[attr="class","spiral"]People have claimed to known him. Many dissect his personality and psychoanalyze it based off their own understanding. He's just some pompous trust fund asshole who thinks he's better than the peons around him. And, in some respects, they're correct. But Fernando prides himself in being more than what anyone else can understand. Most of it is nothing more than a self-indulging fantasy to be edgier than what anyone else can discern, but deep down, he knows who he truly is.

Or at least he thinks so. He's self aware enough to catch himself in all his folly. The elicit relationships that stem from his own childhood grooming, his abundance of physical affection that never leads into a substantial relationship, even the constant need for physical gratification comes with a small plead for validation — he knows this yet continues to indulge. Because at the end of the day there are more important things to dwell on then some backwards ass need for fix issues that mean little in the grand scheme of things.

It's that type of resignation that leads him to forget about his short-term fling with a red tailed vixen from Lilycove. An empty bed is met with a moment of regret but then his alarm rings and Fernando is no longer spun up on yesteryear. A new dawn brings about new challenges and he faces them with his eyes narrowed and his judgement as sharp as a his mind can muster. Life carries on as does work. It's the one thing he can always rely on burying himself into, a terrible burden that becomes as much as a crutch for his own escapism as much as his own undoing.

While he suffocates himself in endless hours someone far off decides to try and break the cycle. But she cannot for the same reason he cannot. It's imbue into their nature. The great mysterious of the world are there to be unraveled. One looks to challenge the foreign and possibilities of the unknown; the other looks to master it so they can bend the laws of physics in their favor.

He descends further when a sudden notification breaks him out of his stupor. He swipes right down on the unfamiliar number to check their history when a picture from his trophy vault rekindles fond memories. "I can't believe she let me do that," he whispers to himself in a satisfied smile. The last time stamp reinforces their nonsensical fallout and Fernando entertains the ghost due to his own curiosities and needs.

I'm a busy man.

He doesn't give her the time to respond lest she read his joke as an outright dismissal. Sometimes he forgets that texting doesn't translate the tone running through his head. It's funnier there, if only to his own sense of humor.

If you can leave me on read you can also accept your punishment with a blindfold.

The urgency and depths of her request is lost upon a fatigued bachelor.

[attr="class","spiral"] Spunky.

Just one line of banter is enough for Fernando to re-create past conversations. He can still hear the low murmur of her lips against his ear, implying more then she’ll ever let on, tempting him into an overdrawn game of cat and mouse. Only the resolution makes up for how much effort he put into their little back and forth. His disappointment had been palpable until he realized how aesthetic the pale naked body contrasted with a mane full of red hair. Now if only his tolerance could burn as hot as his passion.

The text message is filtered as a notification. He doesn’t give her the courtesy of a ‘read’ timestamp and allows the creative juices to take over. What’s the most witty response he can come up with? The answer is nothing. As good as it sounds within the walls of his own mind, the moment it leaves his lips, Fernando judges it as ‘trash’. Garbage, even. However, a reply is due and he can only delay the inevitable for so long.

The velvet one. I like you responsive.

The next message never makes it to his eyes. They both know where they’re bound to meet. It’s insinuated in their chemistry. There’s still a sea of depth he doesn’t understand about her, but this much he knows. It reeks like her second hand smoke. Putrid but only in recognition. Without restraint, without actively pursuing a better life style, he remains oblivious.

Why correct what’s not a problem? After all, bad choices are the spice of life.

It clearly shows when Fernando looks just as lost as the first time he scoured the scene.

[attr="class","spiral"]All the foreplay in the world could never tease him into giving up his obstinate tendencies. Not for long, anyway. Like clockwork, Fernando works out the layout of the building from the entrance to the nearest fire exit. Eyes sweep systematically. They start with the dance floor, the same one she had pushed him to bend with her movements, progressing along empty tables until they settle on the bar.

He can't miss a backside quite like hers.

But his approach is sloppy. Mistaken eye contact with the bartender is enough to prompt her to whisper something inaudible from a distance, obviously about him since she pours another shortly after. Before he can even sneak in next to her, she swivels, offering him Amelie's parting gift while dismissing her all the same.

"But you didn't."

Flirting over text and a confrontation in person don't hold the same energy. He's not mad or hurt. He doesn't feel that from such a chance encounter. However, like many things, Fernando paints his impatience behind narrowed eyes and the slightest of scowls.

Fingers wrap around the glass in the same way he coils around her invitation. They're here for different things, one putting more meaning into it than the other, both set to fall into the other's demand.

"You said you have a proposition."

As pleasant as the drink may smell, or taste, Fernando refrains. He's sworn off drinking with the same conviction that the League promises the region a sense of prosperity. It'll fold under the slightest of pressures but that's what drives him to entertain the only vice he has left.

A glass can't compare to the texture of goosebumps and parted lips.

[attr="class","spiral"]The thing about people is that they all have their tells. Every expression is a missed detail within the confines of a well placed story. Fernando believes this wholeheartedly and entrenches himself on both maintaining his own mask while deconstructing others. So when Anya averts her gaze, even in the slightest, he's adds it to her excerpt. Whether it's a coy red herring or a genuine falter is left to be seen. He'll find out eventually.

So he digs deeper into her tale, cozying up in the seat beside her, as rigid as the spine of her hard-covered book. Surprisingly, they skip the exposition and Fernando slides the glass back at the counter, never quite taking his eyes off her. He's about to interject with a small crack at how he's already had her when she elaborates further. With definitive punctuation, she uncoils the mystery of the sentence — the purpose of the visit and the summary of their exchange.

His reaction is best summed up in the only way he knows how to maintain his bluff: there is none. Fernando doesn't so much at twitch at the revelation, mimicking the powers of AMNESIA as the statement loops from one ear and out the other. Her news means little because he had already presumed as much at the start. Hoenn is home to a vast array of characters and anyone worth their salt knows how to carry themselves.

Anya Fowl knows how to walk the walk, which means she's a dead giveaway.

To what extent does Fernando know about her, that's still undecided. He knows enough to make some based assumptions but even revealing how much he knows is a clue he refuses to let up. How much he doesn't know is the more important question and it's one he's yet to uncovered despite their intimacy.

"I don't need smart." Fernando rolls his eyes. She's much too late to make a difference. Now they're merely trying to salvage what's left. "I need results."

His hands come together in a silent clasps, rubbing against each other as his thought do the same. How does he phrase this nicely.

"You're behind, Fouller." Abrasive but sufficient. "Dreams are nothing more than hopeful opportunities. We're running out of time."

He doubts the news of the Megalopians have been leaked. If it has, she'll understand.

[attr="class","spiral"] It’s not the answer she wants to hear. That much is clear. But Fernando does not waver on his stance. Not even for tonight’s release. It’s only when she tries to entice him that his features waver, questioning, wrinkles creasing in accordance with his questions. The longer the video plays the more she proves his point.

“You shouldn’t have showed me that.” Fernando pinches the bridge to his nose, clinging to the bar with both elbows, digging into them as the pressure mounts. “Do you know who I am? Tch.”

Physical contact, no matter how small, is a form of temptation. It may be docile now but allowing it to persist unchecked will signal an open gateway for her to ease her way in. And despite knowing this, Fernando doesn’t push her away.

“You’re two years too late to come into this arms race now. The world cannot hinge on making the unstable stable. You’re thinking too small.”

Her hand slides against his face. Soft skin against a freshly shaven jaw line. It coaxes a different kind of fog out of him, a small wisp of fairy vapor that reeks of a candle-lit bath. “Your monsters are still Pokemon at the end of the day. Bring me something that can capture or defend against a monster that can wipe out a city block in the blink of an eye.”

The MISTY TERRAIN coils around him. As one of Hoenn’s prominent avatars, very few don’t know about Fernando’s relationship with Tapu Fini. What they don’t know is how many other Legendary Pokemon sit nestled on his belt.

“Because I don’t have time to play with something that isn’t a God.”

[attr="class","spiral"]“Am I ever wrong?”

He’s dubious at best but there’s no need to prod. She can hide it behind faux confidence but Fernando knows better. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand about her but he knows the depravity of their situation. It’s drove him mad on end, to the point that his own insanity creates the same monsters she’s discovered through trial and error. Hers may boast a stronger power but his are controllable after their initial outburst.

His eyes glaze over her own, just the slightest shimmer or purple washing over the white of his eyes. It’s unnatural but haunting, promising something more in the same vein of an undiscovered mystery. He considers demonstrating his own pull but considering how easy she can turn the stem of her glass into a shank, Fernando plays it safe and opts out.

“Saying it easy. Doing so is not.” He’s tried.

For a moment he hesitates, frowning, lips barely parting, before he pushes the glass back her way.

“Results.”

[attr="class","spiral"]Tch.

Persistent. He'll give her that. But that's the same grit that makes them one of a kind. Being able to persevere through trial and error in order to find the truth is a skill he admires in more than just himself. Maybe that explains his 'type' and fancy for women of higher learning. He considers this, of course, and uses it as an anchor to dissuade his body from directing his mind. But when she tempts him up close it's all too hard to resist.

"You're asking me to risk it all." Had she not prefaced her request with the impossible maybe her SWEET KISS would've left him dazed. Unfortunately, she pushes one of the few boundaries that Fernando refuses to budge on: his own personal expense. However, he entertains her ordeal, wrapping his hand around the side of her neck, hooking his fingers against her nape, coaxing her closer. Only the butt of his thumb dares to caress her, sliding across her throat as a reminder of something more sinister.

On the surface, Fernando is a physically affectionate lover who betrays his public image with kisses and adoration. When his trust is betrayed and his bedroom defiled his only reprieve is a promise of a good time that never seems to last long enough.

"So we play by my standards, my rules."