Onyx puffs his cigarette down to the base, flicking away the smouldering stump and relishing the tiniest hint of a burn on his fingers. A flash of red goes past him, and Onyx doesn’t pay it any mind-- he’s focused on his mission. That’s what makes him such a good dog for team Rocket.

A skinny, hunch-backed nerd with big round glasses and bowlcut hair plastered to his forehead with sweat ducks out of a door into an alley, looking around nervously. Good, that meant Onyx didn’t even need to sniff them out.

He cut down the alley, parting from the main flow of people with nonchalance. When his target looked back, he paused to look up at a piece of graffiti, innocent as could be-- and when the target moved, again, Onyx was on his trail, boots a heavy clip down the questionably wet alley. It cut a sharp c-curve ahead, buckling back out towards the main street.

Casey Fincher

☉

Onyx came around the c-curve, hands in pockets, catching the faintest scent of something peachy and floral on the wet Slateport air. His target had bumped into someone and stumbled back, ass hitting the pavement.

A shadow passed overhead, bridging the both of them in darkness for the briefest of seconds.

“Define ‘with’,” Onyx said, breathing measured, trying not to show his irritation. Additional factors in the equation… complicated things. He wasn’t a math guy, he was a hitting guy, so he wasn’t much fond of surprise numbers.

Casey Fincher

☉