The sun is oppressive, unbearable.

It is the type of heat that bakes into one's very bones. To even breathe is to scorch one's lungs. Almost like one has committed some treason or transgression even stepping foot here, some horrible crime that can only by absolved by perdition, the desert itself knows one's soul and doles out punishment according to their deeds as they arrive.

And it is probably deserved, every last one of them. This is an unholy land for forgotten and the wicked. Only those willing to brave hell itself can last.

And she will.

Though it steals away her breath, though beads of sweat dot her forehead, she endures.

A sword is forged under hotter conditions than even this. Who is she, to turn back now, to deny herself the heat of a sun to which she rightfully belongs? It is the symbol of her very homeland, the place where the sun rises.

She will endure. MUST endure.

"As you wish," she responds, the first words she's deigned to speak in what seems like hours.

It is permission to give themselves a break from the sun. Without those words, she seems ready to have ridden onward into the desert again, though the sigh as she finds shade and jumps down from her Rhyhorn reveals that she's secretly grateful for it.

"Let's take a small break here. We can ask the locals if we're headed in the right direction."

She hitches her ride to a nearby post, though it's a mere formality. It would rip it out of the ground easily if it ever had designs to go anywhere. Luckily, there's nowhere here to go but further into the desert.

And with that, she enters the doors, expecting the dog to follow at her heels.

This little gas station in the middle of a sand sea has been around forever. A bar popped up around it. Somewhere along the way, locals from surrounding settlements started frequenting the establishment. It's baked into the landscape more than the rocks, more than the cacti. Those are but temporary things. This rusted metal place will survive forever.[break][break]A dozen eyes turn to look at the newcomers. They're a study in black and white, red and blue. Tall and short, gregarious and reserved. Hitoshi trots at this woman's heels but does not afford her the same respect he would jayden cross , Cillian Quinn , or creator forbid Yumi Hasegawa . She's another of the grunts, someone on his level. One of the lads, like Kouji Matsubara or Ashley Shepard .[break][break]So, needless to say, the dog doesn't wait for her to take initiative. Instead, he walks past her. Up to the man tending the bar. He looks at the short Johtonian with weary eyes, battered by the sun. They ask a wordless question.[break][break]"I'll take some grape soda!" He cheers. Around them is music, cheer, the local flavors.[break][break]The music stops.[break][break]"What?" The bartender is taken aback at first. He's had strange requests before. Men delirious from the desert beg for strange fruits.[break][break]"Grape soda. You got any?"[break][break]"I don't think this is your kind of joint, pal." A man with a ruddy face and a cowboy hat says as he steps up from a poker table. "But your pretty friend can stay." He flashes her a smile like they're in on some little joke together.

There's something innocent in the way he asks, almost like a child. Raw exuberance, not filtered in any way by things such as shame or social expectation. It seems so unfitting for a warrior of this (metaphorical) stature, but his record speaks for itself.

She watches him carefully, hand falling to her hip the moment a man stands up at his table, trained response to the hostility in his voice. Glance flits sideways defiantly in his direction, but she does not return his knowing look. Instead, all she gives him is a slight scowl, feeling the tension in her air as her grasp tightens on the hilt of her sword.

"Oh, really?"

Her tone of voice is almost incredulous, that anyone would dare speak to her so casually.

"In that case, this man is with me. You may sit down and resume your game."

Somehow, she knows it won't be that easy. Nevertheless, she offers him an opportunity to back down.

"Damn." This sheep who thinks himself a wolf says with a grin, revealing two rows of yellowed teeth, like corn gone too long without being picked. "Johto girls really carry around those curved swords? Thought that was just in those cartoons Benny likes."[break][break]
Something in the sheep's tone makes the dog bristle, turning with a hint of danger in his amber eyes. He looks between the she-wolf and the sheep. If he feels uncertain, than the bartender himself is a storm of emotion. The man starts to back away, seeing what is about to happen. A shepherd must know his flock. He knows the creature practically offers himself to her jaws without complaint or awareness.[break][break]
"I got a sword, too. Bigger than his." A rough, weighty hand presses on the she-wolf's shoulders.

As his hand meets her shoulder, the calm, detached look on the woman's face boils away.

A step back and she wrenches her shoulder from his grasp, only to draw her sword in a flash. It's a fraction of a second but there is mechanical efficiency in it, the same single strike she has practiced a hundred thousand times.

It is a strike aimed not to kill, not even to maim; it is a strike aimed as nothing more than a threat.

A wolf merely baring her fangs.

"Unhand me, scum! Do not dare touch your betters!"

Commanding voice fills the bar, calling the attention of everyone who's attention hadn't yet been drawn to the commotion.

"Walk away now and I will not deign to spill your guts!"

Kuro bares her fangs as a wolf, and utters a snarl just as fitting.

At last, the dog interjects. His amber eyes are on the she-wolf. His attention is for her. The bleating sheep and his taunts about the dog’s anatomy are lost on this creature. The words might well have been said to the gas bumps outside. No, he sees the look in her blue eyes. He smells the a smell that ties his stomach in knots. It’s the smell of fresh meat. A blade that has existed in its scabbard since the day it was forged is no blade. It is nothing but an ornament - a beautiful decoration. She doesn’t know it yet, but this moment is the first in a series of concurrent moments that will decide exactly what manner of matter she truly is.[break]
“Could you do it?” He asks as the man’s hand fumbles at his belt. Gun or pokeball, it makes no difference. It’s a weapon. She’ll have to fight.[break]
“Kill him?”

The dog's amber eyes cut into her, sharp as his sword.

Her sword trembles ever so slightly with the thought, and she asks herself that same question.

All this practice. Drawing a sword countless times in preparation for this day. Steps perfected under the light of the sun and moon alike, only the heavens know just how many times she has imagined this day. And yet it lies in imagination. This sword has tasted blood, yes, but never a fresh kill.

All her posturing has been just that, to this day.

A flash of silver is her answer.

A step forward. A strike with a turned blade, meant to knock away his arm with the flat of her blade. She denies her sword its sole purpose, a tool made only to cut. With momentum, she raises a heeled boot and shoves it into his chest til it penetrates skin, pushing him away with all her strength with a shout.

"Why should I stain my blade with the blood of a lowlife?"

She stares at the man in a ready stance, speaking to the dog as if her target were not even there. Only then does she acknowledge the others in the bar also reaching for their hips.

"Worry not. When the time comes I shall do what is necessary."

She returns an answer to his questions with a fierce look.

Sheer willpower, that's all it would take. His questions do not disrupt the resolve in her eyes.

Still, the notion that she's been understood by this man with a single swing of her blade puts a bitter taste in her mouth. His criticism, patronizing tone, it all congeals into a barely contained rage boiling just under the surface.

If it came to it, she would do anything to preserve her honor.

"Killing unnecessary targets is not within our purview, Inoue."

The she-wolf scans the bar, eyeing the men who are reaching for their hips. They wait, wondering whether to open themselves to her reproach, for she is the only one among them willing to exercise restraint. The dog hungers for the taste of blood.

"Uhuh?" Whether or not he believes her, the result is the same. Scooting down, a boot on the stranger's chest, the dog draws out a photo. Flashing it down at the man, he asks a simple question.[break]
"Hey there. You seen this guy anywhere?" Their sheep shakes his head. Sighing, the dog stands up. Turning to the rest of the bar, he holds the picture around. Those that remain scan the man. Davey Mike. An unfortunate name. Two first names is bad luck.[break]
"I seen him." One of them finally says, an act of bravery worthy of a medal. Hitoshi turns his whole body towards the man, trotting up to him and smiling.[break][break]
"Oh yeah? Where?"[break]
"Agate Village." His answer is given swiftly, without hesitation and only a hint of derision. The dog seems to sniff the air, as if that might tell him if the man speaks the truth. The truth is not forthcoming, but the man meets the dog's amber eyes.[break]
"What's he doing there?"[break]
"Raising Miltank and Tauros, I expect. If nothin' else, man with a face like that would make a fine scarecrow."[break]
"What do you think?" He asks his partner in crime, the question asked flat. No joy or anger. Just trying to gather facts.

Kuro's sword remains trained on the bar's patrons, threatening violence if they do not comply with the dog's questions.

"A rancher with a fair complexion such as that would stand out indeed."

The man in the photo not yet worn by the damage of sun or time. He might have already begun his journey on that weathered look, but it takes a lifetime of toil for the harshness of the sun to change a man. If he was indeed a rancher now, it was only an attempt to strike a new life on the frontier. He couldn't blend in with the lifetime ranchers around Agate.

Kuro's eyes watch the man with the cowardice to spill his guts. She examines him closely, searching for tells of a lie. A bead of sweat. Flaring nostrils. Dilated eyes. How much do these tells differ from the fear of being bitten by a rabid mutt?

A moment's pause, and Kuro sheathes her sword.

It is again denied its purpose, denied taking another's life.

"There are few watering holes in the desert. Pray we need not return to this one, if the information you have provided turns out to be false."

"Wait a minute." One of the other patrons puts in as a dog sniffs the soiled sheep for the scent of a liar. "Agate...that's the town with all that trouble recently, right? All those guys chasin' after-" Realization dawns in the stranger's eyes. "You two are from Hoenn, aren't you? Trying to collect on that reward?"[break][break]
Standing up, the dog cocks an eyebrow. Like a good pet, he hadn't been thinking about rewards. This was just a job for him. Another notch in the belt. More glory for Yumi.[break][break]
"Not from there, but yeah. That's where we got this job." Groans are all he's given in return for the words.[break][break]
"Arceus, you two have plenty of competition. Your boy's there with his grandpa. His grandpa's the town sheriff. An old ace trainer from Unova. Seems like he pissed off some girls from Hoenn and they put a bounty on him."[break][break]
"Bounty?" The dog is confused. Looking to his partner, he stands up and proceeds to ignore the humans. Stepping outside, he thinks it's time to make a phone call.[break][break]
This just got complicated.