”Excuse me?”

He takes Temp’s hand though the comment is directed at both men. He has a mix of charts and snapple facts ready to fire at the two but he suppresses the barrage of words in favor of keeping a cool head. After all that Pangoro still stood meters away completely cognizant of the fact he’d given the researcher an all expense paid trip to see his ancestors and looked more than willing to do it again, possibly making said stay more permanent next go ‘round.

“I was under the impression this was hand to hand training sir.” He doesn’t respond to Temp if only because it was true judging by the paw mark across half his face.

"My pokemon couldn't have beaten a Pangoro." He says it like a joke or maybe THEO BECKETT was the one being silly in all this. A Girafarig, Chandelure, and a Medicham? Pangoro could have clapped any of them. May as well take the quick way and just use what his mama gave him.

"Give the scrawny guy some credit! Takes some fat nuts to try and face a pokemon down!" When Temp says this, he slaps Miles Sharp on the back. Perhaps with too much force, but only because he doesn't always know his own strength.

[attr="class","beck"]"what gave you that impression?"

an AROMATHERAPY spreads across the courtyard, complimenting the already-present, albeit bare scent of flowers. he wrinkles his nose, recalls his bayleef after.

"do you know what separates us from everyone else? what makes people fear rocket?"

the question is rhetorical.

"we utilize pokemon the way we're meant to: as weapons. your first instinct should always gain you the upper hand. most of the times, it's through your pokemon." he takes a step towards sharp. "not your fists."

[attr="class","noodles"]Miles Sharp Tempest Quinn

”Excuse me?”

For all the pain, for all the condescension He's right.

They've been playing with different hands from the start, it wasn't a simple 52 card deck this was life and death, and in that there were no rules.

"Thank you, Temp." He gives the fellow grunt the time of day for the first time, he doesn't quite know what to think of the grunt, but he was nothing if not interesting. "But Mr. Beckett is correct. When we fight, it's not for pride. It's because we don't have the luxury of loss." He looks at Beckett now indignation gone replaced with something fiercer, preparedness. "It won't happen again sir." and for the first time since the day's start, he means it.