Got a light?

You got a light? Thanks, pal. Don't know me? Good. You're better off. Now get out of here, and quit askin' questions, alright? Oh, and thanks for the cigarette.

[smogandmirrors]

What type of person would you say you're best at camouflaging yourself as or imitating?

“I mean it’s all acting, really,” Petrel said with a smile. “And for the most part, that stuff’s easiest when you’ve got some of your own life experiences to compare it to.” 

“So, uh, yeah. Find me a low-life who can’t seem to get his shit together, and you won’t be able to tell the difference!”

[smogandmirrors]

What are your biggest turn-offs?

“Why? Got somethin’ you wanna tell me, Greyface?”

"I’m not too picky.”

[smogandmirrors]

[admirationofpower]

Golden Signals | Ariana & Petrel

[smogandmirrors]

Ariana hadn’t felt this nervous over a show since their first gig. They all had ample reason to be nervous here in Goldenrod, the last place they should have been. It was far too late to back out now. The show had to go on.

The bright stage lights prevented Ariana from noticing anyone in the crowd during the first song, but as her eyes adjusted her worries about coming here were realized. Sure enough, there was the Goldenrod Police in the back of the bar, and was that the chief and a detective sitting at one of the tables? Not surprising, considering how Team Rocket made the police force look like a bunch of incompetent fools during Rocket’s first and final raid on the city.

Those who are fools were likely to be fooled again, Ariana told herself. She held onto that thought to keep herself going. She was going to have to play games with the police once more and take on the role of a knavish woman if she wanted to keep a mental upper hand.

During a particular song Ariana stepped down from the stage to walk between the tables of the audience. She passed by Petrel then, and merely glanced at him with no other acknowledgement so she wouldn’t draw any attention to him. So he made it here after all? That was nice to know.

She paid particular attention to the police chief and detective, fully acknowledging that she knew they were here as much as they knew she was. Ariana also knew they couldn’t do anything in the middle of the performance. So she teased them, “Who Framed Rodger Bunnelby” style like the scene with Jessica and the detective who was watching her. The crowd ate it up of course, wolf-whistling and encouraging this brazen display, though not fully understanding the mocking intentions of the action. Afterward, Ariana returned to the stage with a swagger in her movements that kept her going throughout the rest of their set.

When it was time for the Golden Signals to wrap up, Ariana needed to give the other band members their own opportunity to get away. She knew the police were after her, but she wasn’t sure about the other ex-Rockets with her. After the curtains closed Ariana came out once more with one guitar player for an encore acoustic performance. This gave the rest of the band time to pack up and quietly disperse. They knew what to do. Ariana had to trust that her boys could get away safely, but she was starting to doubt if she could do the same.

Petrel couldn’t help but crack a smile at Ariana’s display in the middle of their set. She was brilliant at what she did, even after all these years. The crowd was on her side now, and the cops looked foolish. They stood there with their red faces and their averted gazes, scratching their noses or the backs of their heads uncomfortably. Too good.

At this point Petrel had determined that it was not him they were after. He’d spent so much time in Goldenrod that he figured the cops had probably decided to leave him alone at this point. After all, he hadn’t done anything really bad in years. And Ariana had made no attempt to make contact with him. Maybe she had this all under control. Maybe she didn’t want his help? Fine with him. He took a load off in that chair of his, propping his feet up on the small table next to him until a waitress came over and kindly asked him to keep his feet off the table.

The curtains closed after the last song, and Petrel could sense all of the suits behind him begin to move. Instinctively, he cupped his hands against his mouth and called out, “Encore!” If the whole crowd joined in, they could make their escape while they were chanting it. The cops wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.

But Ariana had different plans, it seemed. The curtains came up, and there she was with the guitar player. Just the guitar player. She was going to take the hit for them! Just like that! Although he’d never been given a reason not to, Petrel couldn’t believe his eyes.

An arrest wouldn’t be made out here in the theater. It would be bad for business, and there was a chance the audience would get upset about it. Still, Petrel had to do something. He took his invitation out of his pocket along with his trusty make-up bag. In the dark of the theater, he adeptly covered his lips with a thin layer of the reddest lipstick he had and then planted a big one right on the back of the invitation. Then he rose, wiping the rest off his face with a make-up wipe, and headed towards the green room. There was a woman standing in front of the door to backstage.

“Ariana will come straight here after the performance, right?”

The woman blinked. “Yes, but I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “We do not allow customers backstage.”

“I’m Ariana’s boyfriend,” Petrel insisted, and handed her the card.

The woman took it and looked it over, puzzled. Petrel noticed that she didn’t speak again until she turned it over and saw the lipstick stain. “What’s your name?”

“Petrel.” It was a name he had not used out loud in a long time. “Ask any of the guys in there.” He hoped the backing band was still packing their stuff up. The woman nodded and went into the green room. From inside, he heard a couple voices he recognized.

“Petrel?! Bring him in!” The woman appeared again a moment later and let him in. Petrel went inside and saw the group of musicians. They had just finished up packing, and one of them had left already. Not leaving together was a wise choice. One of them opened his mouth to say something, but Petrel cut him off.

“I’m here to help Ariana. And, uh, the other guy.” Smooth. “Just get yourselves out.”

They seemed to understand, and while they all quietly and slowly left Petrel took the time to acquaint himself with his surroundings: the windows, the ceiling, the potential hiding places. He continued to do this, hoping to have a plan by the time Ariana showed up.

[smogandmirrors]

Nostalgic Nocturne | Will & Petrel

[smogandmirrors]

A young night in Goldenrod offered more streetlights than stars when it slowly overtook the city. Most of the main streets were still full of life - either people driving home from their 9-5 hour, big corporation jobs, or leaving home to go out on the town. Will was used to the hustle and bustle of this place, and he knew the city like the back of his hand. He often visited Goldenrod on League holidays and free periods, remaining fond of many of the haunts of his youth. Since he’d become an Elite, Will had become slightly more cultured and refined, but he still sometimes remembered the dark underbelly of Goldenrod - the side that the middle- and upper-class turned their nose up to and dared not to speak of.

It was such a place that was typically disregarded by those who weren’t familiar with these back alleys that Will found himself wandering to that night - a seedy bar that was often filled with smoke, a floor covered with various liquids and who knows what else. This place had been a safe-haven for young members of Team Rocket back in the syndicate’s hayday - a place that didn’t card and turned its head to petty crimes, and sometimes more. Will hadn’t been back to this bar in a very long time, and when he saw the old dirty sign in the window turned to “OPEN”, he had to wonder how the hell it’d managed to remain in business for so long, especially with its blatant disregard for the law.

When Will opened the scratched-up wooden door, he was greeted with the smell of liquor and smoke. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was strange and unfamiliar now. When he went out with friends at this point, it was to well-maintained, ritzy joints - not dive bars on the city outskirts. Still, there was something pleasing about being back here, and the corners of his lips upturned slightly as he walked in, low heels clicking against the floor.

The interior was pretty empty tonight - a stark contrast from how it’d been a few years ago, when Rocket kids lined the walls, smoking, making out, grinding by the jukebox, making lists of people they wanted to shank. Tonight there were only six people in the bar, including the bartender. Will walked over to the bar counter and took a seat on a wobbly stool, not yet acknowledging the man who sat a few stools away. He ordered a “Muk Lite, preferably in a clean glass”, and took a sip when it arrived. Disgusting. Just the way he remembered.

After a few minutes of drinking and speaking with the bartender, Will turned to the man nearby and nearly spat out his beer as soon as he’d looked. This was a man he knew. This was a man he’d trusted and admired back in the day.

“Holy Shit! Petrel, is that you??”

There weren’t many things Petrel could have done in that situation. He considered running into the bathroom and putting on a ridiculous disguise, but the bartender would’ve assumed he had checked out before closing his tab and refused to serve him anymore. He could’ve bolted past the kid without saying anything, but his bottom was bolted to his barstool. The most he could do was look the other way and pretend to be lost in thought. Petrel had mastered the “don’t bother me right now” look, and now it was time to put it to good use.

Half glaring, he shifted all of his focus to the faded health and safety inspection certificate on the wall and thought loudly, Don’t look at me don’t look at me don’t look at me don’t-

“Holy Shit! Petrel, is that you??”

Shit.

“Will!”

The transformation was immediate. Petrel did not even notice his mouth snap straight into the smile until it was already shoving his cheeks up as far as they could go. This was automatic, stemming from some deeply-ingrained survival instinct. He could not get out of this situation now. The best thing to do now was be pleasant.

“I can’t believe it’s you! It’s been so long!”

It wasn’t Will, specifically, that Petrel didn’t want to see. He went to this bar nowadays because he didn’t want to see anyone, and the fact that Will had known him from back then only made things worse. Truth be told, Will wasn’t all that bad of a guy, though. Petrel had enjoyed working with him back in the day. Being the oldest in the group of Goldenrod grunts, Petrel had always worked to be someone the others could admire. Of course, really looking Will over for the first time since he walked in, Petrel could see the tables had turned.

Yes, it’s me, Petrel. Same old Petrel.

Will’s clothes were certainly more distinguished. He liked them; they suited Will better than the old Rocket uniform ever did, and Petrel could’ve imagined that his new life outmatched the old Rocket life to boot.

And what do I have to show? I still wear the uniform on laundry days because I’ve got nothing else to wear. He hated how comfortable he still felt in it.

Will certainly stood out in this dusty old bar, that was for sure. Will had attracted the attention of the handful of other people in the bar, but only because he wasn’t wearing a ratty t-shirt and jeans. When people realized he wanted a drink just like everyone else they went back to their own, but Petrel still couldn’t shake the dissonance from his mind.

“What brings you back to this dump, huh?” As he said it, he winked at the scowling bartender. It didn’t help.

[unnamed-cat]

Visit Original Link

The Doors - People Are Strange (1967)

[admirationofpower]

Golden Signals | Ariana & Petrel

Goldenrod City, like any good metropolis, was home to a wide array of nightlife. The area around the radio tower was the hub of entertainment with its studios, movie theaters, live shows, and music venues. This was the part of the city were the celebrities lived, and where those who wanted to catch a glimpse of them at the clubs hung out.

Not all of it was so glamorous however. In the less popular areas was where the independents tried to stake their claims. Small play houses were open to more experimental shows, and the quieter bars were more willing to lend their stage to amature musicians.

One such bar was host to a group that was familiar with Goldenrod, but they hoped the city did not recognize them.

The Golden Signals was a band that was known in Unova where they first appeared. They were a swing band lead by a lady with red hair. She had a voice as alluring as her appearance, and her boys on the instruments were quite talented as well. Their style and sound had evolved into one they were finally comfortable with, and that gave them the confidence to take their show overseas.

There was a reason they would have preferred to stay out of Johto. It was a risk to step foot back into the city that they once took over as Team Rocket.

[smogandmirrors]

“Looks like the place,” Petrel muttered to himself, looking up at the sign from the small card he’d been carrying around with him since he left his apartment. In all his years in Goldenrod, he’d never been to this place before. It was in a pretty interesting neighborhood. He loved the smaller theaters and the lounges full of singing waiters all trying to get their next big break. But he wasn’t here to live vicariously through some GCU theater major’s dreams tonight. Tonight, he was here to confront a very sizable moment in his past.

The card was an invitation, one he had found slipped under his door earlier in the week. He didn’t know who the Golden Signals were, but he wasn’t doing anything tonight, so he figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to show them some support. He fancied himself an artist from time to time, after all, so it was good to show some solidarity!

He walked into the bar and noticed that it was set up in such a way as to feature the band. That was pretty neat. Petrel ordered a drink (”just one tonight, though; I’m on a budget!”) and took a seat, eager to see what these Golden Signals were all about. He thought about who it was that may have invited him. Maybe it was a girl. He dismissed that idea immediately. He hadn’t taken many girls to his apartment as of late, and the ones who knew where he lived probably didn’t want him coming to their band’s performance. Maybe it was someone who lived in the apartment complex? He’d find out soon.

After a few more sips of his drink, the lights went dark. A voice came over the speakers announcing them- the one, the only Golden Signals! Petrel leaned forward to get a better look at who was walking out.

The horn players came out first, and Petrel squinted to get a good look at their faces. They seemed oddly familiar, like he’d seen them before a long time ago, like a few years. The rhythm section came out, and they produced the same effect on the man. Then came the redheaded frontwoman, and Petrel nearly spat out his drink.

Ariana? Well, shit. He wasn’t expecting this. Was she the one who had invited him? He guessed as much, considering he was having a hard time remembering the names of any of the men on stage. Regardless, they were all former Rockets. What were they thinking, playing a show in Goldenrod of all places?

Petrel began to feel very uncomfortable all of a sudden. How had she gotten that invitation to him when his apartment was under a fake name? Why did she ask him here? What did she want? He didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out. With the band still only halfway through their first song, Petrel got up to close his tab and leave. But what he saw made him stop right in his tracks.

Lining the back of the bar were the boys in blue. The fuzz. Coppers. Whatever you wanted to call them, they were blocking the exit, waiting patiently for the end of the Signals’ set, Blues Brothers-style. He began to panic. They were still looking for Rockets? He’d done nothin’ for years. He was innocent!

Well, innocent of being a Rocket at least.

He sat back down in his chair quietly, plotting his next move. He could get himself out just fine, especially if it was Ariana they were looking for. But was that really what he wanted? At any rate, there was nothing he could do until the set ended. He sat there, slouched in his chair with his arms crossed staring intently at the stage, tying desperately to make eye contact with the woman. The least he could do was send her a signal.

[smogandmirrors]

Nostalgic Nocturne | Will & Petrel

An unfortunate symptom of being nostalgic was the need to return to places that may or may not have been such a positive influence on your life. Unfortunately for Petrel, calling him a nostalgic was a massive understatement. So it was no surprise to him that he found himself here tonight, at the dirtiest dive bar on the upper east side of Goldenrod.

The place had long been a haven for reckless youths, especially since Petrel had discovered that it served to teens under the legal drinking age. The bar had been here longer than he had, so he’d been coming back for fifteen years. Every couple years or so, the wait staff would change, or the management, so it was fairly easy to come here without being recognized.

Back in the day, when people wondered where he went and what he did when he wasn’t being bossed around, Petrel would often get followed to this bar. Some days he’d tell them to piss off, either for their own good or his. Others, he’d buy them a drink and just listen.

It was right in the very barstool he was seated now where he had first learned of the things he hated about Goldenrod: abusive relationships, crippling debs, crushed dreams. Over by the pool table he had listened to many a man list off atrocities committed as if he were compiling what he wanted to pick up from the grocery store the next morning. Right over by where the jukebox used to be (that’s a whole ‘nother story) was the first time Petrel had ever danced with someone.

So, there was a lot in this little bar for Petrel to mull over while he lost himself in his scotch and his cigarette. But that was what he came here to do. No one would bother him, because nobody knew who he was anymore. He barely had to wear a disguise around town anymore, because everyone had already gone on to do other things. Ariana was a singer. Archer? Who the fuck cared. Proton he’d lost contact with long ago, but he hadn’t seen him in ages. Will and Karen had gone to the Pokémon League, meaning they had joined the ranks of the strongest trainers in the whole world.

Petrel shuddered. It was alarming to think about how much power one organization had over a whole country, not to mention the individuals. But, that wasn’t important. Everyone had gone off to live out their happy ending, and he was stuck here without a clue as to where his went. Maybe it was at the bottom of this scotch glass.....

He took another sip and looked around the room. No one particularly interesting, and no trouble either. Petrel liked to people-watch, but heavy drinkers would usually get too loud and spoil his fun. No, nothing out of the ordinary tonight. No dates, no kids trying not to get carded. Well, it was a Tuesday night after all, and he could only count four other people besides him and the bartender. Ah, well. That was fine with him.

Suddenly the bell on the door rang, indicating that someone had just opened it. Petrel turned to look at the next poor sap who’d wandered into this grimy old place on a Tuesday, but he was met with familiar purple hair and distinct black mask.

Not who he wanted to see tonight. He quickly swiveled around on his barstool and hoped he had not been too late in doing so.

[smogandmirrors]

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR TOOTHBRUSH

"White."

"Whaddayamean this ain’t a toothbrush? I put one in my mouth when I wake up and one before I go to bed."

"And…a couple times in between."

[yodda]

Visit Original Link

Mika- Grace Kelly

I could be brown I could be blue I could be violet sky I could be hurtful I could be purple I could be anything you like Gotta be green Gotta be mean Gotta be everything more Why dont you like me? Why dont you like me? Why dont you walk out the door!

[smogandmirrors]

WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT ON YOUR PLANET?

"That’s an interesting question." 

The man scratched at his goatee for a moment, reflecting.

"Never been to too many places. Never had a particular interest in traveling, either." The answer probably should have ended there.

"But I’ll tell you one thing. Team Rocket don’t make it easy for guys like me. Keep you holed up in their underground hideouts and secret bases. And if you try to get out they just find you and drag your sorry ass right back down again." 

"And now that that’s done, where am I supposed to go now? Too old to learn new tricks, and too young for anyone else to feel sorry for me. I’m stuck."

"There’s no place on this planet I can get a goddamn break."

[amatsu-magatsuchi]

ポケモン落書き詰め | 雀茶 [pixiv] (p.20)