It was always convenient when one of Caleb’s missions took him through the Lilycove Fish Market, as there was always something particularly delicious he could buy there for lunch. The boisterous voices of the hawkers coming to bargain and the pungent smell of dead fish were not necessarily the most pleasant qualities a place could have, but they were familiar, and the chowder was especially good - better than Slateport’s, he’d determined.

But chowder would have to wait on this particular afternoon; as soon as Caleb entered the market, he heard the distressed voice of a woman crying out nearby. Not one to ignore such things, he quickly followed the irritated tone to its owner: a slender, silver-haired woman with a strikingly beautiful face, though her brow was currently furrowed and her mouth turned down in an angry scowl. A Wingfull was harassing her, it seemed, up to the usual business of trying to steal food right out of peoples’ hands. Another unfortunate side-effect of a seaside fish market. The scene would have been amusing, really, if the woman hadn’t seemed so put off.

Before the woman could react to his presence by her side, Caleb moved in-between her and the diving Wingull. He deftly reached out with a hand and snatched the flying Pokémon right out of the air. The Pokémon cried out in alarm as Caleb grinned triumphantly.

”Gotcha, you little pest,” he growled. “Now get out of here before I have to get one of my Pokémon involved.” His command seemed to have some effect on the Wingull, for when he released the desperately flapping creature, it zoomed off into the sky without making another attempt at the woman’s sandwich. Soon, it was nowhere to be seen.

”All those martial arts lessons have really paid off,” He chuckled. Then he turned his full attention to the woman once more. ”Are you allright?” He asked in a kindly tone, though his blue eyes sparkled with a lingering playfulness.

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"Sharpe. Caleb Sharpe." Caleb introduced himself, grin widening. She was well-dressed, her clothing finely made and her style refined. The narrow black pencil skirt and sleeveless white blouse were appropriate for the heat of summer but still gave off a classic, timeless look. A businesswoman of some kind, no doubt, Caleb guessed. Perhaps on her way to work.

It was then that he noticed the odd way the bright sunlight seemed to be reflecting off of her left shoulder; upon closer inspection, he realized that her pale skin gave way to a metallic material at the shoulder joint, and in fact, her entire left arm and hand were a sleek robotic prosthetic rather than flesh and blood. Her left leg below the skirt is made of the same material, he immediately recognized, the observation skills he had gained over a decade of working in investigative services (for good or for ill) taking over. It was not common to see folks with such major prosthetics, let alone such modernized, advanced ones. He had almost missed them completely simply because they were so unobtrusively designed combined with how gracefully the woman seemed to move despite their presence. She has had these for most of her life, he mused intuitively.

Because he had also worked as a spy for much of his adult life, he also knew how to hide his general surprise and curiosity. He kept his expression open and kindly - casual - ignoring what others likely stared openly at, gaze quickly moving back to her face.

"And you are?" He asked back politely.

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"Hey now," Caleb called after the woman as she abruptly turned and began walking away. "Let me treat you to a bowl of chowder! It's the best in Hoenn. Pretty much the only reason to visit the Lilycove Fish Market, given the dangers of being accosted by pesky scavengers." The corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin as he surveyed her rather pathetic half-eaten sandwich. "After all, that Wingull nearly snatched your current lunch right out of your hand. Something fresh might be more, well, appetizing?"

He was at her side in an instant, and easily matched her walking pace. Again, he was impressed with how smoothly she glided across the pavement despite her entirely artificial left leg. Prosthetic technology was getting more and more advanced it seemed; she must come from wealth for her family to have been able to afford such fine, custom work.She dresses nicely and does not seem particularly at ease in the Fish Market. Upper class indeed.

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Ah. This woman was one of those people.

Double prosthetics, beautiful, important, He mused. She must be tired of folks constantly treating her like some kind of novelty. I would shore up my defenses too, if I were her.

Undeterred, Caleb continued walking with the woman, matching her pace so as not to gain ground or fall too far behind. Her cold exterior did little to dissuade him; if anything, it only made him that much more determined to break through her shell. He’d grown up with a brother who’s demeanor had been anything but open and inviting, and he’d never taken it personally. He knew how to play the long game.

”Another time then? At least let me give you my card, so you have my contact information. Surely you don’t have appointments every day?” He winked at her as he fished in his jacket pocket for one of his business cards. It read Caleb Sharpe: League Officer | Private Investigative Services in smart, clean lettering, below which his phone number and mailing address were printed in a slightly smaller script.

”If you’re new to the area, I’d be happy to show you around after grabbing lunch one of these days,” He continued sincerely, holding out the card. ”And if you’ve been here for some time, well, then I guess it was simply my own bad luck that prevented me from crossing paths with you before. In any case, what do you say?”

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It was subtle - very subtle - as she was already quite determined to leave him behind, but the way her eyes had widened ever so slightly as she’d read his card…well, it was something else he’d seen before: the desire to avoid police scrutiny. Have something to hide, Miss Wells? His instincts immediately wondered. Then again, the general public tended to pursue a healthy amount of avoidance when it came to the police; he chalked it up to superstitions around running into an officer increasing the likelihood of a parking ticket or minor speeding offense. Nonsense, of course. That wasn’t even his department.

”Please do,” he grinned. ”You’d be dining with Caleb the amateur martial artist who saves women from attacking Wingull, not Caleb the officer, I should add. I do have off days, and I’m not about to investigate every person I meet.” He chuckled, sincere in his attempt at winning her over.

Time to go, you’ve taken up enough of her time now. Don’t be a creep.

”In any case, I’m pleased to have run into you, Miss Wells,” He nodded his head to her in a respectful gesture. ”Do have a nice day.” With that, he turned in the opposite direction and began to walk leisurely back into the heart of the Lilycove Fish Market. His chowder was calling.

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