He’d seen the charity drive in passing earlier when he’d walked by on his way over to the gallery to pick up some paperwork he’d forgotten the day prior. Unsure of what it was for exactly, he hadn’t stopped to observe the function until he was wandering back home. And by that time, the crowd had swelled up around the initial group. Enough so that Lam had to scoot to the side to see better.

Which somehow proved to be the incorrect spot to stand because it inadvertently grafted him into the group of nearby people offering up time to volunteer their help. And he must’ve been looking casual enough, standing there without a single item to donate, that he fit the part of eager helper.

It wasn’t a terrible fate so much as an unexpected one. And in the grand scheme of things, Lam figured there were worse things he could be doing with his time–the paperwork he’d left home to pick up, for example. It could wait until later.

If anything, he felt he might’ve looked a bit out of place among the group–all dancers, and remarkably fit. And then there’s him, with his skinny frame decked in paint splattered clothes from a project he’d been working on earlier–too lazy to bother changing because he thought he wouldn’t be out long. He’s certainly not fitting the bill of what the troupe offers, but if he’s just managing their raffle slips, how bad can it be?

symon blessing seems nice anyway–helpful in the way he instructs Lam on the process, which seems straightforward enough. He plops himself in a seat beside him, nodding. “Got it, that makes sense. Have people really been trying to donate all that?” His head tilts curiously as he glances over briefly, then turns his attention back to someone who’s already handed over their items and is working at scribbling down their information on the little pieces of paper.

“Seem pretty popular to be getting all this attention. What sort of dancing do you do?” It’s just making polite conversation in his mind. He hasn’t figured out the specifics, just that it’s a dance troupe, so…some sort of specialty, right?

Yeah, Sy wasn’t really paying attention to who was actually volunteering or not. He just sort of wanted to think that everyone was here out of the goodness of their heart and ready to get to work.

“Yeah, the problem with adding a reward is some people geeeet desperate,” he says, punctuating this last word with a powerful nod. “We’ve had people try and give us just straight-up spoiled stuff.”

He watched Lam get down to business, and he did the same; the line in front of them split into two prongs.

“We do a revue show. Friday and Saturday nights at the Lilycove Mall.” Tally, tally, tally, line, line line. “Our Halloween season is coming up, actually. Our theme is ‘sexy slashers’.” He checked to make sure none of the rest of the boys were listening, then said, “Not my first choice.”

“Ha, yeah. That’s fair, must be some reward then, if it’s worth the corner cutting.” He could suffer through some broken jars or holey socks, though. This was his good deed of the day, and he felt pretty nice about that. Though telling people a disappointing no was not exactly his strong suit.

Oh ohhhhh. A revue show. That sorta…made a bit more sense now— what with the abundance of strong physiques and the crowds eager to get their slips in just for a chance to win time. Clearly they were talented enough to warrant the popularity. “Just there at the mall, or do you travel as well?” It was an innocent question, though one that prompted a belated tinge of red on the tip of his nose.

Now he sounded about as enthusiastic as the rest of the items donors. Which was not…his intention. But maybe Symon was used to that sort of reaction, and Lam could gloss it over without being overly awkward and flustered? Maybe??

Lam’s nose wrinkled a bit at the theme, then huffed out a laugh. “Outvoted, huh? Can’t say I blame you, sounds morbid.” In sync with the hush, his own voice had lowered. His eyes followed Sy’s movement, glancing back over his shoulder at the rest of the crew fast at work. “What was your suggestion, then?”

As he asked, a newcomer stepped up, handing over their things. So his sidelong glances were made between careful inspection of some old band t-shirts that were probably too worn to be very warm, but also not so ruined they were unusable.

Sy grins, nose wrinkling in the movement. Here he was caught at an impasse: he could be humble and downplay the truth of the thing, which was that he (and his friends) were all very attractive and spending time with them was an equally as attractive reward… or, he could lean into it, jump in head first, knocking his ego out of the fucking park and beaming in its starlight trail.

“What can I say,” he says, instead, opting for a middle ground that he hopes doesn’t come off crass, “sex sells. Or, in this case, the vaguest concept of it.”

He can watch Lam’s eyes bounce from bicep to bicep as the truth sets in, and to his credit, he doesn’t push back and excuse himself immediately. That was a good sign. Generally, people tended to fall along a very black-and-white field when it came to Sy and his profession. The obvious one, at least. He didn’t really go around advertising the escorting and occasional prostitution.

“We’ve done road shows before!” he said, voice gentle at the slight but insistent blush that was scooching across Lam’s face. “But our home base is the mall.” Tally, tally, tally, tally, slice, ticket. “Actually we did a lot of traveling before the mall picked up our contract.” That nose-wrinkling grin came back. “It’s a good hook for tourist moms on vacation.”

He looked down at Lam with a conspiratorial grin and a gleam in his eye. “I wanted to do classic horror stories, like Frankenstein, but I guess it wasn’t scary enough.” Tally, tally, tally.

“Those are good,” he said in a gentle aside, barely above a whisper, at Lam’s hesitation, still smiling, still warm.

“You’re not wrong, I guess,” Lam answers with a slight incline of his head. “Concepts leave things to the imagination, I figure?” He could take the whole flattery route, the if you’ve got it, flaunt it tack, but it's more likely he’ll just bumble his way through.

He could’ve heaved a sigh of relief when Symon chooses to humor his question rather than tease him for it. It’s not that Lam can’t handle a bit of teasing. More that he’ll get flustered, and probably say some stupid, embarrassing shit when he’s just trying to vibe and help out. And frankly, Lam knows so few people in Slateport, let alone in Hoenn that he’s not really keen on looking like an idiot more than he probably already does for getting pulled in with the volunteers by mistake. SO!!

Some of the color simmers on his face, fading though it’s persistent on the tip of his nose. “Must be nice, though. To not have to constantly travel.” He busies himself with stuffing rogue slips that have been filled out into the tally box. One, two, three, four. He can’t help the quiet bark of laughter. “Yeah, bet it pairs well with wine ‘o clock.”

Lam hums, squinting and nose wrinkling in a dumb little expression of thought. Then the bright green of his eyes dart back to Sy as he holds out a slip for the most recent donor to fill out. “Does it need to be scary, though? Spooky probably works fine, yannow? Scaring isn’t really the focus of the show, after all.” he shrugs, ignoring the way he manages to continue walking himself into potentially embarrassing statements.

“Oh, rad.” His own smile is an echo of the other’s, and he takes the shirts and hands out yet another slip. Busies himself with refolding them into a neat stack after unfolding them all. “What do you do for fun then, when you’re not busy giving vodka aunts heatstroke?” he asks then, in mild tease.

“Ha, yeah. Must be a major confidence boost, I’m sure.” And nothin’ wrong with that, right? It seemed like a welcome thing to have one’s ego padded here and there.

Finally, finally his sense of embarrassed awkwardness began to peter out. Which was a relief given the fact that Lam wasn’t typically the easily flustered sort. He was mellow and preferred to just vibe. And Symon was cool so he would continue to hang.

Maybe it was because his footing felt a bit strange in Hoenn. New enough to not know many people, and definitely not be aware of much of what was going on at the grander scale. But he’d been here just long enough to get cut off from the outside world via the dome, so…did he have much of an excuse?

“That sounds nice. I haven’t visited Lilycove yet, but I think from what I’ve heard it would probably remind me of my own hometown a bit.” Lam looked over, lopsided smile brightening his expression as he shrugged. “Alolan.” Maybe it would be nice to visit–combat a little of the homesickness that struck him from time to time.

A huff of laughter slipped loose. “Can’t imagine how loud those get.” A bunch of rowdy bachelorettes laughing and shrieking? It sounded like something he wouldn’t invite on himself in a million years, but it was funny to consider. Green eyes narrowed as he hummed. “Mmm, does it though? Can’t say I’ve ever looked at Michael Myers and thought ‘oh that’s hot.’” Another dumb giggle escaped him. To each their own?

Lam was pleased with the laugh he earned–it felt a little more like his nerves were mellowing out. “Sounds like you prefer to keep a busy schedule.” Lam was way, wayyyy too lazy for that level of consistency. “Mostly, I paint. Oh! And bird watch.”

He shrugged again, slouching in his chair and then shifting inward a bit to better look at Sy during a lull between donors bringing items to the table. “Also a habitual smoker if you can call that a hobby.” He grinned wider, the smile lazy and apathetic to the potential of disapproval.

But if he was on the money in his impressions, Sy was chill.

Hoenn was definitely… a struggle for a lot of people. From the way it oscillated wildly between weird, pseudo-cataclismic destruction and mundane, everyday life, it threw a lot of newcomers off-balance.

The only reason Sy was so capable of keeping his footing was because he’d lived here his whole life-- but he knew a lot of people much more cultured than himself that struggled with Hoenn (he thinks of luciano fisk , off the top of his head).

“Oh, you’re from Alola?” Sy asked. “I’ve never been. But Lilycove is beachy, and touristy. So if those two things remind you of home, you gotta visit.”

Loud and shrieky was basically the description of most of Symon (and the revue’s) clientele. “Loud and giggly and constantly craving french fries,” he said on a laugh, confirming Lam’s assumptions as correct.

“Me either. But, like I said, wasn’t my idea.” He shrugged, pulling over a folding chair as the crowd slowly began to disperse. Soon they’d just have to pack everything in boxes and take it to the donation center.

“I… like being comfortable,” Sy confessed, like it was a weakness. “I didn’t have a lot of support when I left home so I got used to working a lot and I guess that never stopped.” No support was more like it, but, that was trauma dumping for another time.

Sy wondered what it was about him that seemed to… attract was the wrong word. Draw? Magnetize? Pull him into the orbit of artists? Talia Celes and Luci and his other friends. All artists of a kind. And then there was him, the most unartistic person in the whole world. Distantly he wondered why he thought of Talia’s dancing as art and not his own, but the fragment was quickly forgotten.

“Do you paint birds?” he asked, half a joke, half a genuine question.

“Yep! Hau’oli. Which…is beachy and touristy, so it sounds pretty on brand.” He stretched his arms up above his head, using the back of the chair to stretch out his spine. Then he flopped back into place with all the imagery of a lazy, sunning cat. “Sounds like I’ve got no choice but to visit, then.”

A grin tugged across his mouth. “Loud, but hey–at least they’re reliable fans.” He couldn’t quite imagine being fawned over so avidly, but it must’ve been appealing enough to keep at it.

“Fair enough,” he replied with a shrug of his own, “Coulda done something like Backstreet’s Back, y’know?” Lam let out a breezy little laugh before pausing, head tilting and glance drifting to the side in thought. “Though I guess using slashers would be like…an interesting revisioning.” Obviously that wasn’t his call, he was just rambling at that point.

It seemed to be dying down by that point, with fewer donors coming up to the tables to drop things off. The rush had put their tallies in and been on their way. Likely hoping for that winning call now. But Lam was content to sit right there until it was time to gather everything up.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Lam answered simply, even if constantly working or moving was not his own idea of comfort. He’d much rather just sit in place, or stretch out and doze. “If it’s what you prefer, then you should do that. It’s a lot, being out on your own.” He almost asked about that lack of support, naturally empathetic toward it, but refrained. Figured it was a bit too nosy of him to press.

Lam leaned forward, eyes wide in false surprise, “How did you know?” Another laugh tumbled loose and Lam shook his head. “It’s a common subject, but not exclusive.”

“I could show you around,” Sy offered, “take you to the less touristy tourist spots.” There was no escaping it completely, in Lilycove. The tourism was in the air, like Galarian smog. But he had his secrets, having grown up there.

The topic spins back to the show. His show. The more he talks about it the more he regrets turning it into an oligarchy. But it kept the peace, he supposed, and if it meant everyone got along, performed well, and earned a paycheck, he could swallow his pride a little. “Check back in December when we do our Christmas show,” he said, with a snort, “and I’ll let you know how it panned out.”

The business was booming, actually. A lot of people were getting hitched or being otherwise fiscally irresponsible with their money, what with the end of the world looming. It meant a lot of bachelorettes and a lot of generally curious people. It seemed the impending apocalypse could rattle even the god-fearing down-homers dug into Lilycove.

He leans back in his chair as the crowd continues to thin. Some of the boys are beginning to pack up boxes, fold tables and chairs.

“I dated an artist, once,” he says, adding, “however briefly. I’ve got an eye for these things.” His smile is big and the sarcasm in his voice, the faux-pride, is tangible.

“What else do you like to paint?”

“Oh yeah, I’d be down!” Lam nodded, grinning over at him. “Bet you know all the good places.” If it was anything like Hau’oli, he could relate. As touristy as it could be, the locals knew where to frequent – usually depending on the time of year as well. It would be nice, though, to not have to wander aimlessly.

Maybe he could even persuade Ikarus Rook to come along, though his boyfriend seemed pretty allergic to anything overtly warm-weathered and beachy.

He didn’t necessarily mean to sow discontent for Symon in regard to his show. If he realized that it was a bit of a tricky spot, he likely would’ve dropped it. But leave it to him to not pick up any hints. Still, at least they were able to laugh about the subject, good-naturedly. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. If this is any indication,” he gestured at the diminishing lines and all of the totes of donated items, “Christmas is bound to be a hit too.”

And probably way easier to plan for, theme-wise.

Kind of impressive that Symon could build something so lucrative. He was way more successful than Lam was vocationally, at present. Though that was a sore spot he wasn’t about to unload on the other man. As the crowds began to disperse, Lam idly began neatening the items up at their own booth. Just force of habit more than anything else. “Oh yeah?” he glanced over with a laugh as he played along, “guess you must know how to pick a brooding artist right out of a crowd then, huh?” Not that Lam would really consider himself brooding–he was too laid back for that. Maybe on occasion, but not often.

“I like to do all sorts of stuff, though. Landscapes, maybe some abstract. I think it’s more about getting the mood right, rather than the content.” He paused for a moment, then, gestured at the others who were packing up, “Should we?”