Wear something comfortable, Alexei’d said; Memo had taken that direction and turned, then, to his closet. For something as simple as donning comfortable clothes was difficult for him, given the wide selection of options. His rent was cheap and his wardrobe shone for it. He thumbed through his collection of Louis Vuitton, Dior, MOSCHINO, and Margiela pieces, an intense argument happening with the style vs. function part of his brain.

In the end, he settled for a simple graphic hooded sweatshirt, black pants, and high black combat boots. Underneath his sweater he wore a neon pink tank-top with the same fanged maw image on his sweater.

To make up for the relative simplicity of his ensemble, he went absolutely apeshit bananas on dying his hair, going so far as to buy colored extensions to weave into his locs.

Look, this was his first big mission with his boo, and he went all out for the simplest of things, let alone something that seemed incredibly important to Alexei.

Memo and Puck zipped through banks of soot-gray clouds, neon-pink sunburst hair peeking out from under his hood. The Togekiss dodged and weaved with flair, a trail of sparkles dragging out behind him. They burst through a thunderhead and there, stretching out beneath them, was Mt. Chimney.

“Take us down, bud,” Memo said, and Puck tipped his crowned crest downward, slicing through the air like a snow-white blade. He threw in a couple of barrel rolls for good measure until they pulled up, going from a breakneck speed to a sudden stop, next to Alexei.

Memo hopped off and flipped down his hood.

“Hello, love,” he said, leaning back against his hovering Togekiss and crossing one boot over his shin. “Miss me?”

---

wearing

Alexei Ivanov

☉

Memo flipped his hair off the back of his hand-- for the drama of it, you see. He would regret it by the end of the day because, god, it was heavy. But it looked banging and far be it from him to show up to any event, outdoors or otherwise, and look less than his best.

Especially where Alexei was involved, but that was beside the point.

“Let it never be said,” he preened extensively under the attention, “that I don’t show up for you.”

It was breathtakingly hot on that mountainside, but Memo was hotblooded in general, so it wasn’t too much of a discomfort, aside from the whole ‘stealing your breath’ thing. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows to account for the temperature.

The kindler, as Memo would find out later was his title, was a handsome gentleman with piercing blue eyes. He brought their attention to the strange drum Alexei was carrying and Memo was quiet as the two of them spoke-- though he did catch the Torkoal’s eye and give a little finger-wave.

He paid attention to the Kindler as he recounted the tale of the tabla-- what Memo, as a dabbling musician, knew to be a twin drum. He was silent still as Alexei picked up Farhan’s rhythm after a brief difficulty-- it was a good beat, and Memo was tapping his toe to it without realizing. Soon he could feel the echo of it in his veins, his chest. He could make a song out of this.

Rumored to stir the passions in one’s heart, huh? He thought, gaze shifting to Alex without thinking. Because, of course, why else would he be on this mountainside just outside of hell?

Alexei broke the beat to set his eyes in the sky, so Memo decided to match him on the ground. Puck only frowned a little when Memo drew him back into his Pokeball, swapped for Bazelgeuse, her clanging scales adding an additional resonance to the beating drum once Alexei started up again; Oona came out, as well, though slightly larger than Alex had seen her previously-- she’d evolved, the little wretch-- to dart and lunge around in a chaotic perimeter around them, a constantly moving, frenetic form.

And lo, they began to climb.

---

wearing

Alexei Ivanov

☉

Memo had a feeling Alex would be struggling with the heat-- it was like a furnace out here, and though Memo felt it, he didn’t mind as much. He was always running hot so it wasn’t as much of a factor.

“You look like you’re positively melting,” he agreed, voice full of endearment. Even red-faced, covered in sweat, and decidedly over-dressed, Alex was so cute.

Around them, the terrain lifts and falls. Oona rushes ahead and back again, a being of constant movement. Bazelgeuse walks a comforting patrol next to Memo and Alex, head on a swivel, looking out for any danger.

The ground turns dark. Lightning bolts of magmatic heat zip through the obsidian, vein-like fissures betraying the mountain’s living, breathing core. They descend down into a tunnel, the air a thick crush of warm sulfur. Oona charges forward, ricochets off a wall, and flips backwards, a quick pew-pew-pew of motion that sends the red-and-white weasel leaping in a three point arc around the dead end.

Alex’s Arctovish makes short work of a barrier as well as bringing a well-needed chill to the air, cooling the sweat gathering on the back of Memo’s neck. He frowns in consternation. Releasing Zuza, he gestures vaguely at the issue at hand.

“Help?”

She fixes him in a stern, but loving, stare, the air around her beginning to warp and sizzle as the psychic energy rolls off of her in waves. She begins to disassemble the wall, rock by rock, pink light leeching into hidden seems and pulling it apart; the extraneous clumps of stone are tossed over their heads to fall behind them.

It’s a slow but frenetic process that doesn’t quite get them all the way through. After a while, even the stoic Zuza loses patience, and she shakes the entire barrier roughly with a focused confusion, a frustrated, final blow.

It crumbles to dust before them.

“Easy as pie,” Memo says, flashing his unicorn a thumbs up and rubbing a gentle hand down her sweat-slick neck.

---

psychic type moves totaling 140 power
psychic (Base power 90) + confusion (base power 50)
wearing

Alexei Ivanov

☉

Alex looks like he might evaporate and turn to steam, switching a whole ass form of matter in this heat. The look he shoots Memo is just north of daggers.

“Eh, I’m used to it,” he said. Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows is the only adjustment that he makes to his ensemble. Alex, much to his surprise (pleasure?) begins to-- to strip. Holy shit, that was a visual Memo wasn’t expecting to get today. He’d only ever seen the man without copious layers of clothing on that one time.

“What, is it my birthday?” Memo quips, taking both offered articles of clothing. With practiced laundry skills, he folds the sweater and swings his pack round to slide it into a front pocket, scarf pinned between his chin and chest. Then he very carefully does the same with the scarf, making sure it isn’t crumpled or wrinkled.

By the time he was done, Alex’s Toucannon (who was apparently named Sam, oh my god, that was so corny) had aimed a nails-on-chalkboard screech up at part of the mountain. Pieces of stone cracked and tumbled to the ground.

“Close, but no cigar.” He rolled a Pokeball in his hand. “Here, let me help.” He step back and dropped it, releasing his Bastiodon, Careta.

Memo stepped closer to Alex. “Can you use Metal Sound on that bit up there, Caretita?” he asked, pointing to the square where bits of pieces of red and black basalt were still crumbling down. The dinosaur-like Pokemon groaned, couched her head-- Memo reached up and covered Alex’s ears-- before releasing a horrible, metal-on-metal noise, that sounded like a car crash, the power of it shaking the whole mountainside.

---

2x sound based moves - careta the bastiodon uses metal sound !

wearing

Alexei Ivanov

☉

“You’re okay,” Memo told Alex, hearing him bellyache over the heat and trying not to get distracted by the gleam of his skin and the weight of his presence and-- focus, Marcelino. “Though maybe we should have brought sunscreen? Be careful not to get burned.” By the sun or the lava, he supposed.

Alex swapped his Pokemon and the Garchomp eagerly dove into the work, tossing aside clumps of dirt and stone. It was a bit slow, though, so he released his Numel. “Tumsi, use earth power, please,” he requested, and the little camel yawned and bobbed her head.

The ground beneath them began to tremble and shake. Fissures broke open and sharp points of rock erupted, stabbing up into the sky. It rings something true in him, something deep in his soul, that he is here to interrupt the bright, startling order of his mountain; to rearrange it into something that benefits him.

“There. Piece of cake,” he says, setting a palm on Tumsi’s head to congratulate her on a job well done. “What’s next?”

---

ground type moves totaling 160 power - tumsi the numel uses earth power (power of 90) !

wearing

Alexei Ivanov

☉