[attr="class","spiral"]Birdie stepped off the boat from Dewford with a lot on her mind. The job she was here to do, the events of the last few days, and most of all the words of the trainer she'd met in Slateport. Even as she makes introductions with the friend of Halesberry she's here to help they echo in her mind. They aren't much, but they're real.

"You can demand respect, but that doesn't mean they'll give it," she murmurs to herself as she walks around the enclosed bit of ground, " . . . what a trainer needs is a true and virtuous heart." A quote from one of the pilfered books in her bag rises to meet the fresh one. They rhyme in a weird way. They both council patience. A desire to understand.

She lets out Drifter with this thought in her head.

She hops up onto a fence post and he lands on her shoulder as usual. Reflexively she puts up a hand between her face and his and, predictably, she catches a peck to the palm. He caws in frustration at her successful block.

"Listen! Dude! I get it," she says, and he cocks his head, "We've both been stubborn, right? You want to do your thing and I want to do mine and all we've been doing is, I don't know, pushing for one or the other? But how about we meet halfway."

She looks at him, sharply but not unkindly over her splayed hand.

"I mean, today how about we at least try to work together? You try to listen, I try not to push, we see how it goes?" her request is met with skeptical eyes, but he doesn't peck her hand again. So maybe?

"Okay, first request, wait peacefully with me for whoever's supposed to help us defend this place?" she delivers the words slowly and carefully. Drifter leans back on her shoulder and opts to stare at the sky. When she drops her hand he doesn't go for her throat. Progress.

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