Zavander crouched before the Barboach, eyeing the spoon in his mouth. The handle was slightly bent, but it couldn’t be possible that the water type had done that himself. “What’cha got there little fella?” He asked, almost teasingly.
“Zavander, we’re here to gather supplies, not provoke people.” Jelrin commented, standing behind the Grovyle, glancing about the room. The peculiar rock spire, spiraling up towards the ceiling was just the larger of several formations in the room.
“Lighten up, what’s the worse that could happen? This isn’t like Shiftstone pass, where everyone was just thugs squatting on the higher floors.”
Jelrin simply sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, just don’t poke an eye out or something.”
“Oh come on, how exactly would that happe-” Zavander began, before he was interrupted by a swift, slap to his left eye with the spoon. The Barboach could put some considerable force behind the swing, for having such a small body, sending the Grass type tumbling backwards twice over as he slapped a hand over his eye. “Oh my god! Oh god, that’s gonna bruise!” he groaned, rolling about in pain
“Well, I told yo-” the Quilava began, only to watch as the water type jumped up into his face, hitting him in the right eye with the spoon, creating a loud whap on impact. Jelrin recoiled back, stumbling several steps before grabbing the right side of his face. “ARGH, WHAT DID I DO!?” He growled, clenching his teeth as he hissed in pain.
