The soul was a resilient thing.

It took abuse, pain, agony, toils, and very single relevent adjective without so much as a flinch. It had to; they’d been molded by evolution. To have a weak soul was to have someone unwilling to reproduce. They’d be eliminated from the population within a single generation. It wasn’t an infectious condition either.

But they all had a limit. They did not break, but they tore. Scratches, scrapes, tears into the otherwise tough material was all too common. Suffering was the secret third guarantee of life, and it usually proved to strengthen the soul after the incident occured.

Grigori wondered if this was such a moment, after several grueling days of monotony. Of abuse, of terror, of pain and agony and exhaustion. Maybe that’s why, when subjected to the trial of the feeding pit, he threw down his meager handfuls of mochi mush and growled.

“Oi, what’s–”

Grigori extended his arm, only able to pinpoint their location based on their voice, and slammed them into the ground. They cursed and struggled, but it soon didn’t matter. A green mass came forward and barreled straight into the broken grunt.

They fell together into a mass of yelps and grunts, with Grigori on the bottom. Weak, desperate hands clawed at the face, the back, the toxic chain. “Let me tear it off! Give me a chance, I’ll end your suffering!”

“Pon, pon!” Even in its weakened state, it was more than capable of tossing Grigori to the side. He rolled across the slop like a sack of potatoes, hitting fellow prisoner limbs on the way. And when he came to a stop, his bones protesting and his muscles on fire, he let himself lay with closed eyes for a few seconds.

Only a few. Then, he went on the hunt. After the creature that assaulted them in a blind rage. He would help the creature by trying to remove its toxic chain. If that didn’t work, then he’d be the punching bag while the rest of them hurried to clean the grounds of purple waste.

Either way, they would be done with their cleaning, he would die, or the green demon would stop its assault. No matter the cost, no matter the pain. Such was the burden of a grunt, of a soul. How much more could his take?

---

Tl;dr
 - To be, or not to be. That is the question
 - After some inner turmoil, Grigori slams a fellow prisoner NPC into the mochi mush to save them from an Ogerpon attack
 - He gets into a small tussle with the weakened Ogerpon (this happens further into the week), and he gets thrown away
 - He comes to a stop in lots of pain, gives himself a moment, and then starts to chase after the Ogerpon
 - No matter what, this will come to an end for someone. Hopefully, him or the Ogerpon

Lpo6vXHy
TRIPLE DISADVANTAGE LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOO

The grunt barely got to the ground, as the Dragon Pulse slammed into the wall. Chunks of debris scattered in the wake of impact, and pelted Grigori. He could feel his skin split, and blood trickled out from a few of the cuts.

“Freddy, use Earth Power!”

The bear growled, and the ground below the Naganadel shook. Combined with the Thunder wave, it couldn’t move out of the way in time. Like a mortar shell, the ground once more erupted. It all went straight into the underbelly of the beast, which roared in pain.

But did not relent. Instead, its stinger flashed a viscous purple. Then, it charged straight for Grigori. The grunt barely managed to roll out of the way before it slammed into the far wall, where the toxic sludge had been. That, combined with the paralysis and sticky, venomous gunk, kept it in place as it angrily tried to escape.

“Mr. Laurence, quickly!” The grunt vice-gripped the doctor's arm and dragged him toward the entrance of the cavern. “We’ll block it in. Collapse the entrance.”

Freddy had that in mind from the start, as the already dark space got even dimmer. A twinge of red emerged from the darkness, and painted the bear in a terrifying light. He hobbled faster, knowing what would come next. If they did not exit in time, they would be trapped in there regardless of his command. Such was the destructive, uncontrollable force of a Bloodmoon-Ursaluna.

“If your Shinx can try to stop it in its tracks, now would be the perfect time,” he said. Every little bit helped.

---

Laurence Whateley

It felt incredibly uncomfortable, to have his face smooshed and pressed around by the toxic chain. Grigori was still not entirely awake, and his stomach grumbled from hunger. His mind was clouded from the experiences of yesterday too. His back ached from his terrible sleeping spot, his neck sore from an awkward.

All of this, to say, that he wasn't sure what the point of this was. THe people laughed at him, laughed their pretty little faces off. It stung, surely, yet he couldn't trust their reactions as genuine. Especially when the figure he recognized as jayden cross laughed alongside the rest of the crowd. Why would they laugh at him for such a silly face? Isn't that the point of them anyway?

But it did hurt. It rocked his already precarious position of self-doubt and loathing, and he barely managed to cling to the ledge. "Alright, alright... you can all stop it now..."

Except they didn't. Couldn't? Didn't want to? All his bosses laughed, and laughed, and the chant started in earnest. Their eyes all focused on him and the other two enchanted to perform. Did they all need to focus on him? Their eyes, the ones that could see right through him, all intently squared on his body. His face.

Fear built up in the mind and replaced and shame or self-degredations. "Stop it... please, look away..."

THey must not know. Could not know. If any of them found out what he'd seen in the mask...

He closed his eyes, and hoped they all laughed for his looks rather than what lie beneath the surface.

---

Tl;dr
 - Not much here, Greg will NOT join the suffering builds character arc of howard slayte and Shred Zeppelin.
 - Doesn't like the act, but doesn't think much of it
 - Until he realizes all his bosses are staring at him, and he remembers his vision from the chamber of desires
 - Is then afraid and scared and needs mom to come pick him up

Grigori sat on the bench, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. How long had it been, since he'd been brought to the prison? Anyone's guess, really. Longer than he desired, and longer than he could nearly stand. With the contests, the punishment, the promises, the exhaustion. Not even his dreams could hope to stifle the pangs in his heart. He came here, every night. A blessing and a curse.

The curse was how he never felt like he slept. Dark rings clung to the bottom of his eyes, a parasite that dared not leave him. His mind clouded by the knowledge that the real world held strange, taboo desires. The dream world held a different cloud, one of realization and tiredness that made him feel twice as old as he was.

Even if he closed his eyes in here, he'd never get a proper sleep. But he could at least try. Try and wait for the blessing to appear, in the form of two work colleagues who'd help him in these trying times. After all, he did plant himself right in front of what one could consider a 'store'. They used to frequent a Poke Mart, right? Basically the same thing.

And if they didn't show... then he'd at least try to get some sleep.

---

Shred Zeppelin howard slayte

Grigori sighed. This wasn’t a surprise. The young spirit wanted to be free. That included every factor of his life, even revenge. He’d been much the same, when he was younger.

And look how that turned out.

“Then I will,” he rose from the chair and pushed Cream, with her sleepy, tired eyes, further into his vest. “And we will.”

“But just know,” Grigori stared at Shred Zeppelin, in his sad, sad state as he walked back the way he came, “that I do understand your struggles. Not of the physical variety, but the mental.”

And before he could get another word in, he shut his mouth and opened the door. It was best to be supportive, not antagonistic. Anything further, and he’d likely give the man an aneurysm from the rage inside his chest. This might have to be a lesson the beast learned the hard way.

Or die trying.

---

Shred Zeppelin

He considered this answer for another few long, agonizing seconds. And then, he sat back into the chair. The pen slid across the paper, and the sound of its journey filled the room. He pursed his lips, and then nodded once to himself.

Likely lying. About what? Who knew. But what he did know is that it wouldn’t be anything too great, too grand, or too humiliating. And that, for him, was good enough. Looked like this situation would likely work out afterall.

“Sounds perfectly reasonable,” he finally said. “And I think I would like to see that room, alongside one final question.”

He snapped the small notebook shut suddenly and unclicked the pen. Then, he pushed himself off the chair. “Two, rather: what is the situation with the kitchen appliances, and does anyone here have an allergy regarding baked goods?”

His facial expression did not budge an inch as he spoke. “I enjoy baking a great degree, whenever I have the time. I also enjoy not sending people to the hospital.”

---

annalise henderson Rory Faust  marilee beaufort

As the grunt was shaken around, Grigori put his hands on Jayden’s arms. He didn’t attempt to remove the man. More like steadied himself against the storm. The tides that suddenly threatened to drown him whole.

“I did, Cross,” he countered. “I said what I saw– was told! Some stranger told me the news, I know little more than that.”

Air was sucked into his lungs, and shoved out of his mouth in a rhythmic, panicked manner. “I don’t. Know.”

“You think I wanted to see that, what to know that? I’m confused, dazed, lost about it– and I need someone. Anyone.”

For what? He couldn’t know. Maybe to tell him it was a lie, that it meant nothing. Or it was everything, and it was some deep-seated secret hidden within his heart. Anything at all, just that it was going to be alright. As he did to others, someone would do to him. Not his fault he stumbled upon one of the arguably worse people to share this vision with.

---

jayden cross

Only when he was closer, did Grigori see the icy scars on Jayden’s skin. So… he was back underneath the control of the beast? His question felt all the worse, especially as he explained his vision. With so few words, he cemented himself as a Rocket.

The grunt’s fists balled tighter, his knuckles turned as white as the frost on his boss's skin. “I… I see.”

“I saw the complete opposite. We’d lost.”

Why did he feel alienated, all of a sudden? Like he didn’t belong? He did, though. His bones were restless, and he shifted in place. “Not much, but… it sounded like you’d been e-executed. Hanged. Alongside the rest of the leadership. Except for me.”

“I’m… scared, Mr. Cross. Why would I see that-- why would I be shown that?”

His home was Rocket, even if he had disagreements at the moment. Did not like how quick they were to resort to violence. Some of them at least let the Oinkolonge eat the carrot after they'd been ran around for months.

---

jayden cross

"Mr. Cross."

Grigori joined him by his side, his arms dangled against the fabric of his robe. Even this land of dreams could not hide him from the prison. Of the irony of it all. At least the toxic chain was absent-- but even that offered no reprieve. Its siren call of a promised, great future where he was free and still friends with June, hung in his mind like dream mist. Even here.

"How..." Are you? Holding up? Is the connection to your monstrous, devilish feline?

"What did you see, in the mask?" He sputtered out instead.

They were both in the same ward. Maybe, just maybe, they all saw the same thing. It was not correct, not at all-- but it was a rope he clung to nonetheless.

---

jayden cross

Grigori finally spoke, after the entire long, arduous trip back. “No, thank you. I will settle for the stool.”

A little bit of selflessness, a little bit of restlessness. There was much to think about, even if his bones ached and his back complained as he set his back against the concrete. About the Chamber of Desires, of the vote, about everything. His mind churned, chewed on the doubts and knowledge inside his brain. He also physically chewed on some deep purple mochi. Once again, only the singular one. So be it, if he starved to death.

Unfortunately, though, even he was unable to fight off the exhaustion for long. And soon enough, his body slumped further and further into the stone, until his eyes finally closed and he lost consciousness.

–

But only for a moment.

When his eyes fluttered open, he was no longer in the prison. And for a change, his mind felt less obstructed too. He did not know this strange landscape, nor the people that inhabited it. Megalopolans, some of them recognizable. But that’s not what gets his attention, from an alleyway.

It’s his fellow prisoners that he takes notice of.

So… if Howard and Shred were actually here…

His feet carried him forward. Down, in a straight path. He did not know where to look, nor did he have a destination in mind. If he attempted to try and ‘navigate’, he’d just get more lost than before. If he saw a fellow Rocket, he simply ignored them. Some called, and their calls were wasted.

For there were plenty of League affiliated people here too. Thankfully, none of them June. He might’ve seen Annalise in the distance, but it was best to avoid her. Now wasn’t the time. Maybe during the next day, when they returned to clean more crystals.

Unfortunately, he did run into someone vaguely worth the effort of talking too. jayden cross .

But, maybe, anyone was better than no one. And he was alone. And they were alone, and would be alone. Any port in a storm, he supposed. From behind, he closed the distance. “Mr. Cross.”

---

Tl;dr
- Does not sleep on the cot, but does fall asleep on a stool
- Eats ONE Mochi
- Wakes up in dreamland and wanders, hoping to see Shred and Howard
- Instead finds a lonely Jayden Cross (don't worry about it)
- Says his name as a greeting

How could one forget Meteno? World-wide obliteration was hardly an event that Grigori could push from his mind. Yet he did it all the same. Maybe because the reality of it all was too much. Too nonsensical. Like a fairy tale, except without the happy ending.

More like an adult’s rendition of a fairy tale: bittersweet, and left a foul taste in the back of his throat.

And when Howard both claimed that the lives of the people of Dewford held value and then damned them to a terrible fate, the bittersweet taste bubbled. He pushed the archeologist’s hand off his shoulder and returned to the counter. “Of course, Mr. Fox. These people are not livestock. I would agree: you are not a butcher.”

“You’re a Rocket Admin, and these people are obstacles.”

The phrase came out much more violently than he anticipated. “They are a means to an end. Granted, Eternatus sounds like a massive threat– but is there truly, impossibly, no other way? One that doesn’t potentially wipe out half a coastal city?”

Conflict would be violent. Messy. The seawater would be stained red, and the beaches would become the graves of countless souls. They’d dig up their bones for decades to come, and slowly, their families would find the truth to the deaths of their loved ones.

“What do you even hope to find, in Dewford? In the Ultra Deep Sea? Did Eternatus consume a weapon that only the Regice can wield? And can your golem, alone, stop the colossus that is this god?”

---

howard slayte

“Mr. Bee,” Grigori greeted. His tone flat, and his gaze still focused on the pond. The innocent Pokémon went about their business without care in the world. How nice it must’ve been. Or maybe not– perhaps they’d be victims of war as well. Or worse– forced to join in the conflict by some trainer.

“I appreciate the compliment, but I would be lying if I spoke the same about my thoughts on you,” he said. “I have been busy with personal matters, work– always something.”

Moving. Helping june sleigh, helping howard slayte, helping Rocket. Not only the truth, but a very believable one. But, it was a surprise to hear that his boss thought about him more than he the other.

“May I ask why that is? Have I lagged behind my peers in the sudden, grueling training regime?”

Unlikely. If anything, he was one of the lucky few who hadn’t had some injury, or doubt, about the whole thing. It was obvious why: War was here, and it would spare no one. He could feel it in his bones.

As if on cue, one of the Swanna finally claimed what it’d been hunting for. A Tympole slid down its gullet in one clean gulp. The rest were not as lucky or uninterested, with one that managed to puck it up between its beak only to fling it across the pond. The grunt grimaced. Even if it was the cycle of life, he did not have to be content with it.

---

BARNABY FINCH

Grigori wrote down the information as it was fed to him, his pen licking the page at a modest pace.

‘Solo-room, next to downstairs bathroom. No furnishings.’
‘Relaxed bed-time schedule. Open to conversations via text about noise.’

Not his preferred method of communication, but he supposed he could always just walk over and talk with the others anyway. Not like the distance was grand, a journey into an entirely different city. It also meant they probably communicated via text for most things. “Noted. Apologies, Ms. Annalise. I must’ve gotten something mixed up in the messaging.”

“Next question: chores. Are there set guidelines for each member, or is it changed weekly, or something in between? And the food situation-- essentially the same parameters as the chores.”

He leaned forward, his eyes locked with Annalise. His eyes cut through hers, deep into her brain. All his focus went into her soul as he waited for a response. This was the most important aspect of this living situation: would they try to brute force it all onto him, lie and let him find out the hard way, or be honest and upfront about it?

---

annalise henderson marilee beaufort Rory Faust