It was a stuffy, crowded little coffee shop on the east side of town. Cheap, full of people just blabbering their heads off, and a good place to be unseen, unheard, and unnoticed without coming off as suspicious. Grunts, he mused, had often made that mistake—skulking off in dark corners, doing weird things. It’s what always brought attention to them, what always got them in shit. The easiest place to be silent was at the center of an Uproar; it was something a lot of them could stand to learn. But Proton’s grunt days were far behind him, and that was why he was here, waiting at a dingy little table with a cheap mug of black, watery coffee in his hands; even considering everything that had happened, he was still an Executive, dammit, and by Lugia, when Archer called on him, Proton was always ready to stand at attention.
Or sit. Not so much at attention as he was busy staring at a speck in his coffee that may or may not have been several dead ants. This place was a dump, but it was cheap. It was the perfect place to take care of business—of course, what else could it be but a business call, considering who summoned him? Proton may have been keeping his nose down and out of anything major since back then, but that didn’t mean he was stupid or losing his touch. Once a Rocket, always a Rocket, after all.
He was starting to get bored, drumming his fingers idly on the small sticky table he was seated at as he continued to contemplate Schrödinger’s Coffee Ants, glancing up every now and then, when he caught the blue out of the corner of his eye, and surreptitiously, he threw his hand into the air to make a quick motion towards the table, and finally glanced up at the man’s approach. “Well, well,” he greeted, “ain’t we just goin’ to the swankiest spots in town? Don’t suppose there’s time for pleasantries?”
Years had passed since had Giovanni’s loyal executives reached out to him through the radio broadcast. He was ready to return then but them youngsters interfered, defeating him right on the spot. The shame of his loss was too much to bear and he had to leave everything behind. He was ever haunted by the gut feeling that Team Rocket could possibly never be again.
Something intriguing yet intimidating had brought Giovanni back to his old hideout in Tohjo Falls. He was helped through by his Nidoqueen, slightly cringing as he looked around - the bad memories coming to him. He glanced at the tired-looking pokemon for a moment before returning it.
Archer was the reason he was there, maybe things would somehow turn out for the better. Giovanni leaned back on the wall as he gave it some thought. It certainly hadn’t been easy to get in touch with the once head executive but luck had favored him. He found out Archer’s number thanks to some old contact of his.
He eventually gained the heart to call the man and so they agreed to meet up. It was good to talk on the phone, almost felt like any other call they had had when working together. Now all there was left to do was wait..
But was Giovanni ready to face his most trusted man in person after all these years? Suddenly he wasn’t so sure, knowing he himself had been the one to abandon their cause in the first place. Slowly stress began to creep up on him and he tried his best to ignore it since he knew he had to see Archer again. They both deserved the closure that would hopefully come.
Brings up adopting a pet -- kyouhei constantly pesters hyuu until he finally gives in just so he shuts up. but hyuu lowkey wants to see kyou happy fucK MY LIFE
Kills the bugs - hyuu
Cooks the meals - they try . . . hyuu has more comprehension, though.
Starts getting into holidays way before they should - kyouhei. just because it takes hyuu longer to get into the spirit.
Initiates the couple selfies - kyouhei would, but he knows how hyuu feels about the unnecessary attention / exposure
Forgets the birthdays and anniversaries - both, hyuu more often, though.
Always ends up with too much junk food after grocery shopping - kyouhei is a child
Nicknames the other - hyuu just calls kyouhei “kyou” for short. not really a nickname available for hyuu besides mega qwilfish.
nostalgia taps on his shoulder; it takes on a familiar voice that sends chills, and ghosts against his ear, disguised as the innocent breeze of late summer. it smells of fresh-cut grass and juniper; but the connotation of the landmark forces only the scent of muddy water and humidity that thickens the air, and clings to the fabric of his outerwear. conditioned to breathe it secondhand — dax always getting the icky jobs.
dax’s return, more like a resurrection. and each step he takes is macabre, like the ghosts of his past follow him at the heels. like the hopes and dreams he’s had to be something else dissipate into apparitions; and they radiate a cold aura, one dax shivers in the presence of.
--- remember who you used to be?
dax grits his teeth. it’s jealousy, partially, that bites. the other grunts departed, but for a while there, dax couldn’t quite deal with the downfall of his only purpose. he’s wandered cities with his fist cocked back, tenacious and ready for a fight. his fingers fold taut around liquor bottles and the handle of his knife, but his grip loosened on his sanity — freedom. for years, the code had been implemented — a rocket is always a rocket. always listen to the boss !
but to bite the hand that feeds … well, is it disobedience, or simply connate savagery?
he approaches closer to the slowpoke well in the farthest corner of azalea town --- and he isn’t alone.
dax breathes, heavy. each one sticks to the back of his throat like steam from a fire just put out, or perhaps, not quite. he parts his lips, tongue tapping against his palette like flint on steel. click, click — the flame ignites.“s-ur-prised to see you still around… “ he proves himself to be a cynic, sarcastic. a fuchsia eye narrows into a half-glare at the executive.
he stretches his arms behind his head, almost waiting to be humored with a good enough reason he’s followed the ex-grunt onto a former battlefield. a little walk down memory lane? how unlike archer. his stoic persona so classic, yet it leaves dax on edge. “you look lost, point dexter. gi-oh-vanni finally let you off your leash?”
Cole couldn’t help it; his face distorted as though he’d just swallowed an entire lemon. Beside him, Mari was a quivering mess. Her eyes were raw from crying already.
“It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Mari, either,” he spoke in measured tones. “We weren’t even in the house.”
Behind where their parents stood, an oversized painting lay on the floor, frame smashed to pieces. The family’s cleaning staff had been shorthanded as of late, which they made up for by blaming mistakes on the two children - excuses Cole and Mari’s parents were all too ready to believe. An error on this scale would surely lead to another layoff, so the children had returned to find a pair of livid parents and judging glances from the staff.
Cole wasn’t stupid. He knew they would lose something big over this - maybe even receive a beating. He also knew that no one would believe their side of the story. The siblings knew not to cause trouble, but Mari upset easily, and their parents accepted this as an admission of guilt.
His father reached to slap Mari for crying, and Cole did something he thought he’d never do - he fought back. He grabbed his father’s arm and held fast.
