[attr="class","rigidw"]

The ranger manual sure hadn’t prepared her for this.
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While the amount of time Lia had spent wandering through woodlands ever since first becoming a ranger could border on ridiculous, it could also be argued that that’s exactly what her job is supposed to be. She had learned a lot about things like those: about finding her way in nature, about seeing signs she would have never seen before, and about understanding them too. But, experience is the greatest teacher of all, and when it comes to the wide array of strange events that might take place at Hoenn, the bookworm-turned-ranger is nothing but lacking.
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Of course she would never expect fog in Petalburg Woods, and while someone else might be alarmed by its presence given everything that had happened recently at the Star Soirée with the mist and the Unown and what not, she’s not. She does find it creepy as fuck, though.
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”What the hell…” Even creepier is the way her compass’ arrow doesn’t stop to point towards north, spinning around and around as if this were some sick game that she’s being forced to be a part of. Eyebrows knit in frustration, sighing as she puts it away. Lia doesn’t have the patience for this, that much is obvious. ”Fuckin’ useless.”
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Her compound bow is raised next, looking at her surroundings through the sights. A bubble suspended in green liquid rests perfectly centered, indicating the bow is levelled and prepared for a shot when an arrow is readied. ”Keep an eye on things for me, okay?” The Fletchling perched on her shoulder chirps in response, because even when lacking in experience, by now one thing is obvious: there’s something unnatural about all this.
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Something is probably causing all this, and she’s going to shoot it for daring to fuck with her the moment she finds it.
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With the bow drawn to her anchor point, ready to take a shot, she cautiously steps forward, fallen leaves crunching beneath her boots.


[break][break]

[attr="class","angelow"]


It didn’t matter whether his navigational equipment was electronic or not, both Angelo’s compass and GPS receiver sit retired in his pockets. Endless spinning rotations of the needle and glitching coordinates would not guide him to the mist-free sanctuary of Rustboro. [break][break]

Symbols scratched into trees may be an ancient form of orientational aid but in this bullshit fog, it was better than nothing. [break][break]

Pressure sinks steel into bark, Angelo slashing a neat line through the arrow that he’d drawn some time earlier. Going that way again would bear no fruit, not unless he wanted another run-in with his last waypoint, a rock shaped like an upside down Torkoal. And to be fucking frank, he’d had enough of that guy for one lifetime.[break][break]

Smoldering frustration turns knuckles pale as an arrow is carved in the opposite direction, deeply scored lines pointing towards his next intended course. [break][break]

But it’s when Angelo is about to pocket the blade onto his belt that irritation turns sharp and cold, the silent tension rippling through Delta’s body stilling his hand. Bright blues freeze into chunks of sharp ice, focused and piercing into the forest and all of its obscure mystery. “What is it, Del?” [break][break]

Crunch. Crunch. Snap. [break][break]

Branches and leaves crumble underfoot, disturbed, while he remains planted.[break][break]

Something was out there and judging by the sounds as Angelo holds his breath to listen, it’s close by. If something wanted to try and fuck with him, he vowed, he’d make sure they regret the decision. [break][break]

“Find it.” Comes the whispered command. Silenting prowling, Delta blends into the shadows beneath the veil of phantom force, while Neptune and its guiding light is recalled. Masking Angelo's location. [break][break]

Knife in hand, fleetfooted boots see him swiftly skirt towards a large Apricorn tree to observe what lurked within the shadows. Shielded behind thick bark and mystical gloom, he awaits to see what Delta would flush out of hiding... [break][break]

An enchanted wind howls then through the labyrinth of trees, twisting into a primordial sound. Inhumane. [break][break]

Dislodged from its branch, an Apricorn drops into the leaves with a thud.

[attr="class","rigidw"]

Pause.
[break][break]
Silence.
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Using a foot to click a minimized pokéball attached to a chainlike anklet (an adaptation of the unfashionable yet practical ways once shown to her by LANCE VOLLANS), her usual companion when wielding her bow is summoned in a flash of light. The Comfey is quick to wrap its flowers around her forearm, her grip shifting just so slightly in accordance.
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Something is wrong.
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A SWEET SCENT mingles with the fog, as if the Fairy type knows something is coming for them. While it would distract most pokémon, it causes Lia to grow even more tense instead, her arrow readied as she looks through the forward sight – searching.
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By instinct, she can feel the gaze of something on her… Of someone maybe? Is someone watching her? Some kind of creeper? Did they cause all this to mess with her? Lia has listened to enough true crime podcasts to know how the rest of that story is supposed to go, and she doesn’t like it at all...
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Fuck. Is it this damn fog that’s causing her to have all those paranoid thoughts? Why does she feel like she’s going insane?
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A chill runs down her spine with the howling of the wind, and her Fletchling chirps, alert.
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A snap.
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A crunch.
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Something falls.
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The arrow is shot.
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Thud. An apricorn is cleanly pierced by the projectile that sinks deep into the trunk of a tree, and with her sight obscured by the fog, Lia is only able to tell the latter part by sound alone. Target missed.
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Readying a second arrow, she crouches down, hiding behind a large bush as she awaits for the stalker to once again make their presence known in the fog.

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[attr="class","angelow"]

Thunk![break][break]

Crimson falls, dripping down onto the blanket of pine needles underfoot when flesh is pierced by the sharp point of an arrow head. [break][break]

Oceanic hues become swallowed by dark pupils as he stares at the gaping wound of a bloodied red apricorn, impaled to the tree. Had the pilot not lowered into a crouch at just the right moment, it would have most definitely connected with his skull. [break][break]

This wasn’t just some fucker, lurking around in the woods trying to be a pranking asshole. This was someone on the hunt. [break][break]

Was everything, the fog that had descended so eerily upon him and the navigational distortion, all an elaborate trap? For him?[break][break]

That acknowledgement is enough to propel a cold spark of adrenaline straight down Angelo’s spine, snarl strangled in disbelief. “What the fuck…” His curse is quietened by the mournful howl brushing between the trees. Not like he can hear it when every nerve and every cell thrums with focus, alert, as his attention is drawn towards the depths of the fog. [break][break]

And yet even when spying the flash of platinum, slither of hair shining as it catches a dusty beam of light, Angelo does not spread his wings and flee. [break][break]

Adrenaline urges the movement of agile feet, his fingertips rasping over the hard shell of the apricorn as he takes the opportunity to skirt beneath the shadow of a bramble thicket. Silver – imprudence and intrigue – drawing him closer. [break][break]

He’d been aware of the assassins with the Unown for some time. How they targeted Avatars. But it was only since the Soiree that rumours had been whispered of their uniform appearance. Silver haired and efficient.[break][break]

If it was one of them manipulating the mist, aiming for his throat, then running would be fruitless. Especially now they were aware of one another. [break][break]

But if he couldn’t run, then neither could they. [break][break]

With a practiced pitch, in a blur of colour the hard berry smacks against a tree in the distance, its sound echoing noisily through the woods. Intent on drawing the assassin’s attention, but more importantly their aim – in the opposite direction… [break][break]

It’s then that Delta, lured to their location by the pungent Sweet Scent, emerges from his Phantom Force in a plume of inky darkness beneath the murderer’s feet. [break][break]

While Angelo, taking advantage of the chaos, makes his move with blade in hand.

[attr="class","rigidw"]

Something shifts in the very ground beneath her feet. Soil, pebbles, pine needles, twigs, and fallen leaves… They all get sucked into an endless darkness that causes her to lose her footing.
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Caught up in searching for the creeper through the fog as she had been, it’s only when she slips that Lia notices it; her gaze shifting down in a split second while an arrow remains firmly drawn up to her cheek. There is it: a Dragapult.
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Just like that, within the fog, it all descends into chaos.
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”Shit.”
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The sound of the curse is stolen away when the wind gets knocked out of her, for she instinctively shifts all her weight to her right in a desperate attempt to dodge the attack. While she tumbles over wet soil, the Fletchling flies away, chirping in a panic as the Comfey that at first had tightened its grip on her forearm lets go as well.
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The latter heads for the dragon, fearlessly wrapping around its neck as if a fashionable floral necklace… And also a painful floral necklace, for its grip tightens and tightens more and more, a few of its flowers falling to the ground while it attempts to strangle their attacker in the sort of ROUGH PLAY only a merciless Fairy type could choose. So much for being small and cute.
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Unaware of all these events, Lia coughs as she attempts to get back on her feet, the taste of dirt ever bitter and distracting her enough for her bow to be lowered despite all potential threats...
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A moment of weakness.


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[attr="class","angelow"]

Shadows play within the thick veil of mist, pandemonium descending.[break][break]

Called to the fight by the haunting hiss that snarls from Delta’s strangled throat, Angelo does not hesitate to lunge from his hiding place. Abandoning cover in a chorus of crunching leaves and snapping twigs, joining the erratic symphony. [break][break]

But while his Dragapult ascends, arcing high into the mist before plunging into a phantom force portal to shake off his attacker with an aggressive flight course, darkened blue focuses on the form scrambling in the dirt. Tunnel vision pulling Angelo towards the assassin, drawn in by an instinctual survival response, as old as time.[break][break]

He would not choose to take flight. [break][break]

And he would return home, lest his wife kill him for getting assassinated in the woods. [break][break]

Swift footed, the pilot closes the distance through the mist with long strides, reaching the smaller figure as they’re attempting to pick themselves up from off the woodland floor. Bow lowered and silver hair a glittering curtain obstructing their face, distracted. [break][break]

Angelo seizes the opportunity to descend a heavy stomp down upon bone, pinning weapon and wielder between earth and boot. His movements are sharp, and as he reaches out to snatch the assailant by the collar, crouching over them in the dirt, blue eyes hold all the turbulence of an unyielding oceanic storm. [break][break]

“You want my attention that bad? Fine. You fucking got it,” his voice fans close, low and gravelled as he restrains his attempted executioner. But in a white-knuckled grip, his blade caresses closer. Nearly as pale as the throat it threatens to kiss its cold touch against.[break][break]

“The hell you tryin' to kill me for?”

[attr="class","rigidw"]

The advantages of an archer often lay in stealth; in maintaining distance, in being able to line up a good shot, in striking first and giving their opponent no chance to retaliate. Once that’s all gone, someone like Lia – so small despite all the effort and training that it takes to master the art of wielding a bow – can often be helpless. No matter how nimble, no matter how swift, the creeper in the woods is stronger than her.
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Faster to act as well…
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A yelp escapes her when a foot steps upon her hand, but if there’s fear within her, it finds itself overpowered by her own annoyance. Anger. Angry at her situation, at how helpless she feels, at how much it hurts to have someone step on her, and at how it seems impossible to break free no matter how much she struggles.
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”What the fuck?! Let me go!”
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He reaches for her collar, and she grabs onto his wrist as if in instinctive response, the nails of a pinky and a thumb digging deep into skin – both fingers being the ones not covered by soft doeskin archery gloves. And then…
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Then there’s a voice she recognizes just as something sharp is placed against her neck.
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Golden hues look up at her assailant from behind a strand of silver hair, and the features she sees are as familiar as the voice, even if these are not emotions she has seen upon them ever before.
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”Flyboy?!”
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Angelo.
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The creeper in the woods was angelo vestri?!
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”Dude! What the hell?!”
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Despite the way Lia's voice speaks of recognition, the Comfey doesn't let go of its victim just yet.


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[attr="class","angelow"]

“Flyboy?!”[break][break]

The mist clears. [break][break]

From his clouded, feral mind and to the concealed truth that hangs before his eyes. [break][break]

Beneath the weight of his confrontation and pressed to sharp edges, @amelia lay. Damning silver hair fanned out and ichor eyes fiercely bubbling like melted down gold. Angelo scarcely feels her nails sinking defiantly into his flesh over the thumping of adrenaline in his veins, although he’d surely feel it later… [break][break]

“Bookworm…?!”[break][break]

Pressure slackening slowly as recognition advances, his fingers release the death grip on her collar. Aggression leaking away like a punch in the gut had expelled his breath, Angelo leans back until his ass hits the ground beside her. [break][break]

Calloused fingertips still hold the knife in his grip, squeezed as he’s ensnared in the midst of an unpleasant thought. Brow furrowed and expression grim, still burning – [break][break]

(He doesn’t know what’s more unsettling to consider. That he’d almost dug the edge of a knife against the column of Lia’s throat or that in the game of survival, he may very well take.) [break][break]

Even more so when her voice snaps at him like a broken branch underfoot. [break][break]

“What d’you mean 'what the hell'?!” Blue eyes, momentarily wide with haunted thoughts, turns towards the ranger filled with defiant fire. The remnants of adrenaline and ferocity and defiance surging forward, leaking out in one final aftershock. [break][break]

“You’re the one who almost fucking shot me!”

[attr="class","rigidw"]

Is it relief that washes over her? Surprise? Lia knows well Angelo won’t hurt her, she trusts him enough for that, so why is it that she can still feel the thumping beat of her own heart? Adrenaline, perhaps, the remnants of having just thought some weirdo was about to do Arceus-knows-what to her in the woods. The result of having the sharp edge of a knife pressed against her throat...
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Right. Angelo had had a knife pressed against her throat, so who is he to talk?!
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The audacity, the gall, and the sheer fucking nerve of this guy!
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”What?! It’s not my fault you were creeping around out here like… Like a creeper! Arceus’ sake, Angelo, I thought you were some weirdo trying to jump me in the fog or something!”
[break][break]
It’s then when Lia takes a deep breath, and once she does, she realises just how stupid this all sounds. It had been a misunderstanding, a dumb one, and yet one that could have been deadly for either of them. The thought is terrifying to her. So much so that what follows is a nervous laugh, reaching down so her hands rest on her knees while looking at the ground. And, noticing her visible distress, the Comfey finally lets go off the Dragapult in order to come lie atop Lia's head as if a flower crown of delightful and usually relaxing scent.
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”Fuuuuuuuck. I hate this fucking fog.”
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Later on, she’ll probably blame herself for it all, but right now it’s much easier to just blame it all on nature.



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[attr="class","angelow"]

She spits at him. Molten gold smelted down, simmering, the bubbles popping angrily to the tune of rebuttals and accusations. So very unlike the refined identity she wears. [break][break]

Angelo, even in his chagrin of her nearly assassinating him in the fog, much prefers Amelia Livy with leaves in her hair and seething foul curses. [break][break]


“And what about you? Hunting blind in the woods your favourite weekend pastime? Fuck, Lia. You know how close you were to taking my damn eye out?” [break][break]


Tension crackles intense around them, adrenaline still lingering like the very fog that clings to the fibres on their backs. Only thinning when the ranger buckles forward, her distress seeming to well to the surface after the hot air had been expelled… [break][break]


Angelo closes his eyes, tilts his head back and lets out a heavy exhale of his own. [break][break]


“Creeping like a creeper…” He mimics her words in a mumble, punctuating it with hands slapping rough against his knees. Within a breath Angelo is picking himself up onto his feet, knife sliding back into his belt with an accompanying, finalising, click. “Y’know for a bookworm, your vocabulary could use some work.” [break][break]


Delta returns then, looking agitated by the Comfey’s strangle attempt but none worse for wear. Angelo’s fingers smooth down from the underside of his chin and along his neck anyway, just to make sure. [break][break]


“Then let’s get the fuck out of here.” [break][break]


Leaves crunch underneath resolved footsteps towards Lia’s hunched over frame, his hand finding her shoulder – his reach momentarily hesitating in mid-air – and squeezing tight. [break][break]


Communication needn’t always be through tongues. Sometimes reassurance, encouragement, an apology… Need only be relayed through a comforting, slow grip. [break][break]


“Your feet still work, killer?” The small, teasing curl on the edge of his lips doesn’t quite reach his eyes. A reflex motion, before turning back to business.[break][break]


“We’ll get somewhere higher. See if we can find a spot where the fog is thinner, then figure out where to go from there. Sound good?”

[attr="class","rigidw"]

As if a beautiful and perfect gift bow being tugged by a force it is not meant to withstand, she unravels, and that composure and elegance she usually tries to carry herself with fades away to nothingness. With the bow gone, all that’s left is a frayed ribbon: the young woman whose every emotion is so very obvious despite how often she was taught the importance of concealing such things from the world.
[break][break]
She could scream, she could hit Angelo for daring to joke around after everything that just happened, but she exhales all too audibly instead; a strand of silver hair being tugged behind her ear as if this would do anything to fix the mess that her fair locks become after rolling around on the dirt.
[break][break]
”Oh. Apologies if the lack of complexity in my lexicon isn’t to your liking, flyboy.” Golden eyes roll just as sarcasm drips from every word, and it’s the familiar feeling of the Comfey landing atop of her head paired with the sight of Angelo’s Dragapult that causes her to pause. It reminds her of how only a moment ago Lei had been wrapped around Delta’s neck, and the pang of guilt is all too painful to ignore.
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What can she even say?
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For someone who spent years studying languages, Lia finds herself short of words, but angelo vestri seems to understand something the historian herself often ignores: sometimes there’s no need for words.
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A hand on her shoulder, a reassuring squeeze, and when she looks at him, a slight smirk. It washes some of the tension away, and even if she too is in no condition to joke around and laugh, her own lips curl into a faint half-smile.
[break][break]
”Sure, creeper. Let’s get the hell out of here.” She hangs onto him in order to pull herself up, and after brushing off dirt and picking up her bow, the Fletchling is called back to its pokéball in favour of her beloved and ever reliable Pidgeot. Fingers dig into golden feathers then, finding comfort in the pokémon’s warmth.
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”Wanna go grab a bite once we’re out of this damn fog? Least I can do after almost sending you home with a brand new eyepatch.” This time, the smirk she gives him is much closer to the usual.
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Water under the bridge and a hilarious story to tell in the future? That's probably the best they can hope for.

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