A Little Party Never Killed Nobody
midknighted:
This fucking kid-! Obviously, he didn’t know who he was talking to, which left Grimsley to assume he wasn’t a local. Fuck- Everyone and their grandmothers knew who Grimsley was in Unova. He was still the favored subject of the tabloids, even five years after his league appointment. Who could just ignore all the juicy half-truths about his supposed sex life and illegal activity? Certainly not Unova natives. Furrowing his brows, he glares at the stranger.
“I’m going to ignore every word you just said since you’re clearly not from Castelia-” Or even Unova for that matter. He sneers, his hangover growing less noticeable in contrast to his desire for conflict. “Why don’t you run back home to your mommy before someone far worse than me comes along. Don’t you know how dangerous these areas of the city can be?” And really, he’s not exaggerating.
A foreign born boy obviously wouldn’t know that the street they occupy is home to some of the shadier populace Castelia hosts. He knows, partially due to his former connections, though mostly because of his current job. But this kid? Hah. He wouldn’t last if he stuck around.
Plus, Grimsley’s supposed to find some Gym Leader or whoever from Sinnoh, not deal with petulant children. Uhg. Painful. As he eyes the kid up and down, however, he narrows his eyes. A Prosthesis. On his left leg. Oh god damn it. Of fucking course the one Iris had sent him out to locate and show ‘hospitality’ to is the one person he wants to punch the most right now. Thanks universe, you’ve really outdone yourself with this one.
But oh no, it doesn’t stop there. As he continues to glare at the boy, he realizes that people are beginning to eye them both – and not in the usual way. Fuck. Sinister area his ass, if they stayed much longer they were going to have a dangerous fucking problem. He growls, “you know what, forget everything that just happened, shut your mouth, and follow me if you value your safety.” Without further warning, he grabs the boys arm and begins to quickly drag him out towards the more populated main streets.
Roark is a polite person, but that isn’t a hard rule. If there’s something he absolutely can’t stand, it’s being talked down to, and his method of dealing with insults is less “turn the other cheek” and more “an eye for an eye.” And he’s not gracious enough to deal with some bougie asshole admonishing him when he was the one who pitched a fit in the first place.
“Man, do you think I give a single fuck a few--?” But he’s cut off, further fueling his ire. Roark doesn’t exactly live in a nice area himself, and he would rather deal with petty thugs than angry rednecks. He knows that from experience. Nor does he have any qualms sicking his Pokemon on people or drawing his gun if they threaten him, but now Asshat McGee seems to think he can scare the poor country-fried cripple.
The shock is so great when he’s suddenly grabbed and dragged that he doesn’t process the man’s next words. What, is he kidnapping him now? What kind of shitty kidnapping is this? Roark tries to break away, but with the speed they’re going at, it’s impossible for him to do that and maintain his balance at the same time, so he just runs with him, not wanting to sink twenty thousand into a new prosthesis if this one gets damaged. When he slows down in the busier streets, Roark sees his opportunity and twists himself out of his grasp.
“What was that for?” he snaps, bristling like a wild animal. “Are you tryin’ to kidnap me or somethin’? If you are, do a better job at it! If you ain’t, you’d better explain yourself right now and tell me what you want!”
