[attr="class","rigidw"]

The Fixer had been doing the problem-solving gig for quite a while now, with jobs big and small, in locations far-flung, exotic, and as mundane as one could imagine. Throughout all that, he had noticed a peculiar trend in his clients and their designated targets - People absolutely loved acronyms. Just couldn't get enough of them. They bent themselves into pretzels shoehorning a vaguely appropriate series of kinda-sorta comprehensible words together, just so they could have a cool acronym. S.P.E.A.R. or G.L.A.I.V.E. or B.A.D.A.S.S. or something similar, and it was painfully apparent that they had picked the acronym first and worked backwards, rather than the other way around. Usually, anyway. He found it rather charming, in a way - A little bit of whimsy in an otherwise grim business, and he was the last person to begrudge someone trying to bring a bit of colour to the bleak business he often participated in. The latest in the long line of acronyms he had been attached temporarily to, or possibly would be, was S.P.E.C.T.R.A, which he couldn't decide whether it made him think of a car or a ghost, and so he elected to solve his conundrum via fusion - Ghost car. Which was, admittedly, pretty awesome. He'd like to see a ghost car someday. Maybe even drive one, if that was a thing that could be done. [break] [break]

Such were his idle thoughts as he went over his last series of gear checks, a routine that had so long ago become second nature to him that his hands and brain worked largely on auto-pilot, leaving him free to let his thoughts drift while they worked. Rough pads of calloused skin rasped over the enormous sidearm he favoured, methodically testing and searching for any tell-tale signs of necessary repair or misalignment, and finding none, moved on to the large calibre rifle. This new iteration of Rocket was impressive, admittedly - Moreso than its predecessor had been, when he had worked with them during the Kanto subjugation. Smarter, more subtle, and infinitely more likely to succeed by virtue of those two qualities alone. It certainly didn't hurt that they appeared to have an endless supply of money, or close enough to it. This submarine base they had going was nothing to sneeze at, and it wasn't just for show - He'd checked. The personnel seemed both disciplined and sufficiently kitted out in an ample supply of quality gear, and there was no shortage of high-end tech on display. [break] [break]

An excellent example of such was the arena that the participants had been instructed to assemble within. The Fixer studied the pristine area as the scanner swept over his form, the light reflecting off the curved, glossy black plating of his combat plating. He ignored the little, cheerful ping of his helmet's ID chip being successfully picked up by the scanner, instead allowing his gaze to drift up to the observation decks above, where it lingered for a long moment. A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth was, as all his expressions, lost beneath the sleek cover of his helmet. 'An arena indeed. Are we to turn and face our venerated Caesars and cry 'We who are about to die salute you!'?' How very civilised this barbarism was. With a slight, courteous inclination to the figures behind the glass, the Fixer turned his attention to the other participants. [break] [break]


The heads up display projected onto his view of the surroundings shifted and flickered as it processed the information fed to it through the helmet's sensors, assigning tags to the individuals in the crowd and alerting him to the presence of pokemon and their associated weaknesses and traits - Though it came up with errors for two that seemed to be owned by a white haired male. That gave the Fixer pause. It was rare to have his database come up short for a pokemon, let alone two at once. What the fuck were those things? Concerning. He had to hope that he could learn enough about them in this little exercise to do some homework after, and devise a tactical doctrine tailored to each. Not knowing a pokemon's capabilities made him distinctly uncomfortable. Who knew what they could do, after all? Their trainer, presumably, but he didn't, and if you didn't know, you couldn't prepare, and if you couldn't prepare, life got so much harder. [break] [break]

Case in point, the young man and his freshly made puddle of vomit. No sick bag, presumably no preventative medicines taken to assuage an ill stomach, or whatever plagued him. Maybe nerves. He had that look about him. The Fixer had been there, once, many a moon ago, and he felt a rare pang of pity for the boy. Heavy, plated boots hit the grated floor without any attempt at subtlety or stealth as the geared-up mercenary made his way through the crowd to stand to one side of klaus anchoret , armoured fingers snapping open a pouch at his waist and extracting a small white disc, which smelled strongly of fresh, potent mint, which he offered to the younger man in a decidedly casual manner. The voice that emanated from the helmet could not, in any conceivable world, be mistaken for a person's natural speech. Deep and reverberating, it was obviously filtered through some sort of audio modulator, resulting in something that sounded like a demon had had a particularly throaty lovechild with a voice synthesiser. "Mint?" [break] [break]

[attr="class","llppromised"]

razor-sharp teeth, i bite bullets.

Fellow Rocket Beast, Rowan Wrynn joined the group shortly after she made her appearance and she nodded in greeting towards him as she sipped lightly on her drink. Seemed he shared similar sentiments as her own as he mentioned making bets as well before putting his money on Frost.

"I do hope he's stronger than he is smart, at least where common sense is concerned." Gavin scoffs. "Nearly shot him the other day when I found him snooping around in Choi's office, but apparently he was told to." Serena hid a small smirk behind the rim of her glass as golden hues spied Frost down below. That sounded like just the sort of mischief mint frost would find himself in.

"Not eager to clash with the rest of them?" Gavin said as he turned towards her. Serena flashed him a knowing smirk before she shrugged lightly. "I'm always down for some friendly competition, you know this." she said before turning her attention back towards the participants. "Sadly I won't be able to throw it down with the best of them this time." she said with a chuckle. "I've been asked to serve as a proctor for this event instead."

Just as Mars was about to disclose who his choice was it seemed all of their attention was whisked away by the rather colorful display of the bird from priam conrad down below. Glancing to the side of her she saw the fellow admin and underboss return the obscene gesture in kind. "Great minds," Gavin commented with a grin.

"What the fuck? Remy? Mars? What are you two doing here? You should've found me sooner!" A very loud voice among the small bustle of chatter was what tore her eyes from the participants below to the new arrival. The woman sauntered over to find a seat as she stared at Mars with familiarity.

"Summer, I didn’t know you’d be acting as a proctor today.” Mars responded to the new arrival. Summer. Serena believed she heard Mars mention her at least once before. "Summer, this Underboss Merlino. Gavin, this is a very drunk Summer Prescott.” Prescott. That also sounded familiar.

If she could recall there was a sort of summer bash that was held at their place a few months past. She hadn't attended due to her busy schedule but she was beginning to put two and two together. It seemed Miss Prescott was already thoroughly enjoying herself. Serena chuckled softly imagining she would've been in the same boat had she acted on her impulses at the bar.

"A pleasure, Prescott." Cordial as ever, Gavin greets her smoothly. "Are you here to take bets with the rest of us, then? Who's your favourite?" he asked and Serena turned her focus on their conversation entirely. She was always down to see what other people were thinking. Who knew when such perspectives could help her out later.

---

Rowan Wrynn, Cillian Quinn, Martín del Mar, mint frost, priam conrad, Summer Atreides

Remiel Calcifet ● outfit ● observation deck - proctor

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

This whole thing made him feel sick.[break][break]

Even despite time having gone past and his ribs being majority healed by now, there was still a weakness in his side that he'd bandaged up tight and covered with layers in an attempt to push it down and away. Weakness was the one thing he hated the most about himself, and was the one thing that he couldn't show above anything else in a situation like this.[break][break]

He wasn't entirely sure what to expect. Izzy was no smart type, and the word examination worried him slightly, but if this involved fighting, he might do well. He didn't like to fight, but he was good at it. Talented or not, Izzy took every memory of going home with someone else's brains on his knuckles back with him. This wasn't healthy, to get involved in something like this.[break][break]

But it might mean further rocket work, which meant more money. He'd made it this far, gotten away from home, gotten his own place. Without pushing himself further like this, the life he built could fall between his fingers, and Izzy couldn't let that happen.[break][break]

He balls his fists a little, position taken at the centre, other people around him joking and laughing with one another. Martín del Mar would surely be here, keeping keen watch. What about BARNABY FINCH? Ceri Glynn? Even someone like Elisabeth Fiorelli? The whole situation worries him - what the fuck are they gonna be made to do? And why is everyone watching like they're about to be fed to the lions?

[attr="class","textwtw"]

So happens be that from up in the control room, Mars too notices klaus anchoret’s sudden need to puke his guts out (literally), and as fate would have it, it also happens be that it was Mars himself who told the lighthouse keeper he should make it to the SPECTRA exams today. Why? Well, for one, he’s of the mentality that all Rocket members should develop their combat skills, and for another…
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”Ha! Classic.”
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He had thought it could be amusing, and clearly he hadn’t been wrong in this assumption of his.
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So, what does Admin Del Mar do?
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Well, obviously he brings his phone out and takes a picture! Zoomed in as much as possible on the lovely sight of klaus anchoret holding onto a trash can for dear life.
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And what does he do after that?
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He searches through his contacts for the one that’s listed as “LIGHTHOUSE” and sends the picture to Klaus himself without even following it up with a text.
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Obviously, just in case he wants a souvenir or something.
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Mars? Intimidating new recruits he's familiar with as a reminder that he's watching their progress? Never.

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