Cyg got a goofy look on her face as she watched Isaac speak. She almost pinched herself, thinking for sure she was stuck in a chick flick on a date with the sensitive main love interest. Six inches taller and he’d be a movie star, for sure.

She realized she was staring and shook her head.

"Girl, yes,” she insisted, fingers flexing around her beer glass. “Each new Pokemon just compounds it. Like they’re all sharing the same brain cell and each one makes it a little bit smaller.”

She frowned a little bit. “I forgot about legendaries. But all the-- the regular ones, for sure.”

⚰︎ none of cyg's team has a brain

Isaac Merlo

She didn’t miss his blush. She didn’t call him out on it because she was currently beating her own ass for staring-- but she didn’t miss it.

This was weird. Was this weird? It's only weird if you make it weird.

If he missed a beat, he collected himself real quick. “Yes, the one the two of you clearly share,” she joked, smiling big enough to wrinkle her nose. The memory of him getting blasted in the face by his own Totodile’s Hydro Pump would make her laugh until her dying day.

“Boring,” she agreed, “life without a little excitement is boring.”

Famous last words, Cygne.

“If I wagered a guess I’d say he shoves them all in his PC and doesn’t look back,” she said, shrugging and taking a drink of her beer. “But I’m not entirely sure.” She was speaking a bit from experience, though, because as her team slowly grew she found herself using only a handful of them. Mostly because the others were genuinely insane, it seemed.

It was logarithmic, almost. The more Pokemon she had the more crazies she found. It increased exponentially, as each one sliced off their atoms of the brain cell.

⚰︎ none of cyg's team has a brain

Isaac Merlo

Cyg tilted her head, thinking.

“D’you remember a while back when an artist did a bunch of, like, blueprints for what they imagined was inside a Pokeball?” Cyg asked, eyes going half-focused in the dim light, trying to remember. She grabbed her phone and went to Google. “I like to imagine it’s like that. Like every Pokemon gets their own little penthouse. Though it probably isn’t.”

It’s an oft-forgotten facet of Pokemon, the ability to shrink themselves down and be crammed in little, round containers. Did that mean they were made out of some sort of data? Or-- or weirdly specific light particles? Cyg was an engineer, but she wasn’t good on the theories. She preferred hands-on stuff, the shit you could measure: torque, PSI, joules. If they could zap a Pokemon into a Pokeball why not, like, a tree? Or the meteor?

“It is weird. New shit is popping up almost on the daily. We had nothing from Galar and now we have all the Galarian things. And now these funky time-space variants… Hoenn is bizarre.”

⚰︎ none of cyg's team has a brain

Isaac Merlo

No one in the history of the world would actually describe Cyg as ‘sweet’. Delusional, maybe. But sweet? She was too coarse, too crass, too rough-around-the-edges for sweet.

“I mean, sometimes,” she said, venturing into a topic of thinking that was either going to make Isaac think she was fucking weird or a genius, “sometimes my Cofagrigus, Muirne, is just an empty box. Other times she-- sucks people into a weird netherrealm where they get embalmed and mummified alive.” She shrugs, taking a drink. “Pokemon are weird."

She thinks of Martín del Mar and his penchant for luxury balls. Maybe his Pokemon were living a pampered life with, like, little spas and valets, and shit. But the idea that Pokemon have to follow rules is almost as absurd of thinking of each Pokeball as a penthouse.

She snaps her fingers when Isaac says he doesn’t remember it always being so crazy here. “Yeah!” she exclaims, in vehement agreement. “Yeah, it’s like-- like we’re heading for an event horizon and we’re constantly speeding up through the crazy shit.”

Which was terrifying to think about.

⚰︎ none of cyg's team has a brain

Isaac Merlo

“Yeah,” Cyg agreed, wondering how long it’d been since she’d found someone she could just hang out with and have it feel like a break from… from everything. Probably since she met Elisabeth Fiorelli .

How long had they been sitting in this bar? What time was it, even? Undoubtedly, time to get back to real life. The drag, the grind, all the horrible sounding verbs that constituted work and reality.

“I definitely want to see your bike, though,” Cyg said, opening a contact list in her phone and sliding it over to him. “So hit me up when you’re free, please.”

Isaac Merlo
jiminy CHRISTMAS this was like their second or third thread together? what is time
i mod req