the sound is therapeutic. as the sand courses inside its binding, noah can feel a burning on his fists, even when he is not the one training. quietly, noah slides into the room. he takes a seat on a nearby bench, water bottle dangling from his fingertips as he holds it lazily between his legs.

when the gym leader finds a lull, he asks, "a lot on your mind lately?"

John Sullivan

A particularly firm swing marked the beginning of the lull, the explosive force sending the sangbag swinging far. The panting Doug didn't even try to stop or evade it when it inevitably swung back, slapping soundly into his chest and sending the youth sprawling, flooring him onto the mats.

His heavy breaths were the only sound in the Gymnasium for but a moment, before Noah's voice cut through the silence. Doug would have jolted if he had the energy; he hadn't noticed there was anyone else at all.

"No." He drawled out, uncharacteristic acid and sarcasm in his tone. "All of m'worst fears are comin' true, what's there to think about? Don't think, feel. All that jazz."

He was feeling all right.

The youth rolled onto his chest and forced himself to stand up, stumbling as he turned around to face the sangbag once more, the look on his face dark as he dragged his forearm over his dripping chin.

"Ya were there when it happened." Doug said as he raised his fists once more in an orthodox boxing stance, his brow furrowing further as he glared at the sandbag. "'Em filthy rats are back."

THUD!

---

TAG: noah faber

he was there, yes. paralyzed by the bouquet of camera lights. the microphones felt sharp. he felt exposed even when half-hidden by a table and a fence of recording equipment. however, perhaps, more infuriating, was the inability to bark back at a screen playing a prerecorded video.

"shitty." noah says. "i don't blame you for feeling the way you're feeling, man." he stands up from the groaning bleachers and takes a few steps closer. "but it's not the end of the world yet. we'll take them down again."

John Sullivan

Another blow rocked the sangbag following Noah's words, a snarl leaving the youth's mouth as his scowl deepened.

"Again." He parroted, swinging again at the sandbag. "And then let them escape and hide again, so they can try all over again."

His hands moved to catch the sandbag as it came swinging back with a vengeance, the youth panting against it as his fingers curled into the nylon, squeezing it tightly as he grit his teeth.

And then, just like that, he deflated against it, his forehead bumping against the sack as he released a long breath, his scowl softening into a exhausted frown.

"Don't matter how many legs ya cut off an Ariados." He muttered lowly. "If ya leave the head alone it'll just grow 'em back."

It didn't matter how many times a country repelled an invasive force, if its reserves and infrastructure were housed in another, far away land.

The Rockets would just bide their time while Hoenn and the rest of the nations of the world did nothing, and try again, wiser to Hoenn's tricks.

---

TAG: noah faber

noah scratches his head. the root of the matter can't be addressed by him. far from worlds polemical and theoretical, the verdanturf gym leader has no answers. just questions.

"seems like it." he says. "have any ideas, then?" noah moves to the punching bag, one hand braced upon it as he looks upon the other with searching eyes.

John Sullivan

Doug remained silent for a moment, body language tired and fed up... before sighing and pulling away from the punching bag. Seemed like Noah was going to be holding it in place.

"Well... It's complicated. Ya know?" He said, stepping back and taking position, before swinging a sluggish fist to the bag, barely budging it.

Thud.

"A famous general once said, 'all warfare is based in deception.'"

He swung again, three times, with both fists. Left, right, left. Compact, well practiced, still wek.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"When able to attack, seem unable. When active, seem inactive. When near, seem far. When far, seem near." He said, punching lightly against the bag each time.

Thud, thud, thud-

THUD!

Without warning, he had released his dominant arm, punching the heavy sandbag with a booming sound.

"So... why are they revealing themselves publicly?" He asked Noah back. "Far as I can tell, they are making a show of confidence in order to make the league believe 'em more powerful than they really are... Or they are real dumb."

Or...

He sighed.

"Or they are playin' some mind games, making plans and going for goals I'm too dumb to see." Much more likely.

---

TAG: noah faber

noah in fact wasn't holding the bag— and in a comical lunge to action, his other hand swiftly locks the equipment in place. the final punch startles him again. in the air, noah can see the dust scatter violently within a ray of light.

"naw, don't call yourself dumb." noah says. "not knowing and being dumb are totally different things, man."

he lets go of the punching bag and instead, pats the other on the shoulder. it's a bit rough. less grace. more brutish with the promise of some man to man reassurance.

"i think we gotta think of like, what we can control, y'know?" noah grins. "like the little things. not the big, out there things."

John Sullivan

Doug's deflated frame rattled as Noah's hand clapped his shoulder, his hands flopping back down to his sides.

Noah's words were well meaning, but did little to comfort him. After all-

Noah was a respected Gym Leader. The league told him stuff, trusted him to handle stuff, even let him take part in and handle the terrifically stressful task that had been the Press Conference.

Doug had not accomplished anything truly important yet, and the Rockets had come back before he could prove himself. Important meetings were being had and decisions were being made and Doug had no involvement whatsoever in either.

He needed to get up faster.

"What do I even have control of?" Doug asked Noah, turning his furrowed, tired gaze to the shorter man.

---

TAG: noah faber

noah's hand remains.

"well," the answers don't come easy, for noah wonders if they'll ever be enough, "you can control your training, getting yourself prepared as much as you can if rocket attacks."

he doesn't stop there, his hand a firm fixture on the other's shoulder.

"enjoying the day, treating yourself, y'know." noah hums. "the little things count. i used to think of the big picture way too much, y'know what i'm trying to say? got overwhelming." he frowns. a small one like a the tiniest c for concern. "i don't want you to get into that headspace or else it'll be hard to crawl out of."

John Sullivan

He didn't know what else he expected.

"That ain't control, man! What'da'ya think all the soldiers who died last time did, every single day?" Doug said with a sigh, wrenching his shoulder off Noah's grip.

He was tired of platitudes. Had been so since Kanto.

His foot shot out, punt-kicking the sand bag ineffectively.

"There's no ifs. They will attack. They are always the ones attacking." He said bitterly.

The league possessed numerical advantage, but even home-ground advantage seemed to go to the Rockets, who gave them all the slip every single time, running circles around them with seeming contemptible ease.

"We are always on the receiving end. They know exactly were to strike, while we know nothing. Loss of life, damaged infrastructure, loss of the public's trust; every mistake puts us on thin ice. Makes more people think, reconsider." His digits came to squeeze at the sandbag, the fabric crinkling under his tightening grip.

You didn't need to be smart to see what Rockets were trying to do. He only hoped the propaganda was seen for what it was. That people hadn't forgotten the horror of Slateport, or Verdanturf and Fallarbor.

"But for them? Nothing. We don't know anything, So even after they've revealed themselves, I- we can't do shit." He said.

Maybe that's why they had felt so confident in revealing themselves to the public. The pros of lying to the masses and making those false, empty promises to an uncertain public far outweighed the cons. After all, what was the League going to do?

Have the commissioner throw a bunch of platitudes at some press con?

"What am I even training for? I didn't join the army to fucking survive." The youth said, as he leaned his forehead against the sandbag, teeth grit and eyes squeezed shut tight. "I wanted to prevent shit like Slateport from happening, man. But at this rate, they'll do it all over again, and It'll be too late when we push back; another kid will have lost his mom, his dad, his friends...!"

---

TAG: noah faber

noah lets his arms fall to his sides. he dares not cross them over his chest, and allows the breath to fill him openly. within the echoey room, noah listens— and captures the residual turmoil found in the fading sounds.

"i'm talking about your control, man." noah says. "you're training hard, but you're like, heading into the worst case scenario, y'know?"

holding a finger out, in an echo of kyle lopez's own habit, noah pushes it against doug's forehead.

"as far as i can tell, rocket's already won the mental game. they're living in your head."

John Sullivan

Doug had no reply to that. Just a sour expression and zero clue what to do about them 'living in his head'.

He had been fine before they revealed themselves, even though he hadn't truly believed they were gone. How could he? Kanto was still under their thumb- believing them to be defeated would have been denial at best.

But perhaps he had bought into it, despite his best judgement. Bought into the pretty lies, because they gave him some peace of mind.

"... What do I do?" He asked, tired. "I can't just turn off these thoughts. I can't stop thinkin'. I can't calm down. My chest's been fit to burst all day, from the moment they came out to right now..."

Even now, feeling tired and exhausted, his pulse felt like a million miles an hour.

---

TAG: noah faber

"just breathe, bro."

noah inhales. the chest swells broad and full. his hands form an upside down arch, fingertips meeting in a graceful bridge at his navel.

"like how you'd do in the middle of a fight. clears the brain a bit. gotta do it a bunch though." he blows a steady stream from his lips. noah's eyes slide toward the bag, catching phantom fists from doug's previous punishment. "the exercise is good though. nice punches. getting really good at it."

John Sullivan