[attr="class","stylishtext"] She moves akin to a thief in the night, laying low, lurking in the shadows and praying on the downfall of those who suspect another mundane night. Her scheme had been days in the making, and finally, it was time to act. Having been in Mauville city for two days, Mayday had spent those forty-eight hours surveying a certain hotel. Human traffic was abundant, in and out trainers and civilians alike moved through the doors of the four-story establishment. This was the perfect locale to test her new creation. All signs led to a successful harvest of cries, mayhem, and chaos.
[break][break]
She blended in among them easy enough. Posing as a tourist, she met the concierge at the front desk and asked for a room on the topmost floor of the hotel. Upon being given a room, she thanked the man and waited exactly one hour before moving onward. With Gardevoir's assistance, Mayday teleports to each floor and places one gaudy, egg-shaped trinket in plain sight. Akin to an elaborate paperweight, or perhaps an extravagant piece of home decor, the eggs lay in plain sight. Untouched, unbothered. For fear of breaking and having to reimburse the hotel, the patrons dared not bother them.
[break][break]
It was perfect.
[break][break]
Night had fallen on the third day of her stay, and Mayday finds herself standing atop the roof of the hotel with Gardevoir at her side, and a mechanism clasped between nimble, lithe digits. "Here's to us." She speaks out behind a silver mask that covers the uppermost parts of her face. Leaving her glossed lips exposed. A cape covers her head and drapes against the floor of the roof as her thumb presses down on the red button that shines in the spotlight of the moon.
[break][break]
In a matter of seconds, each ornate egg clicks in unison, exposing various orifices that project a plume of decadent smelling purple smog into each floor of the building. The entirety of the hotel is saturated in the poison, and a cacophony of coughs and hacks ensue, its music to her ears from the safety of the roof. The patrons, the visitors, and the staff fall victim to Mayday's latest poison. Desperately, they each grasp at their throats feverishly hacking, gasping for air before they collapse onto floors, tables, stairs. Their bodies lay limp as only a few manage to escape from the main foyer's doors. Still, hacking and coughing. Falling over as they tremble with tears streaming down their eyes and spittle dribbling down their lips.
[break][break]
"What do you think we should call this one, Gardevoir~?"

[attr="class","stylishpkmn"]

[attr="class","stylishooc"]
[break]

@onyx

[break]