torch to flick on, a bag in which to pull it out from; it was strange to be so far in the depths of anywhere without it. But as if his mind was read, a click, and light shines from the long-tailed rodent. Pikachu joins it in kind, and now, a torch seems rather useless.
But not the thought of his well-packed backpack.
Thoughts waver, the darkness pressing down heavier than it had previously, before the added light—or was it simply more obvious now? Yet Red catches the twist of Dawn's head, and he's sure she must notice it too.
Not their stony friend, surely. Its rumblings would be—as was its body—a hard thing to miss.
*Wanna check out what’s at the bottom of that fissure or… Red's dumbed a second by the hand offered, thinks, *Is it a joke?, and surely, it has to be. But he lets it hang there as he considers the options presented with a glance towards each way, pulled more into the unknown waiting personally for them, the thought of a confrontation—challenging. His favourite.
Really, it wasn't much of a thought.
"Take me to our friend, D." He takes a hold of her hand, the actual real hitch in the end of his words when he squeezes her hand lost to the fake voice of pain. All the same, he doesn't let go. "What if he wants to invite us to lunch?"
As company. As its food. Either intention, it would seem a betrayal of their nature thus far to go for anything else.
And it wasn't every day (as dark as it was) that Red got to meet someone was easygoing about life-threatening dangers as him.
Wind slowly arriving back to her gut, Dawn wipes tears from her eyes, heightened senses slowly reeling themselves back down to Earth. She wafts at the feelings of embarrassment, mania, and her freshly-awakened, unhinged desire for adventure, all mixing into an unfamiliar cocktail she’s eager to sip from.
Dawn approaches where Red’s reclined back, unable to make much out of the darkness beyond the electric Pokémon and their occasional static discharge. Pachirisu’s tendencies to run off invite back in the shadows of the depths they’ve reached, while Pikachu’s more consistent glow illuminates a decipherable path towards Snorlax’s hulking mass. It’s after a quick glance at her Pokétch, however, that Dawn realizes she’s beyond the range of service.
Wonderful.
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Red would roll his eyes to her initial call, but out of hilarity than any exasperation felt. His right arm aches when he lifts it up, which his mother would say, well don't lift it up—sound advice in the deep, dark depths in the middle of nowhere.
If you don't acknowledge a problem, then the problem doesn't exist. That's not what his mother used to mean, but he did always like that interpretation.
Still, he had no fear over broken bones. A bruise at the worse, and one achy arm—also the one he happened to land on—doesn't stop him from taking the offered drink, his mouth feeling all the more parched for seeing the container. Lukewarm, but like nectar down his throat.
Red's sigh echoes audibly in their cavern, and he takes another quick swig as Dawn finds her fifth funny bone.
"Yeah, great," he swings out sarcastically. "It was like a pokémon stabbing at me. What's a bone-y pokémon? That's you. Snorlax on me would've been softer."
And Red a flattened pokémon in that regard, but details. The top of the drink screwed back on, Red lifts himself onto his feet. No dizziness, thankfully, but he screws his eyes at the lack of light and sight within the cavern.
"That stick pokémon," he suddenly reminds him. "The grass one, with the big head—that's you." And with a quick look around, from left to right, he adds on, “Is it me, or did the world slow down?”
Perplexingly, she watches the duo accompany the frigid exterior into that of her warmth bubble. This fellow seems short on words, something that doesn’t particularly bother someone as mental as Roxanne, but is certainly an energy she tries to match: she’s still somewhat salted from her strenuously lonely wait.
“Geoarcheologist, Gym Leader, honestly, the list goes on, but who has time to bant,” fussy isn’t even the word. Nosepass, excited for this new company, waddles over to the group, drawing from counter-tops any and everything of metallic composition, magnetism still pulling the creature’s face due north as clutter decorates his noggin.
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Geoarcheologist, Gym Leader... the first must have more reason for why she's here than the second, with the second reminding Red pointlessly that she's far from home. He thinks. Johto's towns and cities sit on the back of his tongue, a thought kept later, at a more appropriate time. For the time being, there was the nosepass, a fun sight to witness for a short while.
Red looks back to Blastoise, the rims of his spouts peeking over the wrap of the scarf, wondering if the pokémon feels anything from the magnetic pull.
But the rest of the cabin attracts him soon after, while the woman cleans the pokémon of its unfortunate ornaments. An ordinary shell of a cabin, the heat finally dipping through the layer of cold and pricking into his skin. There's equipment—boxes, some metal (other side of the room from nosepass, better keep it like that), hard folders and books—and the sort of dressings for a cabin you'd want, in seating and light furniture.
A kettle too, Red notes with delightful surprise. The woman—Rox, right? Rox—is donning her jacket by that point, while Red thinks about the flask he emptied somewhere along the way, a few quick things he can do before they go.
No more dawdling then, best be on our way.
Oh.
There isn't much room for I'm just gonna get a drink if that's okay with you either. Out the door she goes with her pigtails whipping behind her, leaving the snowy air to breathe through the doorway left open. Red looks to Blastoise, not far moved from the entrance since they first came in, little there to personally interest him. The indifference carries as Red takes a few more glances towards the way out. She really wanted him to just follow her, huh.
He does. A lone figure in the snow, hat somehow sticking firm and snug over his top head. He trudges through the whitened path without fuss or care for the sudden wind that wheezes along the path, the ends of his scarf tucked in well enough to not untie from his neck.
—Oh wait, isn’t that Blastoise?
That’s Blastoise.
A blastoise without a trainer, catching up to the woman, whether or not she stops to wait for him. There’s a rope around his wrist limped into the snow, a hard thing to catch sight of at first.
But probably telling, somewhat, of what’s going and and if it’s spotted.
The surrounding areas of the Sinjoh Ruins are still, and remain so, despite the tiny activity of the native Pokemon who’ve made home along the cliffsides.
Her mission isn’t clear — what is, is the encrypted message informing her to appear, promptly, at the location thus notated. Sinjoh is situated farther north than any known civilization, and doesn’t quite count as such itself; frozen within time, the ruins lay dormant in the harshest of mountain ranges, a primordial hotbed for mythical activity.
This would all be quite entertaining… for the appropriate individual. Roxanne’s specialty is geoarcheology, not anthropology, and most certainly not theology. Myths are cute as bedtime stories, but serve her little in real world affairs. Why the Pokemon League would enlist her services for this assignment is beyond the donnish brunette, and she’s arrived with far more questions than she fancies having.
What exactly is this assignment, and why does such secrecy surround it?
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Heat wafts from the cabin, a temperature that doesn't register immediately to Red's cheeks when he enters, or any other part of his body as he brings a taste of the cold that's snugged so comfortably to him and his accompanying blastoise. The pokémon comes in last, a wool hat with obligatory bobble sticking up on top covering his ears, and a matching scarf of zigzagged red-and-white hiding the upper gaps of his shell, accentuating his look.
A look he wears rather smugly, by the show of his face.
The sharp tongue that greets them registers better in Red than the warmth, causing him to blink soon upon entrance, a curious lift to his brow. It also keeps from the door being closed, until there's a moment to allow him to even think to take his attention away. Then, he remembers it instantly, turning with a finger jabbing towards the water-type, "Door" muffled lightly behind a scarf, and the blastoise bumbling around on the spot to deal with that.
And Red returns to the woman, and her rather colourful presence to an otherwise colourless landscape.
"Hi," he gives her almost cheerily, to her chastising, her introduction, thrusting up a gloved thumb with the muffled welcome. That would be thanks to the scarf still around his mouth, pulled down next while his hand's there, and all. "What do you do?"
Other than be perfect secretary material, by first appearances. Someone who he'd be with on this little trip, or just the member of staff that got to hang around in a cabin while everyone else got to have all the fun.
She was a fun welcome after the small hike taken to get here, at the very least.
Blackness engulfs the cart and company, the further and further they descend into subterranea. Dawn rockets back and forth with only Red’s arm keeping her inside the cart, unable to see or hear or really even feel — other than the coursing adrenaline that’s swallowed her senseless. She’s had numerous a couple bouts of spontaneity lead close to death, but never anything this fun.
Her grin only widens as, through the clinks and clanks of their high-speed descent, she picks up on Red’s laughter. An unfamiliar, but welcome, accord it strikes as she can feel the corners of her mouth nearly reaching her cheeks. Dawn’s eyes water to the point that she doesn’t even notice the onix’s hulking mass wandering into her peripheral.
Not that at this speed, it’d particularly matter. Her reaction time has never been the fastest.
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The rush that had been in Red—from the speed, from his giddiness, from the adrenaline and danger pulsing through his body—has left him completely when the world returns to his senses, when his senses return to the world. It is empty, muted; sound doesn't register in him as the lump above him shuffles off, as his skin feels dirt. Muscles in his body signal strong disagreement to the events that, fortunately, some other wonderful function in his body is hushing down.
He remembers Dawn, Snorlax—and as he begins to pick himself up, knowing (guessing) that he doesn't need to worry, the sound of the woman's laughter pricks Red’s ears as he spots Pikachu standing between the two humans, watching her in bewilderment.
Is she ok?????
Now, the world does truly return to his senses and the rest, Snorlax sitting up with a yawn, the tumble of a dumb metal cart that he doesn't care for, scratching his side; and Red can't help an infectious laughter, the mumbles of a poor onix dulled to the crazy antics of two very soft humans.
But a Snorlax is soft too, Red finds, letting his back fall on his belly.
"You're crazy," is his only manageable response; possibly a compliment, remark, matter-of-fact. Take your pick. His mouth tastes dry, as dry as his lips, and he shifts himself up a little, peering through the darkness for the outline of Dawn.
"Did you bring anything to drink? Or break any bones," he adds, with a dulled down note to it coloured by his lopsided grin. Yeah, that question comes second to a mouth turned dry from high speed carting. So what.
