Her team had started dominating the gyms in Hoenn. She couldn’t help but feel like a proud mom every time she got a notification. She’d never admit it, but Valor was always slightly behind Instinct and Mystic in terms of keeping gyms, but that was something she aimed to fix.
Of course, she’d fix it after she called a mechanic to fix a pipe in Valor HQ, and set up the training schedule for some new members who requested it, and checked up on some tagged Eevee’s she’d encountered last week, and found a meme to send to Spark.
If you’d ask her, she’d never admit it, but Candela was feeling, ever so slightly, overwhelmed. It was no one’s fault but her own, and she knew this, but there was so much stuff to do and not enough time to do it. She hadn’t made it to a weekly Team Leader Lunch in over a month. She heard it in Blanche’s calls and Spark’s texts; they were starting to get worried.
She’d managed to fix up the team lounge. Team Valor, the people, places, and gyms, always took precedent over her own needs. The brand new leather couch sunk downward as she laid across it. The stack of files in front of her never seemed to end. Each resume was more boring than the last. Candela could barely keep her eyes open underneath the harsh fluorescents.
She’d given herself more work, again, but it would be worth it sooner or later. Somewhere in the stack of dull resumes was the perfect candidate for a Team Valor Admin. She needed someone she could trust to lead new members, bounce ideas back and forth with, and file paperwork correctly. She’d fought Willow tooth and nail just to let her try and find someone. After weeks of interviews, she’d almost lost hope. She still had one interview left, though, and she’d be damned if she gave up on them before they even tried.
Sitting up, she smoothed out her coat and tried to have some semblance of professionalism. She had just taken a nap, but no one needed to know that.
During the times where the Gym isn't as busy, Norman likes to take a step back and go on a walk through Petalburg Woods. From the winding path that crosses through many patches of grass, the tall trees that cast an eternal shadow over the ground, all of it just gives an almost peaceful atmosphere for him. He's been going through these woods long enough that he doesn't face the typical problem inexperienced travelers would.
Over the years, his little walks would end up with him returning to Petalburg City with a small bag of lost items. Initially it’d be little things like water bottles and trinkets but then he’d find a PokeGear or a set of keys. While there is still enough light to see through, it is dark enough that other travelers have had the misfortune to drop and lose their items on the ground. It is possible to find these without technological assistance, but the Itemfinder makes searching a great deal easier.
Norman has a Lost & Fount section in his Gym specifically for thie items that he found. He would put up a small advertisment on the city's notification board, and have one of his Gym Trainers man that little department. Some items are reclaimed fairly early, while others have been collecting dust for a few years now. It doesn't take up much space, so he still leaves it there even if the chances continue to dwindle with each passing day.
He has Ambipom out with him. Having an extra two sets of hands makes the process easier, if he came across any lost goods in the first place. Norman hums a little tune, gaze lazily sweeping the surroundings, his eyes trained on anything that seems odd, the rustle of grass or the beeping of the Itemfinder on his head. His older model was currently in repairs, so he only had the newer -- while efficient, it looked a little silly -- model to use for this trip.
❝Bonjour, everyone! Please don’t push each other, I’ll get to all of you!❞
Today was a busy day. In front of the Prism Tower in Centrico Plaza, the lovely and magnificent Diantha was out and about, singing autographs for her fans. It seems that word spreads pretty quickly when it comes to Diantha, as lines had already started forming, and it seems like the actress just got there.
Diantha wasn’t annoyed at all that she was standing out in the blistering sun to sign fan’s posters of her. Why, it was all thanks to them that she made it as far as she did. If her movies had no supporters, she wouldn’t be the critically-acclaimed and famed actress she was. So really, at this point, she had to do some stuff for her fans.
And that was alright.
The actress grinned as people of all ages came forward with merchandise of her. Pen in hand, she was ready to write her fancy signature over and over. It especially warmed her heart when small children came forward, looking nervous that they were talking to a famous person.
❝Dear, it’s alright! I’m not going to bite. Here, let me sign that for you. There you go! Have a splendid day!❞
Not that it’s an uncommon occurrence here in Hoenn, a region marred by tropical storms. (Considering the hot, summer season.) Most outsiders to the region would view the storm as a serious threat, but to Zinnia, who was born and raised here -- the tropical storm is but a mere thorn in her side.
Lightning streaks across the sky. The rumbling of thunder follows. Zinnia’s careful eyes watch the pattern of the rain as it falls, swaying left and right under the wind’s guided touch.
Aster mumbles, hiding her face in the crook of Zinnia’s chest.
Zinnia strokes the top of her head.
Aster didn’t like thunderstorms – they were far too loud, and her hearing was especially sensitive. The noises were enough to startle even battle bound Zinnia; Zinnia could scarcely imagine just what it must be like for her. But walking out in the middle of the storm now would be stupid.
Flying would be even more disastrous.
No, Zinnia was not stupid.
She was reckless, but not stupid.
She retreats further into the cave, still visible in its mouth. The fire she has crafted has already begun to die, warmth flickering with each sweep of the wind. Zinnia hisses, placing Aster down to once again breathe life into the flame with her kindling.
And as she does, her keen ears pick up the faint romping of footsteps.
Both she and Aster peek their heads out of the cave.
Somewhere, in the sheet of rain, Zinnia can just make out a figure. No doubt trying to escape the rain as she had, earlier.
It would be kind of her to yell out, invite this stranger into her cave to seek shelter with her. But old habits die hard. Zinnia is instantly reminded of her days with the true Lorekeeper, where the both had been on edge with every traveler they had met. What they carried with them was worth a fortune – Keystones prepared for the great ritual to summon Rayquaza. There had been many who had attempted to steal their possessions, and Zinnia had fought each with tooth and nail.
That time had passed.
She has nothing to fear to anymore.
(Her fingers are still laced around the kindling like a weapon.)
And with a sigh, she allows her voice to carry out over the rain:
Are you friend or are you foe...?
❝ Oy! You! Over here! Get out of the rain -- you tryin’ to catch a cold? ❞
His gaze sets upon an imaginary opponent and like a whip, he lunges forward with his weapon in hand, lips stretched into a sharp smile. One step. Two step. Twist. Parry. Lance jumps back a few steps, body loose but ready for another invisible attack. This time, it’s accompanied by what sounds like a hymn in a language that has been far removed from the general public. Keeping his concentration on both the physical and verbal aspects of this piece is difficult but he manages to go through the entire session before pausing for breath.
Wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, Lance grabs a water bottle, taking his time to quench his thirst. Then he grabs the piece of paper he’s left on the table, eyes scanning through the text once more. It’s a bit embarrassing that he’s having trouble with this, but his pride will not settle with anything less than perfection. This is a part of his heritage -- the first language of his clan, a tongue that speaks of dragons and their might.
Time has wiped its existence from the public and even part of his clan, but it’s still practiced among the most dedicated of members. Lance might not agree on some aspects of his clan but he still carries the pride that comes with the title. They have strayed from the original path, and this is just a bit of a reminder on how it once was. A story to tell, not only to the clan children but also to the public for the upcoming festival.
An annual celebration, the Festival of the First Dragon often showcases a few performances that depicts the culture of the clan to the spectators. Held in Blackthorn City, it gives off the vibe of a regular festival. There would be stalls selling a variety of goods, ranging from local delicacies to dragon related items. The main attraction, of course, is the grand show held on the second to last night. Story telling, singing, dancing and a combination of it all.
Lance chooses to handle the most active and physically taxing of the entire thing. He took a week off from League duty solely for practicing, which he did so in Nanako’s yard. It’s a break from his normal routine, but it still demanded the same level of focus and drive he puts in his work. If there’s one thing that Lance wanted, it is to showcase the better parts of his clan through his performance.
If he’s going to do that, he’ll need to master the hymn. There’s only two more days before the festival so he’s going to kick things into overdrive. His pride is on the line here.
Blackthorn is often a quiet city but during the festival, it’s bustling with life. Lance watches from the window of an inn he’s booked for the night. It’s much closer to the hall where he’d be performing in, and he assumed it’ll run late into the night so he won’t have to trudge all the way back to Nanako’s house. He’s already dressed for the performance -- a piece that would have been worn by ancient Dragon Tamers in his clan back then. It had been a bit of pain to replicate the tattoos again but it’s worth the effect to remain as genuine as possible.
After staring at the festivities for a while longer, Lance is suddenly struck by an odd feeling of longing. He’s participated in the festival every year but he’s never truly submerged himself into regular activities. It’s always performing, acting like a proper clan member and just act like a sort of figure head that grates on his nerves. Join Avenue had been his first time experiencing a ‘proper’ sort of festival and while that didn’t end up how he expected, it was still a pretty fun time.
Still, Lance had yet to get an opportunity to have fun. Now that he’s thirty years old and occasionally giving some deep thoughts on how he’s been living his life, he decided that for once, he wants to see the bulk of the festival. Be a part of the crowd milling about, testing the wares and trying out the games instead of just performing on stage all night long. Now with that thought wedged in, there’s no stopping the Champion from getting what he wants.
After slipping into a cloak that hides his figure and face, Lance heads out and onto the streets. Of course, his choice of disguise drew attention but for the most part, people left him alone. There are a few people dressed up in dragon themed outfits, mostly by other clan members, so he’s probably not the most oddly dressed one here. Feeling a little pleased with this fact, he decides to check out the food first. His performance often left him famished by the end of it due to how physically taxing it is so fueling up sounds like a good plan.
He makes his way down the street, but it turns out to be a bit more packed than he expects. People are bumping shoulders with him, or he has to follow with the flow of the crowd to even move. At one point, someone bumped into him with enough force to even make him stumble forward, which in turn caused him to bump into someone else. Lance managed to grab a hold of their elbow before they could fall, thankfully.
“I apologize for that,” he quickly says, letting go of the person once they were upright. His cloak should shield his face from the stranger. “Are you alright?”
It was rare that Koga got time away from his position on the plateau, and most of the time he got was spent with his daughter. But, try as he might to deny it, she was a young woman with her own responsibilities and life to take care of. She’d told him that she’d only be an hour at most, but Koga knew two things. One, he wouldn’t be able to sit around and wait for that long doing nothing. Second of all, he couldn’t remember the last time his daughter made it home on time.
And so, Koga, fearsome member of the Elite Four, went out walking with a small, scraggly, greying Venonat waddling at his side.
‘Ah, Mushi, you’re getting slower these days,’ he remarked to the ageing Pokemon, who he presumed was still lagging behind him. He was proven wrong with a swift headbutt to the back of the calf, punctuated with a hiss that was partially from Mushi’s tiny mouth and partially from the poison seeping into Koga’s clothes. They were poison resistant, of course, but it made a small mist of toxic vapour nonetheless.
‘Hey!’ he exclaimed, turning around to look at Mushi, taking his eyes off the path, ‘you’re getting crochety too. Watch it -’
Koga should have taken his own advice, he realised, as he barreled into the oncoming pedestrian.
“Oh geez, you looked like you haven’t eaten, slept or even blinked in the past 24 hours..”
Charon broke off a generous portion of her spicy malasada to share with the stranger, she didn’t want to be hearing about how they found some random person half dead in the park on the news later.
“Here, you look like you need it way more than me anyways, so.. Perk up! You're in Alola, the sunniest, most relaxed region in the world. There's no place for a frown like that." Granted, Charon wasn't exactly the best at cheering people up, but at least it was something; she gave them some food after all, isn't that enough to turn someone's mood up?
