Gavin is Mars' opposite: born in the heart of Circhester, raised among snowcapped mountains and ever-present frost. He's at home in the cold, and Hoenn's tropical weather likes to remind him of that on the daily.

"Most of them, for sure," Gavin agrees, boots crunching in fresh snowfall as he comes to stand next to the Rocket admin. "Bet the ones from Shoal Cave are loving it, though."

He scoffs at mention of @jessica, a smirk flitting brief across his lips.

"Ah, don't worry about it. She had no idea who I was."

He seems amused more than annoyed.

A fresh set of pokeballs adorn his belt, awaiting whatever Pokemon they might catch as they ascend the mountain.

Martín del Mar

"Whatever we can find," he says, "with an emphasis on rarity and special colorization, of course. That's the good thing about the Black Market; there's always someone willing to pay."

Pokémon posted up on that illegal trade seemed to vanish as quickly as they were offered. It meant good money for Rocket with a quick turn. Gavin wouldn't ordinarily be doing simpler jobs like this one but he'd relished in the chance to get out into the cold and snow.

He seems more relaxed than usual as they climb, almost content.

That changes in an instant, a low rumble from the mountain making him halt with wide eyes.

"Avalanche! Move!"

Snow comes barreling down the mountainside, some of it blocking off the way they'd come.

Martín del Mar

Gavin is only slightly more graceful than Martín del Mar in managing to dodge the impending disaster. He manages to keep his footing but nevertheless stumbles back, his Lycanroc snarling as it leaps clear with a grace the Rocket's lack.

His heart is loud as the avalanche had been, taking the place of the rumble as snow settles in their path.

"I'm fine." Breathless from shock, but unharmed. "You?"

A hand is offered to the admin, and Gavin casts a grim look at the wall of snow behind them. A fierce gale howls overhead, scattering snow.

"Too dangerous to fly with the storm like this, and we can't teleport without knowing where we'll land. We'll need to climb further up to get a vantage point."

Martín del Mar

Gavin's laughter is sharp, humourless.

"That makes two of us. Didn't survive this long to get killed by the weather."

He's reminded of a time in his childhood when he'd chosen to run away from home in the middle of a blizzard; perhaps the stupidest decision a young Cillian Quinn had ever made. He'd been lucky, then, to have been rescued by concerned adults. There'd be no such luck out here. The Rockets were on their own.

This high up and with the chill in the air, Gavin's smoke-scarred lungs ache with every breath of the climb. Wind bites deep through his skin, but he doesn't complain. He only climbs, one foot in front of the other, his Lycanroc a growling shadow.

"I wonder if these weather patterns have anything to do with the meteor."

Great topic of conversation to bring up with the guy who's supposed to avoid stress, right?

Martín del Mar

Gavin scoffs a laugh that burns in the cold.

"Killian, Eris, Lulu." His sister had been the worst of the lot; she'd almost seemed dismissive of the world-ending prophecy until he'd scolded her for it. "Different pieces to the same puzzle. Starting to think Rocket should just go back to Kanto."

But that's not what he wants, not really. In Kanto, others would rule where he must follow. Kanto had its own underbosses that wouldn't take kindly to Hoenn's refugees trying to take up their mantle. No, he thinks, that must be considered only as a last resort. His place is here, in Hoenn, where he's forged his own path. Kanto holds nothing for him but ghosts.

A pang of loss that he swallows with a chilly breath.

"M'not a meteorologist, how should I know? Nor an astronomer." Weather patterns, space phenomenon... most of it was lost on him. "Flint's got a few ideas and I've been encouraging everyone to branch out if this problem's too big for our resources. League or Rocket isn't going to matter if the region explodes, and all. What about you?" He has to stop and rest on account of his lungs, cheeks flushed from the cold as he tries not to look too labored of breath. Weakness and strength was all a matter of perception. He must not look weak. So he uses curiosity as a guise for the pause, as if he's surveying the slope ahead rather than catching his breath. "Got any idea how we might stop it? Eris told me you were involved, you and Locke."

He speaks of Locke Jamison with a slight degree of familiarity on account of the bond they still shared, a creature's undoing in the dark depths of a crypt.

Martín del Mar

Another laugh results in Gavin scrunching up his nose.

"Stop making me laugh," he scolds, smiling. "It hurts."

The air is thin and frigid up here, each deep breath like daggers against his lungs. Arceus, I need to quit. Tempest Quinn would like that, he thinks; they've never explicitly discussed it, but his health-conscious partner definitely didn't love the smoking.

He takes the hint, and leaves Kanto with its ghosts.

Amber eyes gleam at the thought of something useful.

"Deoxys came to Hoenn on a meteor," he muses, remembering what Killian Decker had told him. "Wonder what this one might bring? Then again, if it's anything like Necrozma I'm fucking out." A pause, then, "The 'Blackout of Slateport', if you've read that report? Necrozma is the name of the thing that we fought in there. Walsh told me."

He pulls a sympathetic face at the thought of prophecies.

"Would piss me off," he admits. "I like riddles, but not when they're what's standing between me and survival, yeah? What did they tell you, exactly?"

Martín del Mar

"Don't know what I'd have done without Lugia."

Died, probably. He'd rather not think about it. But as fate would have it, it seems he might have to consider a second impending doom. Not from a meteor, which he couldn't exactly battle like they had Necrozma, but from the prophecy.

"Eris Halla told me no one could remember it all," he recalls, frowning. "Did more of it come back to you?"

All the stuff about destiny and being put to rest is ominous. Gavin's expression is grim.

"Sounds like they're predicting your death." He doesn't like that. Not at all. He does seem surprised as Mars continues. "Your family? What about them?"

Martín del Mar