Captain Skyler Dross finds herself drawn into the nightly festivities even before the sun has fully disappeared beneath the line of the horizon. Revelry beckons with undeniable allure and the good ol' captain finds herself being willfully dragged along.

By the time she finds the tiki bar, sweat is sticking to her back and forehead. Glitter and seashells peek out from between golden curls, yet when her lopsided grin finds KING WAYLAND , her lip is noticeably split. Savagery dressed in sun-kissed skin and knife-sharp eyes.

"Been waitin' long?" 

A cocktail soon finds its way to her hand, ridiculously colorful. Skyler slides the little umbrella behind her ear, which only serves to highlight the remnants of blood on her bottom lip. 

Following in her wake, three pokemon approach their opponents on the beach, equally as eager to fight.

She smiles at him with all the teeth she has in her mouth, taking his measure at the same time as he takes hers. Sharp lines and a sharper stare, made all the more interesting by the trouble that gleams from behind his eyes.

Skyler Dross has a feeling he's her kind of person.

Glasses clink together, and the captain finds herself emptying the sugary drink. Her eyes narrow slightly at the taste, though the burn left in its wake is enough for her to guess at the strong alcoholic content.

A motion of her hand, and two other cocktails appear before them, glinting in shades of deep blue.

"Skyler Dross, ship captain and treasure hunter," the introduction slips easily from her mouth, worn smooth by the countless times she's said it. A hand reaches forward for a handshake, scarred and calloused. The way she smiles, lip bloodied, makes it look like a challenge.

KING WAYLAND

"What's a ship captain to a king?" She hides her taunting grin behind the rim of a cocktail glass, knocking back the drink easily. And although the sugar is new, the burn that follows feels all the more satisfying.

Down at the beach, Skyler's pokemon growl out what might've been threats. It draws Captain Dross's silvery gaze, though she doesn't seem all too concerned by whatever's happening. When Hook, her Reuniclus, throws the first (FIRE) punch, she's already turned back to King.

Another round is set on the counter for them - not cocktails this time, but shots. They're equally neon, and at least two of them are on fire.

"Better live up to your name, King."

And with a chin tilted in challenge, Skyler Dross downs the first one.

KING WAYLAND

A rough bark of laughter follows King's statement as he takes his shots, one by one. Sharp silver follows his motions, unapologetically drawing up the curve of his neck as he knocks back the last shot.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." A calloused finger dances around the rim of a shot glass, playing with the flames that lick at her digits. There's temptation there, to leave her finger for a second too long just to feel the burn. It'a reflected in bright silver, flickering with a dangerous pull.

Then she's grabbing hold of the shot glass and knocking it back like nothing ever happened, along with two more in quick sucession.

"To me," she says in a whisper, leaning precariously in the man's direction, "it's the challenge that makes it worthwhile." Her smile is sharp, inviting trouble like a lighthouse would sailors. "So, will you make it worth my while? King." Somehow, she makes his name sound like a taunt.

KING WAYLAND

The laughter that King manages to drag from her throat defies the warning in his words - whether it's a warning or an invitation doesn't matter. Skyler finds herself drawn in the same way she does the fires that had licked at her fingers or the ocean storms that blow in the distance, beckoning.

She recognizes the flicker in his eyes, adds to it with a mischievous tilt of her head and her own lopsided grin. She knows this game all too well, basks in that limit between wild and uncivil. A casual grip slides a flaming shot over to King, heat spreading from her fingertips to the flames that flicker in silver. "Bottom's up, tough guy. Before the alcohol burns away."

At the beach growls and yowls rise up above the crashing of ocean waves, but Skyler barely pays it any attention. Confidence and foolishness blur into a pleasant alcoholic haze. Her gaze, however, pierces with sudden, sharp interest.

"Watcha got in mind?"

I'm in.

KING WAYLAND

Skyler's slump against the counter is deceptively casual, and quickly betrayed by the intensity with which she follows the cadence of King's voice. Trouble beckons at the tip of his tongue and in the curve of his grin, angled sharply to snatch her attention.

"D'you know of a drink called the Bonnie Wench?" She leans forward to emphasize her words, for a brief moment remembering her wild night of drinking with one John Sullivan . Her scallywag. "Fishermen's local drink. Smells like a Mudbray's ass, tastes even worse." Cheeks flushed, the captain looks comically proud of her description.

Silver eyes slide to the on-going battle taking place on the nearby stretch of beach, taking in Lucario's state before coming back to focus on King. 

"You better hope your crispy chicken nugget is up for the challenge." Her shit-eating grin is halfway hidden behind the rim of a cocktail glass she's shamelessly swiped from the drunken person behind her. 

No shouts or outraged cries follow her action, and her grin grows devilish. Matching the trouble in King's own, pushing him to up the ante.

This was well on the way to becoming a fantastic disaster.

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KING WAYLAND

The look of sheer horror on the barkeep's face proves enough to fuel the slightly sadistic gleam in the captain's eyes. It only grows when the Bonnie Wenches are all but slammed down onto the countertop between them. To be fair, the smell arrives first, a fetid stench that pulls a few complaints from nearby patrons.

Mudbray's ass indeed.

If Skyler feels nauseous or bothered by the perfume of sewage and seawater that drifts into her nostrils, she doesn't show it. Then again, half of her face is all but shoved into her cocktail - perhaps on purpose. She gestures to the unapetizing drinks with a chin tilt, an eyebrow quirked up as if to say 'well?'.

"See that Reuniclus? That's Hook." The psychic type in question is trying to smash a dodging Grapploct with its massive arms. Usually this would be an easy win, type-wise, but...

"He doesn't know any psychic moves." Skyler slides closer to King, a warm shoulder leaning into his. "He's a pugilist at heart, you see. Takes after me." She'd actually taught him a few moves from her time spent in underground fighting pits. 

And indeed, were one to look they'd be able to notice that Hook was only doing that - punching. 

"Bet he can kick your Grapploct's ass in one go." The way the good ol' captain says it seems to imply that, should the two of them go up against each other, she'd probably come out on top. "And I could kick yours."

A drink sloshes in her hand, spilling a few of its content onto Skyler's lap. She doesn't seem to notice - or care.

"Pick your poison, your majesty." 

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KING WAYLAND