"The hated boss who beats you down and beats you down and never lets up. Big bad Guzma is here!" [[Closed Guzma rp blog for Wild Encounters.]] ||autoplay||
Violet merely quirked a disinterested eyebrow at the sightâa man covered from head-to-toe with desert protection, followed closely by a lumbering Bug Pokemon. Perhaps this stranger was a new clientâthe outlaw wasnât exactly starved for action, so Guzmaâs pitch would have to be pretty good.
And then he threw down his leather sack of money on the table with a pitiful plop, a thoroughly underwhelming gauntlet. Violet peered at the offering with revulsion from under the brim of her hat, half-wanting to throw the money back in this sunglasses-wearing strangerâs face. She barely listened to the rest of Guzmaâs presentationâthere was something about a mine and riches, blah blah blah. Her eyes didnât leave the small pouch of coinage, and once her potential client had finished his presentation, she easily plucked the bag and stowed it in her coat.Â
Heâs practically sweatingâwell, he is sweating, but that was more from the long walk through the wastes as anything else. But the clear disinterest in her eyes, the way she dismisses him and his pitiful amount of coin, that isnât helping. Anxiety settles in his lungs, makes him wonder if this was a bad idea, if he was going to be left high and dry, but a glimmer of hope remainsâshe didnât say no.
In fact, she seems... relatively willing to try and figure this out with him. And by âfigure this out,â of course, he meant âextort for more cash.â Or something. Was it extortion? Maybe. She rambles on about loyalty, and Guzma is half-tempted to point out that itâs not like he could trust her, either, when she makes her counter-offer on the bargain.
She wants to keep his golisopod while they did this. Guzma nearly took a step back.
He hated it when Pancake wasnât nearby, because in a rough-and-tumble world like this, the Nighthawk was right; loyalty was important, and Pancake was the only one he could really trust. How did he know she wouldnât just cut and run? But on the other hand....
He lifts his glasses to peer better at her, sizing her up as he tried to recall every last rumor he heard for something that might tip him off as to whether this was a good idea or not. He really needed that claim, and if all it meant was being separated from his beloved bug for the smallest amount of time.....
He pulls Pancakeâs pokeball out of his pocket and activates the return mechanism, quietly staring at it for a moment before holding it out to her.
It wonât be for long, buddy, I promise.
âI donât trust you,â he replies, âbut youâre my last shot. You got a deal, maâam.â
Kukui is heavier than Guzma would have given him credit for, even though heâs a whopping six feet tall; Guzmaâs slight height advantage is no match for his friendâs pure muscle bulk, especially when heâs not doing anything to help Guzma carry him along. By some magic, heâs able to get Kukui to bed, flopping him awkwardly down and then hoisting his feet up onto the mattress. With a little more struggle, heâs able to get the sheets over him, and as heâs bent over doing so, he feels fingertips graze his hair.
Oh, great. Kukuiâs lost it. Heâs rambling about snow and ice cream, and Guzma can only pull away to tiredly sigh. Yeah. Heâs sick as all fuck. âYeah, well, you can have ice cream when you get better.â Heâs pretty sure thatâs what Kukui was asking for. Heâs not going to get him any. In fact, heâs wondering whether or not he should just leave him here, throw some rocks at the Kahunaâs house to let him know Kukui needs help, but.....
âWhite⌠reminds me of âimâŚ.â
Really? Really? Exasperation finds itâs way to Guzmaâs face. What a fucking bleeding heart, he thinks as he turns and heads back out of the bedroom. He returns minutes later with a rag, a bowl, as many water bottles as he could fit in his arms, crackers, and uses his foot to draw a chair across the floor to sit by him. Wordless, he pours one of the water bottles into the bowl, then plunges the rag in and wrings it out before placing it across Kukuiâs forehead.
âYa gone need ta rest, now,â he murmurs, âjust take it easy, ya idiot, okay? Hereâdrink this. Open up.â He uncaps another water and brings it to Kukuiâs lips. âYa canât push yaself so frickinâ hard. Canât go prancinâ through thunderstorms like an idiot, either, ya dumbass. Not when ya stayinâ by yaself like this.â
As he felt slightly off today, Kukui decided that some fresh air would do him some good. He left his lab with an umbrella, taking no chances upon seeing the lazy grey clouds slowly rolling over from the west. The relatively peaceful walk through Route 3 did help loosen his tight muscles, though it also brought with it silence, one that his mind unhelpfully filled with various things that was happening in his life, specifically the ones that made him feel sad. With Lillie on her journey in the Kanto region, the lab felt strangely empty. Kukui had grown accustomed to the warmth that she gave off and with it goneâŚ
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Sometimes a long walk was good for clearing your head.
Route 3 was a great stretch that was easy for Guzma to get to, and after his shifts at the berry farm he would always pace back and forth across Route 3â˛s expanse to stretch the time out just a bit more before he had to go home. The time it took to get there and get back alone was good enough time to think, and Guzma often found himself lost in memories and musings for a good while as he meandered along. Today maybe he meandered a little too long.
That, or he should have been paying more attention to the weather forecast his old man had been watching that morning, because heâs surprised when the dark clouds come rumbling in, and heâs stuck outside without an umbrella and without even Pancake to keep him dry on the way back, Guzma was trapped under the barely competent covering of a roofed notice board. The rain soaked easily into his shoes, and he could feel the drippings from the roof hitting his knees. This sucked.
He was just about to give up for the day, to just take a hit and trudge back through the torrential downpour (frankly, not only was he used to it, he probably deserved it at this point) when he noticed someone nearby, someone very close, and startled, Guzma whipped around to face them. He blinked for a moment, not quite sure if he should believe what he was seeing, but there he wasâKukui. Mother. Fucking. Kukui. He held out his umbrella, and hesitantly, Guzma reached out to take it, brow furrowed.
âTake good care of yourself, okay Guzma?â
He looked back up just in time to see Kukuiâs smile, just in time to be so confusedâwhy did he do that, he didnât seem to have another one, where was he going, why did he do thatâ
And then he was gone.
Guzma looked back down at the umbrella, everything he wanted to say dying in his mouth. That was... unexpected. For a moment, it feels like something is tugging at his chest, but he chalks it up to the cold, wet, and wind, and holds the umbrella up over his head. Itâs a long walk home. He better start now.
The next morning itâs clear and sunny again, and Guzma struggles with himself as he changes out of his pajamas, trying to decide whether or not he ought to just bite the bullet and take the umbrella back before itâs too long since, too awkward, better to just keep it and pretend nothing ever happened. He has to take it back. Itâs not his. He doesnât really need an umbrella. He doesnât want to talk to Kukui, and if he takes it back, Kukuiâs going to want to talk. Talking is... not good. He doesnât want to do it. He has to take the umbrella back. He doesnât want to talk.
Itâs not his umbrella.
The inward war continues long after heâs showered, shaved, dressed in his baggy, exed-out Skull clothes, when heâs walking through town and out the other side towards the route, umbrella folded and held awkwardly between his hands. Pancake lumbers along behind him for emotional support. Heâs such a good bug. Eventually, they come to the lab. Itâs shoddy. Itâs been shoddy every time Guzmaâs passed by in the past. Itâs like Kukui doesnât give a fuck if he burns the place down, or something. Guzma knows he works studying pokemon moves or some shit (he doesnât like to admit how well he keeps up with either of his friendsâ achievements) but this is just unacceptable. Someone ought to tell his mother.
Guzma pauses for a second as he makes his way up the rickety steps, fist half-prepared to knock. Did he really want to do this? Itâs better than letting it sit for later. He can make some bullshit excuse about needing to get to work, even though itâs his day off. Itâd be really easy to go hide somewhere in town. Yeah. That sounded good. This would be a piece of cake. He knocks. No answer. Maybe Kukuiâs out? Thereâs some barks, and he assumes thatâs whichever of those dumb dogs the professor keeps around. This was a good chance. Just slip inside and leave the umbrella, then hightail it. Nobody had to know, and no conversations needed to be had. He pushes the door open and steps inside, and immediately trips over Rockruff. He tries to right himself, then places the umbrella on the floor and turns to leave, but thereâs another bark and something has hold of his legâitâs the dumb dog.
âHey, câmon, mutt,â he huffs, wiggling his ankle in an attempt to get the pokemon to let go of his goddamn pants, âI got shit ta do, didnât ya trainer teach ya betterân this??â Another shake. Rockruff is not letting go. Frustrated, Guzma places his foot back on the ground. âWhat do ya want?â
And that was the magic word. The puppyâs jaws release from the fabric, and with a tiny boof, Rockruff scampers off through the lab, Guzma following after him. It doesnât take long to find what Rockruff wants him to seeâor rather, who Rockruff wants him to see. And call Guzma crazy, but half-passed out on the floor was probably not the typical way Kukui spent his mornings. Panic flares up in the back of his mind, and he drops to his knees next to the professor, shaking him gently.
âShit! Kukui, hey, man, the fuck ya doinâ down here, huh? Kukui!!â He looks so paleâGuzma places a hand on his forehead and scoffs. Heâs burning. Idiot. What a class A moron. âUgh. Yâall are stupid,â he growls, and awkwardly, he slips his arms around Kukui and attempts to haul him to his feet. âHang in there, Prof, Iâm gonna getcha ta bed, arright?â
Guzma had gotten out of the pool. Heâd found his lemonade. His sweet, sweet lemonade. In fact, he had spent quite a few minutes searching the poolside until he found his lemonade, and while he had been cold and wet a few minutes ago (frankly, an occurrence one might consider normal since he was at a pool, but Guzma hadnât been ready to get wet yet) the sun had mostly dried him off by the time he found his lemonade bottle under someoneâs chair.
Of course, that didnât seem to matter to the orange-haired nerd who decided to take it upon himself to join in on the Guzma-dunking fun. He saw it coming before it happened, but unfortunately, Guzma wasnât quick enough to get out of the way (this nerd was surprisingly agile!) and down he went.
âYeah, really funny!â he grumbled when he yet again broke the surface of the water and had to push his hair out of his face, eying Mathew with a disgruntled expression. âWhy donât you come closer so I can show you how hilarious it all is?â
Petrel, meanwhile, is dying. He honestly didnât think Mathew would have the balls to just go up and shove Guzma in, but oh, how wrong heâd been. The entire scene had been absolutely priceless, especially since this was the second time he got to see Guzmaâs lemonade bottle go flying.
He starts forward, giving Mathew a little clap as he comes to stand next to him. âOh my god, Mat, you got him good,â he crowed, to which Mathew responded with a teasing smile and laugh of his own.
âYou bring out the worst in me, Petrel,â he chuckled in reply, to which Petrel could only laugh a little more. Yeah, he was such a bad influence. Itâs a shame he missed the delightfully devious way Mathewâs smile broadened; suddenly, Mathewâs hands are at his center of balance and shove, and Petrel windmills his arms as his laughing ends abruptly with an âoh shITâ and a splash into the pool. He, too, comes sputtering up into the air a moment later to find Mathew doubled over laughing at the edge of the pool.
âOh no,â Mathew says between laughs, âoh no, Iâm sorry! I couldnât help myself! Are you okay?â For a moment, Petrel exchanges a look with Guzma. It seems theyâre on the same page.
Together, the two of them reach out to grab Mathew by the wrists and pull him in, too!
Grimsley is feeling a little impish. He canât help itâitâs just in his nature. And after palling around with Melanie at the beach long enough, frankly, it was about time for her to experience the intricacies of his friendship and humor. Yet another fool baptized into the cult of why did I ever let this strange man talk to me. Apparently, it was quite the club.
After they claim their seats in the best area of the poolside, Grimsley claims heâs going to the poolside bar to procure them some refreshments, offers to pay for hers, and they set off, chatting, goofing off, carrying on as they had so far already. Everything was fine.
Whoops.
He had reached out delicately to place a hand on her shoulder, leaned in to whisper (âMind your feet.â) and with surprising force, abruptly shoved her in. Leaping back to avoid the spray of her fall, Grimlsey immediately erupted into a fit of giggles that he hastily covered in one hand, watching her in the water until he was able to calm down enough to speak.
âWhatâs wrong, Melanie? You look a little wet!â
Guzma is, quite frankly, minding his own business. Itâs a nice, warm summer day, and the local pool was the perfect place to spend his time. Peace, quiet, and time to read his new monster guideâor so he thought.
He had been on his way back to his pool chair from the vending machine with a bottled lemonade when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and it was then he made the unfortunate mistake of ignoring that movement. The next thing Guzma knew, he had been pushed, and taken off-guard, he toppled helplessly sideways into the pool. For a moment, he thrashedâwho knows what happened to his lemonadeâbut eventually, he was able to right himself, brushing soaking locks of bleached hair out of his eyes as he glared up at the perpetrator.
âThe fuck was that, ya liâl shit!!â In retaliation, Guzma pressed his hands together and splashed the biggest splash he could at Vi.
Valerie would think it was cute, the way Guzma was fussing over the fact that sheâs a gym leader, if she could hear it. Unfortunately for him though, Valerie wasnât exactly the most eventful leader out there. She had her plate pretty full at home, and so vacation to herâŚreally was as simple as picking berries all day or playing on the beach. It was a chance for her to actually relax, even if she did love her work.
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Frankly, Guzmaâs knowledge of the other regions was pretty limited to the minor contact he had with those tourists heâd stolen from in the past; Gym leaders.... not so much. He followed a few here and there, all of them having a singularity in common (bugs) but Valerie was one he really hadnât paid mind to before. But her being here, seeing her in person, it was new and interesting, even if she were only here for simple reasons.
âI donât really know too much about it all besides what I seen from tourists,â he admits, âand I guess no one else does, either. Sâwhy so many people get their panties all in a twist every time someone like you visits the region.â He shrugs and sets off towards the far end of the farm, eyes searching for the best spot to find the little bugs as he listened to her. âWell, whatever reason you came here, welcome. I hope Alola gives ya what ya came here for.â
She mentions she wants to see everything, and that makes Guzma think a little bit; a lot of people get to the beaches and all the good battle spots, but thereâs more to Alola than thatâand if sheâs here for the berry farms, she really did mean everything. âWell, hey, you might wanna check out the abandoned megamart if youâre ever out to UlaâUla. I dunno how you feel about creepy places like that, but.... thereâs a pokemon there you might like. I dunno, I guess it all depends on what ya here tâsee.â Itâs the best recommendation he has, at any rate; who knows what a touristing gym leader would want to see?
But, of course, when the conversation is turned to cutiefly and, of course, pokemon in general, he canât help but light upâthatâs something they have in common, then, that neither of them can help but get excited about the creatures. âHey, now, donât get embarrassed!â he laughed at seeing her flush, âif ya didnât get excited over pokemon, why would ya be a gym leader, yeah?? I donât have a cutiefly yet, but I really want one! I really like bugs a lot, and cutiefly is the goddamn cutest liâl puff ya ever gone see. It beinâ part fairyâs gone be icing on the cake for ya!â
Thereâs a little place not much further where the fence backed up to foliage, and thatâs where Guzma decides they have to be for the best result. As they approach, he pauses, shifting to eye through the leaves and tree trunks until he gently places his hands on Valerieâs shoulders and positions her accordingly. âAâight!â he finally announced, âclose ya eyes for a sec and think of the thing that makes ya the goddamn happiest in ya life! If they out today, theyâll come, and when ya feel âem landinâ on ya, open ya eyes!â
Long before Lumiose City sported gleaming skyscrapers, immaculate plazas, and boundless commercialism, it was a rough-and-tumble nowhereâan oasis forged with creaking planks and dust, dust, dust. In the present day, people might come to Lumiose for the luxury, but back thenâŚpeople were relieved just to be passing through on their Skiddos and Ponytas.
If you entered the Lumiose area without knowing a single soul, then you werenât coming out.
The ramshackle town had the amenitiesâthere was a store (that got looted every few days), there was a sheriffâs department (which was long vacated), and there was a sagging tavern (which was the busiest place for miles).
In this particular tavern, almost all virtue came to die. Everybody was either a regular or nervous to leave, and fights often broke out over drink and guns. The chatter was plentiful, and the beverages and belligerence flowed freely. There were no rules.
Thereâs all sorts of rumors running wild in these dreaded wastes; tales of heroes and villains, shootouts and justice flying across the sands and dry earth like tumble weeds caught in too strong of a breeze. And all the rumors said one thing: if you valued your life, stay out of Lumiose. The old, worn-down town wasnât somewhere you just went, because if you did, you would be lucky to leave after you were robbed; more likely than not, you would end up dead some way or another.
But, too, there were tales of mercenaries, fearless guns-for-hire who would go just about anywhere and do just about anything if the coin was good, and for a young man on his own in this hard world trying to make his fortune, those rumors were a song sweeter than any honey, and he just couldnât keep himself away. With the last of his meager savings in his wallet, Guzma found himself moseying into town, hooded cloak pulled tight over his torn wrangler denims and chaps, his shoulders back and his head held high. He wasnât about to be deterred. Not now. Not when he was so close, he could taste his victory. But he couldnât do it on his own.
Fearless, he barges right through the canteen doors and takes a moment to sweep his gaze around the chaos. It doesnât take him long to find what heâs looking for. He passes like a ghost around tables and through the seeds of bar fights, his hulking behemoth of a companion lumbering along behind him, until he finally comes to a stop at her table. Heâs never seen her before, but the rumors are enough to go on; before she speaks, before even their introductions, Guzma knows without a doubt this must be her. This must be the Nighthawk. Mercenary of the ages, working for whoever paid the most. She speaks, demands he explain himself.
Guzma hestitates. Itâs not the growling of her companion that worries himâheâs pretty sure with golisopod behind him, he doesnât need to worry about a houndoomâbut more of the consideration that what he have might not be enough. Or worseâit would be enough, and then someone would come along with more. But he came all this way. What more could he possibly have to lose, after all this?
He lowers his hood after a moment, but neglects to remove his goggles or the bandanna tied around his mouth and nose; he doesnât have the best poker face, and he refuses to let anyone see him sweat over this. Wordlessly, he reaches into his pocket and removes a small leather pouch stuffed with all the money he had, and he plops it on the table with no pomp or circumstance.
âThereâs a mine,â he rasps, âtwo dayâs ride north-west aâhere. Small liâl thing, but they say it shines with all the colors of the creators. Could make a man rich. Could make two men rich. Man with the deed, real scoundrel-type. Looks like a mule-kicked gurdurr, big olâ scar on his jowl. Got some paddies workinâ the place for âim. Iâm fixinâ to take him out, take the deedâyou help, this coin ainât all you gettinâ. Iâll cut you in on profits. You interested?â
It made Valerie very happy to see how gentle Guzma was being with her little baby. Regal was too; he wrapped his ribbon around Guzmaâs hand and let out a happy whine, and Valerie giggled. It was cute. Guzma must have been a good person at heart if her Sylveon was so quick to show affection.
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She really is a gym leader! From Kalos! That was pretty far away, wasnât it? Of course, Alola was a premiere tourist destination; Guzma had known that for a long time. Tourists were the easiest to steal from, after all, and they came from all over. He wondered what gym leaders did on vacation. Berry-picking couldnât have been all of it, could it? Did they go hunting for pokemon? Or go battling all the big-name trainers? Just the idea of a gym leader visiting Alola was fascinating to Guzma. What were gym leaders even like???
Valerie mentions she like fairy pokemon, and that would make sense seeing as her current companion was a sylveon. She shows him her badge, too, and Guzma takes a moment to peer closely at it. Itâs pink and gold and nice to look at, and it looks like fairy wings. Itâs enough to spark an idea in Guzmaâs head. Valerie said she loves pokemon, and so Guzma decides that the berries wonât be all she gets to see here, today.
âThatâs real cool,â he eventually replies, âwe donât have no gyms in Alola, and we ainât got badges, either, so itâs always neat when someone like you comes through. Sounds like all of that keeps you busy. You must be really good at what you do.â Breeding especially was difficult; as far as Guzma knew, they only had one big-name breeder in the region, and they owned that farm on the next island over. Valerie must be really, really good with pokemon.
âHey, itâs no bother,â he continues as she thanked him, âand anyways, I could use a break from plantinâ before it makes me all hunched. Iâd rather come give ya a hand for a bit.â He leaves his things where they are and gives his hands one final wipe on his pants before beckoning Valerie and Regal on. âCome on. Weâll getcha some kickass berries to take home. Hey, while ya here, ya said you train fairies, right? You ever seen cutiefly, before?â
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