Yoshiro snorts softly as she steps down the ice-slick steps into Shoal Cave, a cloud of silver-white coiling from her nostrils like dragon's-breath from the sharp drop in temperature.

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Flexing her tattooed knuckles to the crackling sound of frozen condensation, she rubs her hands briskly together before sparing a glance over her shoulder in wait of her companions.

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Their arrival is both with and without ceremony, the Zorua's velvety paws carrying it downward in a series of dainty little hops and bounds from ice-shelf to ice-shelf, and winds, all inky fur and silky tail around Yoshiro's boots until it is lifted up to be carried in the crook of her arm. Nestling into the side of her neck to peer over her shoulder, the fox pokemon utters a disdainful peep for the efforts of the Arcanine behind it.

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Children.

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Always squabbling.

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Far more laborious a process, Torao's entry into the cavern is punctuated by displeased huffs and a rumbling growl, ending with the sharp, screeching scrabble of curved claws against the ice as he brute-forces his way past a tight cluster of stalagmites.

[break]

"It's unbecoming," Yoshiro advises the Zorua; and though she doubts it stops Hoshiko's smug gloating in the least, it at least quells Torao's rumble of warning in return. Their approach has no doubt been noticed by the cavern's other occupant by now, despite his intense focus on his...sliding, slowpoke-paced method of forward progress.

[break]

With a soft 'tch' from the back of her throat, Yoshiro makes her way over, the Zorua deposited back onto the ice as she wraps a hand around her Arcanine's riding harness. The other, she offers palm-up to the gentleman beside her in a show of good intention, offering in cadence as smooth as watered steel, "Shioda Yoshiro. This is Torao. If you wish to hold onto one side - he has far better traction than either of us will manage."

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+ ooc notes: BRUMAL BOUNTY

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

If Yoshiro notices the near-fall of Henry Driscoll, she does not betray it save for the faintest twitch of the fingers, as if she may reach out - far as she is - to prevent the fall if she were able. Leveling an unimpressed look upon the resident Toxtricity for his lax attitude, she rolls her shoulders a scarce measure before grasping onto the harness with both hands, and plants her feet flat to the ice.

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Waiting courteously until she is certain that Henry has a firm grip, she affirms, "Torao."

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At which, unhindered by his erstwhile passengers, the Arcanine digs his claws into the frozen ground and draws them step by step into the awaiting dark at a much swifter pace, occasionally halting to puff a gout of flame to better illuminate the path.

[break]

"I am," Yoshiro intones as they sojourn on, the creak and groan of glacial ice as it shifts beneath the earth echoing hollowly beneath her words. "Never know what you might find in a place such as this, after all, only a hope that not many tempt fate enough to journey this deep. And no - I am not opposed to the company."

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"I'm not overly familiar with Hoenn just yet, you may catch something I would miss. Unless you are also an import, in which case it will be an adventure either way, no?"

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The cavern walls glitter with ice from floor to ceiling, casting eerie reflections in all directions when illuminated, only to flicker out as the fire dies around Torao's maw. He exhales puffs of smoke, the scent of hearthfire clinging to his fur well after the warmth is gone.

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A soft chirp sounds in the darkness, accompanied by what sounds suspiciously like a Zorua attacking a leather boot.

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"Wait," Yoshiro's voice halts the Arcanine in his tracks before he can continue. "Again and hold."

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A flicker of flame gathers within Torao's jaws, snapping with embers that threaten to strike inthe woman's coat as flame curls around his battle-scarred maw and laps upwards, the scarce nicks in his ears casting tattered shadows along the ice overhead. The fire provides a pleasant, warm, if somewhat too-near-for-comfort rush of light and heat, and more importantly, illuminates the cavern once more, the mere shadow of intricately carved stonework only just visible beneath the opaque ice underfoot.

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"Any idea what that might be?" Yoshiro asks, head atilt. Not releasing her hold on the Arcanine, she nonetheless bends to scoop the Zorua up once more, a congratulatory tap of one tattooed knuckle beneath its chin eliciting a pleased sound from the creature.

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+ ooc notes: Henry DriscollBRUMAL BOUNTY

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

"I'm not certain what they mean," Yoshiro answers in a calm fashion, releasing the harness of her Arcanine to crouch down, and using the sleeve of her coat to scuff a layer of frost from the ice. Her breath clouds in the air with the low temperature, what little moisture it exudes silvering in the ruff of her coat as it turns to frost. "That one looks almost like a Spheal if you squint. Strange. Or maybe...hmm."

Studying the structure for another moment in silence, she inquires in a smooth cadence, "What do you research primarily? If it's no trouble asking." As if anticipating the return of the question to her own person, she confides, "I typically do security consulting, but one of my local clients researches fossil pokemon - seemed to think this would be an adventure, even if I didn't find anything."

Head atilt, Yoshiro rides back to her feet and slides two careful steps back, lifting her chin toward the gloss of ice. Flames lick up around the Arcanine's muzzle for the second time, her dark eyes narrowing against the light at the creature's judicious use of FLAMETHROWER, but soon searching the roof of the cavern overhead at the echoing creak of ice, brittle and dull all at once.

When she seems satisfied it isn't about to cave in on them, she indicates the way the melted water and slush seems to seep down into the ground, draining beneath the stonework with the distant sound of dripping water. Glancing back up toward Henry Driscoll , she inquires with interest, "Can you see a seam or a mechanism? I think there may be something under it."

Henry Driscoll

☉

"I could see an Alomomola," Yoshiro confirms with further scrutiny, the name of the pokemon enunciated slowly so as not to stumble over it, even as her dark eyes drink in the stonework underfoot. Even with Torao's warmth, it's far too cold in here, she muses as she flexes her hands slowly, relaxes them, repeats the action to loosen some of the stiffness she can already feel in the joints. She's never had much tolerance for the cold, certainly not after what happened in Johto, but neither had she expected it to flare up so soon.

"That explains the Chandelure," she confirms to Henry Driscoll nonetheless, sliding her hands back into her pockets to warm them as she observes him work. "Made any interesting discoveries in your time?"

A brief flicker of amusement touches her features at the mention of security soon after, and she offers with the hint of a grin, "There's always a need for security, or so I should like to think."

Yoshiro falls silent as he elaborates on the rhyme and reason of the symbolic arrangement, taking on the air of a student listening patiently, if with interest, to a professor. Moving to the side as he withdraws the icepick and leverages it, she notes his seeming appreciation for the integrity of the structure.

Leave things as you found them, or at least intact. A noble ideal.

And while perhaps not at all prepared for the way the floor rumbles, yawning open to reveal a staircase spiraling down, down, down into the bitter black cold beneath this existing structure, she manages to catch Torao by the mane, keeping her footing until the tremors have ceased.

"That was a quick bit of thinking," Yoshiro confirms, holding out a cold, tattooed hand to offer to help the scientist back to his feet - an easy enough feat should he take it. The size of the stairwell alone rules out Torao for the next leg of their excursion, and at the Arcanine's clearly unhappy huff, she assures, "Stay put and we'll be right back, alright?"

"Hoshiko," she calls lowly to catch the Zorua's attention, the little fox pokemon perking up, swift to trail her as she descends step by step into the awaiting darkness. Removing a lighter from her pocket while she awaits the arrival of Henry's Chandelure, she scans over the stonework as they step into uncharted passageways beneath the surface.

"There are more of those symbols down here," she calls to Henry, brow knit as she treads carefully down the icy steps. Almost halfway down, however, one of them depresses beneath her boot - a secondary, resultant rumble heard. One that appears to be approaching them at ever-increasing speeds.

Henry Driscoll

☉