Gavin retracts his finger from the damp soil of the potted mint Elisabeth Fiorelli had gifted him, surprised. When he'd checked it yesterday morning, it had been almost dry.

"Were you helping with the gardening again, Clover?"

If Alcremie could blush, this one certainly would have. The culprit is clear from the specks of dirty, rainbow-hued cream on the windowsill.

"I don't mind," he tells her, beckoning her closer as he picks up the pruning shears. "But we have to be very careful with this one, all right? I'm pruning the plant back so it doesn't flower." He'd read in a book, the one currently propped open against the glass, that it was detrimental to the flavour of the leaves. "We only water it when the top of the soil is dry, but you picked that up from watching me, didn't you?"

The kitchen was Clover's favourite place in the house.

He carefully hands her the shears, smiling fondly as she grips them in both hands.

"Just like that."

In the middle of the broad pasture serving his Verdanturf Ranch is an old, gnarled tree. Roots stretch like grasping fingers, autumn foliage gathers in pockets of vibrant leaves, and a dark knot at the base houses a particularly skittish Pokémon.

Orion smiles as he brushes aside dried leaves to sit in the grass, setting a basket down next to him.

"Looks like nobody's home today, Altair." His Absol looks indifferent to the antics as Orion deliberately lifts his voice to be heard. "I guess that means I don't have to share my Pecha berries after all."

Altair didn't like sweet berries much, but a certain Phantump did...

"There she is." He laughs, soft, as wide eyes shine in the gloom. "Come on out, I picked enough for both of us."