Luckily for Tam, it is early enough in the day that there is only one motorbike enthusiast at Route 120's recreational track. Unluckily for Tam, it is Marshall Connor.

"Yeah, I can be there at two," he says into his phone. He sits fully in the seat of his bike, relaxing in uncommon silence save for the unchecked volume of his voice. The incessant buzzing of the bike's engine would normally fill the air, but it's off right now while Marshall waits, his helmet in his lap and one hand, the hand holding the phone, ungloved. "No, I'm out on a track right now. The one outside Lilycove, not the — Yeah, Turbine is here with me. Like I'd have a fucking squad out here just to have fun and pop wheelies, dude," he scoffs. "C'mon."

Nearby, Marshall's Luxio raises his head at sudden movement. "Lux!" he announces, rising from where he is curled up on the side of the track. The cry draws Marshall's attention to the uniformed Ranger approaching them.

"Yo, listen, I gotta go," he quickly says into his phone. "The Ranger I called for's here. I'll see you at two. Bye!" Hanging up and pocketing the phone, Marshall raises a hand in greeting at the stranger. "Hey man! Thanks for coming by!" He gestures at the massive Snorlax lying smack dab in the middle of the racetrack, sound asleep. "Can you do your Pokémon whisperer shit on our friend over here?"

Tam Fawley

Tam's utter apathy and dry humor does absolutely nothing to wipe the grin off Marshall's face. While the other man approaches the Snorlax, Marshall pulls on his other glove, ready to kick the engine to life and start flying as soon as the slumbering Pokémon is out of the way. He still has his helmet off, though, when Tam calls out with his question.

"Snacks?" Marshall echoes, confused at first. But the understanding clicks a second later, and he yells, "Yeah, I got some of those high protein breakfast bars, but uh, maybe the big dude'll like some treats instead? Got some Pokémon treats in my bag for Turbine. I'm sure he wouldn't mind sharing."

However, upon hearing that he might lose his precious snacks to the Snorlax, the nearby Luxio makes it clear he absolutely would mind sharing. Turbine hisses sharply and moves to stand over Marshall's backpack on the ground next to him in a territorial display.

"Oh, knock it off," Marshall says to the Luxio, rolling his eyes. He gets off the bike and puts his helmet onto the seat, then stomps toward Turbine, fully intending to take the treats by force. "I can get you more later! We get 'em for free from PokéKibbles, you know. They love spoilin' the shit outta you!"

Tam Fawley

Marshall is in the middle of removing the bag of Pokémon treats from his backpack with one hand while wrestling Turbine to the side with the other when the Snorlax burps. All the leaves on the trees bordering the racetrack shudder from the reverberation. Both Marshall and his Luxio freeze at the terrible, doom-portending sound.

"Uhhh, Mr. Ranger?" the biker asks, turning with great trepidation toward the Snorlax, the bag of treats still clutched in one hand. The plastic packaging had already been torn open from previous use, and the strong aroma of savory PokéKibble wafts out. "Is everything, uh, going okay?"

Upon seeing the open mouth of the Snorlax, Turbine disengages from his master's arm and hops in front of Marshall, prepared to defend his human. Electric sparks dance along his raised tail.

Tam Fawley

As soon as the Snorlax fixes its intent gaze upon the two men, Marshall grabs Tam by the wrist and all but drags the Ranger behind him as he dashes for the motocross bike. With one arm slung through a backpack strap, Marshall slams his helmet onto his head and jumps onto the seat, pulling Tam on behind him.

"Hang on tight!" Marshall yells as he rapidly goes through the motions of starting the bike. The engine comes to life in a matter of seconds. He knocks back the kickstand and starts to turn the bike around — much more difficult to do with Tam's extra, useless weight on the back.

"Turbine, hit 'em with your Scary Face!" Marshall yells. Baring his fangs in a hideous scowl, the Luxio runs toward the swiftly approaching Snorlax in an attempt to slow it down. In the same moment, Marshall relaxes his grip on the clutch and the bike shoots off in the opposite direction at startling speed.

Tam Fawley

"Fuck yeah! Let 'em have it!" Marshall hollers, laughing, over the noise of everything as Tam's Snorlax gives the wild one a walloping. The latter seems to think the meal is no longer worth fighting three Pokémon; it picks itself up off the ground and starts waddling away from the racetrack with enormous footsteps that shake the earth.

Marshall hears Tam's question but doesn't have time to answer. The track ahead curves sharply to the left into a small hill that would be too dangerous to jump with a passenger. Marshall lowers his left foot to the dirt and pulls on the front brake lever. The bike decelerates around the bend just enough that they come to a stop at the bottom of the hill. He kills the engine and pushes down the kickstand, then pulls off his helmet. His blond hair is even messier than it started as, and his eyes are bright with the adrenaline rush.

"Dude, nice work on the Snorlax," Marshall says to Tam. "You Rangers sure know your stuff! I'm Marshall, by the way. Thanks a ton for movin' the big guy for me." He extends a gloved hand for the other man to shake.

Tam Fawley

"Hopefully it won't come back to bother anyone else who comes to the racetrack later today, either," Marshall says, nodding. "A lot of kids comin' here probably are just practicing or getting used to biking, and they might hurt themselves if a starving Snorlax suddenly lumbers. Fuck, seeing it run like that was scary!" Yet he laughs from the thrill of experiencing something so uniquely dangerous.

Truth be told, Marshall had a lot of fun. Tam's pretty funny — not in a classic way, but in a dry way Marshall expects more out of a Galarian instead of another Unovan (that accent is unmistakable). Something about his reactions to everything amused Marshall way more than expected. It would be fun to hang out again in less dire circumstances.

… Actually, yeah.

Balancing his helmet on his lap, Marshall pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts thumbing through it. "Hey Tam, let's exchange numbers. Gimme your phone so I can put my info in, and I'll give you mine," the biker suggests, finally holding out his phone to the other man, the New Contact form displaying on the screen.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna call you for work stuff on your personal phone. I know I can call Ranger HQ," he reassures Tam with a wink. "But maybe we can get lunch or somethin'. I know a few good places."

Tam Fawley