rockets, defused [ petrel + barker ]
Only the most powerful of individuals were permitted to enter Tin Tower.
Apparently, that had meant that one had to be ‘strong of spirit’ - otherwise known as in possession of well trained Pokemon - not just the ability to strong arm the Monk at the gate. He’d bounced that fucker with more efficiency then either of them had probably expected, but ultimately, taking on three monks and eight different Bellsprouts had been a little too much for one mortal man.
And so, he sat on the step in front of the shrine leading to the structure, his Ratatta chewing at a roll of bandage until it warranted a strip long enough to wrap around where a number of razor-sharp leaves had cut into his legs. He seemed to get into enough of these situations where carrying around a first aid kit had been a necessity rather than just a ‘good idea’, at least - otherwise, he had no doubt that he’d be stuck aching and bleeding across town for most of the day. Not really desired or fun.
Tying off the bandage on his knee, he paused a moment to watch the foot traffic, blinking lazily. Must have been nice to live here; most of these people didn’t seem like they did anything particularly eventful. Like that guy - HE didn’t have a black eye and cuts down his shins. He paused a moment, musing about what the passerby’s uneventful life may have been like... before realizing that he actually was, in fact, staring at one of his old bosses.
Shit.
Barker’s first thought was to jump into the bushes and hide, although the chances of that being a bit too conspicuous for the situation seemed... uh, pretty high. Plus, he’d probably just open up some of his cuts again, which benefited no one.
So, he just froze and hoped to miraculously begin to blend in with the surrounding stair. Because that was also a very practical solution.
