Ghosts, huh? Seemed like an odd request, but he'd bite. As per usual, he found himself at the necessary location far too early. He had roughly fifteen minutes to kill, what a shame. Like anyone in modern day who had some time to kill, he took out his phone and simply chose to doomscroll. Several things in regards to a carnival in the region began to pop up and his brows knit together in a sense of curiosity. Not that he was curious about the carnival itself, but rather its purpose. Weren't they just an excuse to drain people dry of money with games that were designed for failure? Rides that were haphazardly put together? And fireworks. Those were a bit different and brought back memories of home. The Parfum Palace in Kalos had a grandiose display every few months.

But to say he enjoyed it? Not necessarily. He was ambivalent about such a grand display.

His phone was locked and returned to his pocket the moment that he heard footsteps. Something about the wilderness didn't allow people to be covert. Though he could tell that years of work akin to his own, his partner for this mission attempted to keep her presence covert. (A shame his hearing was as sharp as ever.) She had his full attention, for better or worse. Henri pushed himself off of the decaying tree he'd trusted to hold his weight and opted to make the first steps towards the building they were to investigate.

There was no need to share the details of the mission with her -- he'd learned that much like him, she also served as a mercenary. How quaint for the both of them to have that in common. As he pushed the door open, he peered around. The silence felt suffocating as Henri crossed the corridor and held the door propped open for his partner. A chill ran down his spine from the sudden drop in temperature compared to the outside. Ghosts didn't bother him in the slightest, as his ace pokemon was a ghost type in itself.

But he didn't opt for his Decidueye this time. Instead, he tossed a pokeball out that held his Maschief, the only pokemon in his collection he'd named so far. Mazikeen, a harbinger of suffering. But a shame the hellhound acted more like a hellpuppy. The Maschief pounced on a dust bunny that seemed to roll around on the ground from the breeze outside of the door. Henri gave a sigh before he finally turned his attention to his purple-haired partner.

"Henri. Charmed. This is Mazikeen. Let's try to make this an effortless job, shall we? I'm not a mystic in the slightest so the idea of ghosts brings me no sense of dread."

That much was true just in the way his expression never seemed to falter. But it didn't help that his voice fell flat, almost monotone. He wasn't a very interesting man, and he figured the silence would best make that point.

⚰︎ divider made by milky!

Victoria Beckett