[attr="class","samjermain"]On her third pass, Lydia encountered a group of Rocket medics. They were on their way to deliver supplies to a nearby base. Fortunately, the doctors were not foolish enough to put up a fight. One look at her gun and Minerva’s wrinkled muzzle brought them to the floor. Surprisingly gentle in her orders, the blonde bound and guided them back to HQ. Once the hostages were properly secured, the blonde reentered the caves.

People needed those supplies—regardless of which side they were on. As she rounded a corner, a growl from her Lycanroc made Lydia pause. A hand dropped to the gun at her side as she pressed closer to the wall. Lifting a finger for silence, she sidled along the wall until she could view the cavern. From her vantage point, she saw Gideon bent over the boxes—obviously injured. Returning the safety on her firearm, Lydia and Minerva moved into the cave proper. Commercials for the museum played through her mind. Interviews with its curator flashed through her mind.

She coughed to make her presence known, hoping not to add a heart attack on top of this man’s other woes. “Excuse me, sir.” As always her voice was chill with clear enunciation. Her back and posture were perfectly straight, resembling something militaristic. “I'm not sure those swabs will be enough.” A hand reached up to remove her helmet, hoping to be less intimidating. Though, at just five-foot tall with the build of a muscular porcelain doll, that was rarely a problem. “There is a checkpoint ahead.” The alcohol swabs drew her attention. “Treating yourself there would likely be more…sanitary.”

For her part, Minerva approaches the dark-haired man. Injured or not, her bright blue eyes stare at him with piercing intent. She sniffs the air around him, nose wrinkling at the stinging scent of alcohol.

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[attr="class","samjermain"]With her head finally free from the helmet, Lydia could not resist a sign of relief. Sweaty strands of blonde hair curled around her face, the smell of her own breath all-encompassing. A deep breath went a long way to clearing some of the paranoia that’d wormed its way beneath her armor. When she turned to Gideon, she tried her best to be comforting. The smile that followed—strained—was her attempt at a soft expression,

A nod followed. “I am.” Though not officially affiliated with the League—nor an officer—she was certainly not Rocket. From her vest, she produced an identification card. This she presented to him as a way of introduction. “Former military—Kanto.” Settling her helmet against her hip, the blonde approached the museum curator. “And your skepticism is warranted. Monsters do not wear uniforms.” Pale pink lips pressed into a thin line. Without the visor between them, the extent of the man’s injuries became more apparent.

“I can see that.” While she herself suffered some injuries, most of them were unseen. Bruised ribs supported by her vest and a brace, for instance. Blue eyes swept over the first aid supplies. Though Lydia would not call herself skilled, she believed she could enable him to get to the checkpoint. She gestured to the most stained, torn part of his clothing. “May I have a look, sir?”

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[attr="class","samjermain"]Once the cursory examanition ended, Lydia returned the ID card to the front pocket of her vest. The sound of metal came from that pocket. A thin chain of steel pulled out as she placed the plastic against her chest. For a moment, dog tags became visible. 

After receiving an affirmative, Lydia moved forward to gently pull the man’s shirt up over his ribs. Already, bruises were forming along his ribs—some purpled by under the skin hemorhaging. Judging by the way he was breathing—like he was continuously being shanked—the soldier theorized one of them might be broken. “I do not think it’s fatal.” Lydia murmured, gently ghosting a thumb over a scrape.

Her cheeks colored ever so slightly.

While paid to take these supplies back to base camp, it seemed stupid to do so without using them for their intended purpose. “I’ll help you clean them.” With the extradimensional spores in the air tonight, Lydia did not want to leave open wounds exposed. Tearing into another swab, she quickly worked her way across his torso. Once satisfied with this, she applied waterproof bandages.


“There is not much we can do for the ribs.” She rattled through the nearest crate, emerging with a bottle of high-powered painkillers. “Try these.” With no water source around, she offered him her own water bottle. “It should take the edge off.”


While doing that, she gave him an up-and-down evaluation. “Do you have a transport Pokemon?” While she had two—three if you countered her mysterious ghoulish savor--the means of conveyance would not be particularly graceful. Not unless he enjoyed be carried bridal style.

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[attr="class","samjermain"]Unsure how to quell the pain—or how to do so without embarrassing the man—Lydia pretended not to notice it. Doll-like fingers ghosted over the lower injuries before shifting to the upper ones. At these, her lips pressed into a thin line. Intent on her tasks, she ignored the hisses of alcohol on skin.


Blue eyes narrowed slightly, pausing on a particularly long scratch across his scratch. “You seem to have taken quite the beating, sir.” Left unsasked was what had brought the attack about. While she doubted this man could do much in his current state, Lydia would not turn her back on a so-called civilian again. Doing so earlier had left her face scratched and dripping venom.


“For most people, yes.” The blonde murmured at Gideon’s expression of relief. Her mind turned briefly to her earlier talks with Elaine as she finished. What kind of cloud was this good news wrapped around? An honorable life? Deserved violence on a coward. But she was no jury—merely a soldier with orders. At the thanks, she held u a now-bloodied sign for pause. “No thanks are necessary.” The blonde murmured. “Kindness and mercy are what Arceus requests of us all.” Though, deep down, she admitted to this night not being very merciful.


She took back the canteen. Her eyes flickered to another ajar box--likely raided after the earlier battle. "If there is enough wrap, I'd use it." Her own chest was currently supported by a mixture of underwire, gauze, and bandages.

At his answer, the blonde nodded. “I would do that.” She smiled slightly, trying to defuse the situation. A Gallade appeared at her side, his red eyes cold. Seeing no one to fight, the psychic-type seemed to deflate. “Unless you want Hermes to carry you.” Judging by the Pokemon’s expression, he did not enjoy the idea. If rejected, he would be charged with gathering the supplies. “I would keep it quadrupedal—and short. There is not a lot of clearance.” A fact which made her stature useful.




She took back the canteen.

“How did you get down here?” Another refugee stuck wandering the tunnels? Perhaps an escort gone wrong? The sudden falling of rocks drew the blonde’s eyes upward, gun cocked and loaded. 

A Sableye grinned.

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