Elisabeth's white dress and braids of white lilies, accompanied by her Shaymin, was stunning, even when the water dripped from the sides of her blouse, most likely from being dunked into the water. It was the single, solitary dent in an otherwise elegant getup.

In contrast, she did not give off the energy of demureness that the lilies in her hair suggested, but a swordsman in full plate armour. Callan did not see this when he was delivering eggs with her.

Callan smiled in response, feeling the hairs on his neck prick upwards. He believed it, he wagered a good twenty seconds before they would ask for a photo. A trained force of habit to look directly forwards, else attract attention.

"It's good to see you again" The last time they had met, it was in the grand casino's opening, and only in passing. Outside the professionalism and the comfort that a dedicated task gave him, Callan seemed to pulse with an undercurrent of impulsivity.

"Care to join me for a drink?" He asked, offering an arm to the Petalburg resident. Regardless, he would begin to walk, otherwise invoke the need for photographs. That would take another ten minutes, and have Elisabeth caught in the crossfire.

"My endless need for any form of love is part of why the career is appealing." Callan admitted, chuckling, "But I think it can be too much, especially when I'm trying to catch up with someone." Fans were not the worst, the worst were the vultures that hounded, and nipped at his heels for any scent of a scandal.

So far, they didn't seem to be here yet.

"I'm guessing you're here for the festivities, but how've you been?" Callan asked, red eyes moving towards her.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

"Perhaps it'll be mediocre, rather than bottom of the barrel." Callan replied with a smile and a veil of nonchalance. His eyes trained at the oncoming crowd, who had, for better or for worse, gathered around the two.

In truth, Callan liked it, having spent decades under the gentle indifference of the world, being able to walk a street and having eyes pull a double take in realization before a smile was a gift. That did not however, mask its downsides, the subtle comfort of being able to sit somewhere and wallow was a luxury he could no longer afford.

"Yeah," He admitted, briefly looking back towards her, then down to the Shaymin, "All the stalking, hate mail, hit pieces, it can be a bit much. But everything becomes worth it once you go on stage and see faces light up. I've made something, it exists around the world, and on stage, I can share what I love to people who love it as much as I do." There was something he was missing, and it gnawed at the nape of his neck, a certain dispassion for it that seeped beyond the superficial.

"And also," Callan smiled, though no humour was present in it, "that our best laid plan is send it into an alternate universe that houses millions of innocent people."

A single street later, they stand just outside a tiny bar, on the ground floor of an old, renovated building. Sandwiched between two apartment blocks. There is a hum of background trumpets over a staccato of gentle high hats. Lit with blue and orange, this jazz bar was local haunt for Callan. The crowd is outside, the lights of Splashfest echo outwards against this corner, but a single step into its place and the door shuts behind them cutting off the indignant crowd. The bouncer made sure of that.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, I'd rather talk to you as I am." Callan replied, seating down on a stool by the bar, his eyes turn her with furtive curiosity. "Out of interest, how does the madding crowd make you feel?" He began, "I get the impression it's not your first time."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Callan chuckled, "I get the sense that whatever press you're thinking of entertains you at some level." As the bartender came over to take their orders, Callan ordered an espresso martini with a chilli garnish. His eyes trail briefly over to her Shaymin, then back to her own eyes, he had so many questions, but they had plenty of time.

A fascinating woman. "Cheers." He offered, lifting his glass up to hers to clink. There is a familiar itch burning in his lungs for a smoke after the first sip, but he recalled, vaguely, that she did not particularly enjoy the sight of him smoking, and so he refrained for now.

Callan had never thought about it in such a way, perhaps he did want to leave a mark on the world. But that was a more existential way of putting it than he thought, the idea of being swallowed by eternity, of having the past and future of him being completely sunk into the nether, was not particularly appealing.

But it was slightly more personal, "On the whole... yes, it is nice, to be remembered, to be the object of desire by many people, even as a caricature." Callan began, his eyes glance briefly into his martini glass as he takes a sip of the coffee cocktail. "But I think what really drives me is being forgotten by certain people." He paused, and decided to open up, "I have a daughter in Unova right now. You recall the marriage I spoke to you about at your flower shop?" Arceus, he really wanted a smoke.

"My daughter and ex-wife are in Unova right now. I'm still here." Callan began, "I won't be able to visit them until it's over. If I visit them. So I get on stage, I make headlines." I prove to her I'm better off now. I make my daughter miss me. The words do not slide out of his mouth, but these bitter thoughts almost do. Something about Elisabeth made it very easy to talk to her, perhaps it was a genuine interest?

No, she was trained, and well skilled in this. And he didn't mind at all sharing a life story, it had no consequence, save perhaps a genuine connection. Or a falsehood as shimmering as a real one.

Callan raised an eyebrow at her query. "I imagine it'd be doubly depressing I can't go on vacation there." Callan replied, vaguely entertained by the thought of jumping into a charnel house of an entire country of hedonistic excess. Then, he remembered he was a father. "Mm... I think there's only degrees of innocence." Callan replied. "Don't get me wrong, I'd rather it be them than us. And I don't think people are all that different from each other, on a fundamental level. There are variances in skill, ethnicity, culture, sex, norms, sure. But I do hope for an alternative, even if it means a war comes to us."

Judging by the way she near downed her glass of alcohol, he imagined that whatever she was trying to hold was something she preferred to repress. Tension in the air, he knows the look, the action. The immediate need for a sensation to force the cerebral cortex from firing a memory synapse into something you'd rather not look back into. Still... he didn't need to poke, but he wanted to know.

"It sounds like you've had a hard past." Callan replied, his voice a tad softer. He called for the bartender over, asking for a refill on Elisabeth's mostly gone Mojito. The bartender slides an extra, once the both of them were done with their drinks. Callan slowly shifts his attention to her Shaymin, a hand cautious moves over its tufts of green grass as it tries to find the fur underneath to scratch. "Would you care to share?"

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Callan tapers off briefly as her eyes narrow. He had enjoyed their time together so far, and didn't wish for it to turn sour, so he decided to not press on. Regardless, however, it seemed that Elisabeth decided to respond. Callan sipped his Martini as he listened. "I see." He replied, deigning not to press on with this line of questioning. "Then I stand corrected."

As she continued, Callan takes the chilli garnish from his cocktail and chewed on it. "I can agree with part of that." Callan replied, "But having something that is unattainable is also a part of life's charm. It makes you treasure the moments where normally you'd feel nothing for." It was dark, and he tried not to think about it in the same way she did.

"It's just the daughter." Callan's expression grew wistful, "I do too. Thank you dear."

A lull of silence, broken only by the clink of a second cocktail being slid towards Callan. As it slid, Callan caught it, just before it reached green tufts of grass. His eyes moved towards the creature, and it was absolutely without a mistake, a Shaymin. "This is a Shaymin." He aptly spoke, his flat speech. He felt, at the very least, that he should be astonished, but he was still struggling to comprehend the fact that it was not his eyes playing tricks on him.

"How on Earth did you come by capturing one?"

Elisabeth Fiorelli

"Oh it is." Callan nods, his gaze turns distant for a moment, focusing far past Elizabeth's green eyes as he remembers flecks of dark brown hair with streaks of white. "It's also a lifechanging decision. I had so much more inside of me, once she was born." And of course, that feeling of being ripped away, replaced, forgotten, was still there. But part of him was comforted by knowing that she was at the very least safe in Unova.

"Oh, touched a nerve." Callan commented, his voice calm, but his eyes widened slightly in surprise. Should have asked for consent, or would it be more willing if he had let it smell his hand? Was Shaymin a dog, or more sentient than human? "Sorry Titania." He smiled, before putting his hand into his pocket and unfolding what seemed to be a small packet of mint gummies, placing a yellow colored one on the table. "Peace offering." A Sitrus Berry gummy for the mythical creature.

Callan shook his head at her mention of Gracidea flowers. "Not so much, I'm afraid, only that they're used for... gratitude, yes?"

Elisabeth Fiorelli

"It's definitely a decision that should be consciously weighted. Though if you ask me, you'd be much better at it than most people I know who raise chidren. The poorest parents are those who don't consider their responsibilities, or the lives of their children when they have them."

Callan on his part, was glad he was not going to become compost by accidentally aggravating the Shaymin. Adorable or not, Pokemon were lethal creatures, and he knew very well the dangers that came along with the handling of such Pokemon. "Very relatable." Callan answered, the slight quiver in his tone died to return to the subdued pitch of casual conversation. And he became more focused on listening to Elisabeth speak on her passions, rather than to interject directly.

He could believe it, a flower that was governed by emotion. Perhaps it would have been a lovelier gift that roses, although it seemed as if such a flower was extraordinarily difficult to come by. Callan's eyes looked towards the flower, as he gently held the step with is index and thumb staring into it. Pink, fading into a yellow with a cream white center, with 6 stamen pointing outwards parallel with the petals. "It's beautiful." He commented, staring into it as he twirled it between his fingers.

"I wish I were there to see it, being able to visit a place of significance to Shaymin? It sounds almost like a sacred experience." Callan spoke, he had long since put himself as another member of the ordinary public, but recent events of the traumatic and the bizarre of altered his perception. "That was a special moment, and one shared only by you and Titania." And that much, he could understand, and before he realized it he had found himself smiling.

Callan's eyes drew back towards Elisabeth, "Hm? Oh," Callan had to take a moment to pause and think about things he was genuinely grateful for. The crowds, his musical talent, his Pokemon, his natural ability, perhaps, but all of these things, when he wanted to put them out into his sentence, came out hollow. Of course those were things he wanted to say, but at the same time, he fished for something he wanted to say, and felt it click in his body.

"There's a quote that I've read in a book before." Callan began, funnelling the pages in his mind as his eyes grew distant, before returning too the present. "'Things will get better again. and then it will get worse again. Then better. This is life, and I will not lie by saying every day will be sunshine. But there will be sunshine again, and that is a very different thing to say. That is truth." Callan paused, "I think that saying has gotten me through some very difficult times, there's a certain comfort in that. That at the end of the day, no matter what happens to you, no matter the outcome of everything, as long as you're not dead, you'll be able to feel good things again one day." Perhaps a tad existential, so maybe a more concrete example.

"But right now, how about a good conversationalist?" Callan raised his glass to clink with hers. "And you? What were your answers, that allowed you to bloom this magnificent flower?"

Elisabeth Fiorelli