Marie's upbeat attitude is contrasted by Gavin's apparent apathy, though those who knew to look for it would spot the gleam of ambition in his amber gaze. He observes his own vital signs with a vague interest, only redirecting his gaze when addressed once more.

"It wasn't too far from my ordinary routine," he says of the training, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "If anything, optimizing it has done me a favour."

It wasn't the only good thing to come of the process. He had mostly laid off cigarettes during his training; the stress that had made him relapse during the three-day war has all but abated, and he often thinks longingly to the Pokeathalon when he'd been at the peak of his physical prowess thanks to healthier lungs. Aside from a few slip-ups, the underboss had stuck to his new routine in earnest. It's just until the test, he'd tell himself, whenever the urge grew particularly strong.

The test. Ominous, when he thought of it like that.

"Just one thing," Gavin says calmly, shifting his weight to properly look at her. "If this kills me, I will find a way to come back and hunt you down."

He smiles, then, all sharp edges.

There was a downside to curbing his addiction: Gavin's temper is quick to flare. Though he keeps it in check, one of the monitors beeps and betrays his spike in blood pressure. He takes a measured breath through his nose. More steps?

Yet Gavin wants this done right, for his own safety, so he complies without argument. He stands up, stretching stiff muscles and palming the beast ball whose weight no longer feels like a burden.

I do not consider Lugia mine, is a thought unspoken, met by something that feels like the legend's amusement.

Lugia emerges airborne, its large wings summoning a fierce breeze as they rhythmically beat. Red eyes once full only of malice now house a cold intelligence as they survey the room. A presence once unsettling now brings Gavin comfort; it settles noticeably into his posture as he turns to answer marie jules's question.

"We've been training together extensively; not as often as I'd like, due to the necessary secrecy, but not infrequent."

As he lifts his arms to stretch, his shirt rides up to reveal a dark bruise along his ribs. Such punishment had been inflicted by Lugia's tail when its avatar had failed to dodge out of the way in time. Pain was a fantastic motivator for success.

Gavin tenses as marie jules draws close; a life in Rocket has conditioned him to jealously guard his personal space. Consciously, however, he has never felt safer than with the broad wings of Lugia casting their shadow over him. His muscles relax as logic overrides instinct, and he allows her to inspect as she will.

When she lets go, he tugs his shirt back to its proper place.

Having told Marie of the exploits near Fallarbor beforehand, Gavin doesn't reiterate here. He remains bitter about Yveltal's interference forcing his hand in revealing his avatarship, but doesn't regret it.

Gavin offers only a deadpan stare.

"Really?" He doesn't sound impressed, but doesn't outright refuse, instead asking, "And what purpose would that serve beyond your own amusement?"

He eyes the psychic types with suspicion; did their sudden presence have something to do with it, perhaps? Was she going to use their powers on the avatars in some way? Should Marie give a reason he finds adequate, however, Gavin would comply with her request.

we forgot we were human

marie's tests

DECLAN WATCHES QUIETLY. Despite the risk, despite the grandeur, he stirs little. Old eyes stay focused with sharp edges— like Cillian Quinn's smile. The beam strikes the Underboss, and for a moment, everything seems okay. The energy in the air calms after a second's crackling.

Then, Cillian Quinn feels it. As if overwhelmed, overloaded by a sudden surge of energy and blood that rushes through his body all the way to his brain, the Underboss is inundated with INFINITY ENERGY. As he suffers this odd contradiction of pain and revitalization, from Cillian Quinn's mouth, a pool of SHADOW spills out: a cloudy residue of his avatar powers.

It stays, hovering, before it begins to fade at the edges of its will-o-wisp like shape.

Walsh watches still. Focused and quiet.

marie jules Cillian Quinn Lulu Flint

At the snap of marie jules's fingers, Gavin braces himself.

It happens fast — Lulu Flint is whisked away as the machine begins to spin up with a familiar, horrific intensity. It drowns out the pounding of Gavin's heart in his ears until there is nothing left in the room but the sound of oncoming doom.

Then it fires.

Gavin's muscles tense at the sound but he does not shy away from the beam's impact. He had trained for this, prepared for it, and he meets it head on with a grim determination. It strikes, and there is a fraction of a second where he is confused. He feels nothing.

Then he doubles over as it all hits at once, energy and adrenaline and pain that escapes him in a choked gasp expelling miasma from his lungs. The scream Marie had hoped for does not come; mouth open, his pain is silent and raw. His frame shudders violently as it struggles to contain newly inundated energy, and the floor shudders too — Lugia lands beside him, enveloping its avatar within its shadow. Its soothing presence radiates in his mind as he focuses on breathing, pain intensifying before it begins to fade like a memory or a bad dream.

"Fuck," he says at last, voice weak. "I'm — all right."

Then he smiles, laughs, a wild energy blazing in his eyes. He had faced the blast and survived; such was the power of an avatar. Lugia's power, his power. Miasma swathes him like a protective shroud, a reassurance that such power remains.