"Bbbrrrrrr." Echoed along the Hospital's halls, the buzzing sound of motorboated lips bringing the weirded out gazes of the many passing staff directly to him.

"Bbbrrrrrrrrr." Came once again.

He had practically begged the doctors to let him know once visits were finally allowed- and had still ended up only learning about it a second or so ago after his weekly check up, from a couple of gossipy nurses chatting much too loudly about the poor, but mostly crazy girl who did not get a single visit the day before.

"Bbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

He only knew one person who fitted that vague ass description.

"Bbbbrrrrrrr- AhheeeeeEEEM!" He finally uttered, breathing in and out before slowly bringing up his bandaged hand up to his weary, tired face, and swiping it down.

Showtime.

Almost.

His hand could barely grasp the pen with which he had written his name on the visitors' list earlier; the door handle to the patient's room proved equally challenging, his bandaged hand struggling to get a solid grip around it.

"For the love of..." He said with a groan, before craning back his head and then swinging it forward, bonking his head onto the door. The only form of knock he could manage at the moment.

"... Do you need assistance, Mr. Sullivan?" Came off directly besides him, were a nurse stared at him with a blank expression.

"... If yer offerin'."

---

The door lock clicked soundly inside the patient's room, before the door was kicked open dramatically.

"... Was that necessary, Mr. Sullivan?"

"Call me Hive King-" "No." "And it absolutely was."

The bandaged up form of the Shadow Hive's Supreme Leader finally walked into the Empress' chambers, a broad smirk spread across his lips.

Until his eyes finally fell upon her.

It faltered immediately.

"... Please leave us, Nurse."

"Don't do anything stupid."

"No promises."

Click.

"I heard there was a lonely, crazy woman in need of company while getting my new year's check up." He said, lying through his teeth as he gave her a smile. "So here I am."

His smile didn't last long, slowly, miserably dying out as his eyes fell upon her neck, his entire body's posture weakening.

"... Sorry I'm late."

---

TAG: chryssa glasgow

Pity didn't feel like this. This was so much more draining. A dread that burned in his chest and threatened to bubble up until it choked him out.

He had felt this several times before. Each time, someone had died.

"Heh. Who's pitying ya, you mad monarch?" He said, managing a veneer of bravado as he crossed his arms over his chest, his eye only barely twitching as his hands touched anything. "Just disappointed my greatest rival could be brought low by a mere explosion, s'all!"

She gad been much tougher than she looked since he met her, cane and all. If she was well enough to play the game, then he was probably worrying too much. She would not die to this.

To anything.

Dragging a chair into place with his foot, the youth ducked and weaved through deadly, unseen wires of light like he were Tom Cruise, before finally dropping down onto his seat besides the bed with a grin, winking.

"Did'cha think the master of the Accelgor Ninja Corps was not as agile and fleet-footed as they were? Foolish!" He said, leaning back against his seat, his hands laid on their backs atop his thighs as he leaned forward.

Naturally, she noticed them immediately. The youth froze in response to her question.

"Uh. Well, they actually, um, these were all due to-"

---

Burning pain seared at his palms as he dug his fingers into collapsed, burning woodbeams, an strained scream ripping out of his throat as they slowly rose.

---

"... Stupidity." He said dryly, looking rather disappointed into himself as he stared at his hands. "I should've brought a water bug with me."

He had brought powerhouses instead, just in case unsavory types showed up to the plate holders summit.

"Don'cha think too hard 'bout it. It ain't no weakness or nothin'; my security detail has only increased since then!"

Could have used those powerhouses to lift the stuff instead in retrospective, but he was apparently beyond simply an idiot when in a true panic.

"Got any clue as to what's been goin' on since that night?" He said, flexing his fingers for a moment, before turning his gaze up at her, forcing a chuckle. "Between that kaboom and your words, you've got social media blowing up, ya know? Some of 'em think this is the next big thing- religious terrorism in Hoenn."

'An act of God.' She had called it in front of the presses.

Normally something he would dismiss as Chryssa trying to get a rise out of the crowd now that she had its attention- but considering Arceus' Reject Son had paid them a guest visit by way of scrupleless gym leader...

He just didn't know anymore.

Doug had seen a side of Chryssa he had not known even existed for the first time. No- he just hadn't been able to see it clearly during the ceasefire.

She had set everything up to bring them all together, had steered conversation towards the topic of gods and creation. Her tone and words had swung between pious and irreverent, amusement and contempt, worshipful and blasphemous.

Whatever this was all about, it meant something to her.

Perhaps this was the reason he couldn't figure The Three™️, no matter how hard he pondered on them. He only knew half of her. Maybe even less.

"... So what's the next step, Empress?" He asked, eyes moving to her own. "It's 'war', ain't it? It's very clear who drew first blood 'ere- but ya survived."

He tipped his head forward, until his hat (burnt up and crudely patched, sporting black spots all over) fell off his head and onto his lap.

Inside it, there were two Cherish balls- and his piece of the insect plate, taped to the hat.

"Our Ceasefire's still in place. I dunno if yer warring with Arceus or his reject son or whatever- but I'm throwin' my lot with ya." He said, before grinning. "And I've no intention to 'reconsider'."

---

TAG: chryssa glasgow

The cat was out of the bag much faster than he had intended, but it was the conclusion to it that drew the youth's attention- and uncharacteristically, ignited his temper.

"There ain't any pokemon worth yer life." He said, nay, snapped, his hands curling painfully as his lips set into a thin line. "Forget about paying me back- if god's gonna keep tryin' to smite ya like this, ya'll never have enough to do so- cause I'll save ya every time, so get used to it."

He had reached into the darkest shadow of his otherwise pedestrian past in order to make sure he had enough strength to see through that promise. The Ultra Ball felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket just from thinking about it.

He would need to master that monster before the 'next time' arrived.

Her smile was a charming reward worth every bandage around his palms, but the Hive King could tell when he was being led by the nose. He let it happen all the same, enraptured in her honey trap, losing crown and becoming naught but one of possibly many drones.

He would earn back his crown. Hear the truth directly from her. Until then...

"Do I trust 'em?" The youth echoed, looking at her, at her neck brace.

He slowly lifted a hand, painfully curling his fingers before grasping into his hat at the plate, bringing it to Chryssa's own hand.

He placed it atop her a palm, his rough, abused fingers pressing the throbbing plate against it before gently wrapping her fingers around it. If she closed her eyes, she might think she could hear the sound of a Kricketune's false fiddle from it.

"God's or whoever's plans can go up in flames." He said. "It's yours. Use it as ya see fit."

Whatever her response was, eventually, the nurse came to escort him out, drawing a click of the tongue from him in response. Nowhere near enough time.

"I'll be back." He said, dramatically and robotically as he stood up, slowly and gently picking his hat and placing it upon her head.

As he went for the exit, the youth stopped short of the door, one foot at the doorway. He was growing closer.

"Do prepare yerself, Empress." He said, before throwing a grin her way over his shoulder. "Maybe I'll bring you that song next time I swing by."

---

tag: chryssa glasgow

Skyler hates hospitals with a deep, visceral passion.

The sterile halls leave a bitter taste on her tongue. Coupled with the faintly metallic odor of blood - expertly hidden beneath all the chemicals but definitely still there - and the stiflingly enclosed nature of the building, it makes the captain's skin itch; something restless in the beat of her heart begging her to turn around and leave. Immediately.

The only thing that keeps her going forward is the bruised skin around Angelo's eyes, the cracks in the curve of his smile, usually expertly hidden - now showcasing a bone-deep exhaustion.

There's also the matter of the ridiculously oversized Lapras plush tucked under her arm, which the captain was doing her very best to hide. Silver eyes glancing around and glaring threateningly at anyone who dared stare at it too long, daring them to say anything. Including Angelo. 'Not a word, Vestri,' had been her embarrassed greeting earlier.

They reach the room soon enough, though Skyler hangs back at first, observing the teenager currently immobilized in the hospital bed, a glaringly white tube encasing her neck. Angelo's presentation earns him an amused scoff, though she does approach the bed, following after the blue eyed man.

Captain Skyler Dross was here on a mission, after all.

To Skyler's credit, there's only a tiny hint of hesitation before the stuffed toy is determinedly placed on top of white sheets. It would've looked like a perfect rendition of a Lapras if not for the two huge googly eyes - making it look demented. And, somehow, slightly demonic.

"Chryssa, right? I remember you - from the church. Plate con." The unofficial title slips from her lips effortlessly. "I hope you don't mind me barging in. If you do, feel free to blame Angelo." An unrepentant grin curls her lips in the wake of her statement, eyes gleaming mischievously.

Her hand pats the Lapras' head; and there's a curious light in her eyes, assessing beneath the cheerful silvery surface. "Lapras are known for they haunting melodies, did you know?"

The discordant song weaving through the cavernous church chamber had sounded suspiciously familiar. Naturally, Skyler had only connected the dots much later. "My own like to practise at night near Lilycove. You can come watch if you'd like."

Or maybe even join in.

angelo vestri chryssa glasgow

A chair is left invitingly empty for her, but Skyler remains standing, even as Angelo makes himself comfortable by leaning forward, a strange lethargy edging every one of his movements. It doesn't stop him from being a pain in the ass, however, keeping the Lapras plushie from Chryssa's hands with an annoying smile tugging at his lips. 

"Ah, no, I didn't know that. It actually does help explain a few things." A gaze rests on the darkened depths of demonic googly eyes before raising to meet the teen's. "They've been teaching each other - the song, I mean. Sirena is the best singer though. She was the first one." If the whisper of something wild in gleaming silver eyes doesn't betray Skyler's enthusiasm with the current subject, then the delighted curve of her lips screams it loud and clear.

The captain's hand boldly reaches out to Chryssa, calloused fingers stretched in a gesture that is as familiar as is it authentic. "Skyler Dross, ship captain and fellow Lapras enthusiast. Nice to meet you, Chryssa. I've heard some stories - something about eggs?" The details are, admittedly, vague. Which reminds her...

There's a suspicious narrowing of silver eyes as Skyler leans forward to peer at the bag of egg sandwiches. Angelo's teasing does prompt a scoff out of her, though her attention is clearly somewhere else. "It was the cutest," she mutters at his question, which is truthful enough - if you were the type to find demonic entities cute.

The knowledge of all things Lapras is shoved to a corner of her mind for the time being, however, when Skyler's finger curls around the edge of a paper bag to get a good look at its contents. There's no disguising the following darkening of her features.

"Angel..." The ominous flatness when she utters his nickname is like the quiet before a sudden, deadly deluge. "Where's the egg sandwich I made?" 

The eggs had ended up a poisonous, Gulpin-like green. And liquid too. But it'd taken her a whole damn morning to cook. Her kitchen had almost exploded close to five times. She'd had Betty (her boiler and also a Heatran) nearly burn a hole into the ship. Her apartment had ended up smelling like burnt cheetos for some reason. But - she'd gotten it done. Where was it?

"You better," Captain Dross starts, the words travelling on a barely disguised growl as accusing eyes snap to his ocean blue ones, "have it in your pocket. Chryssa wants to try it."

The captain doesn't even look at the teenager. "... don't you, Chryssa?"

angelo vestri chryssa glasgow