[attr="class","samjermain"]To say Madeline was jumpy would be an understatement. Sure, she’d checked behind her a dozen times on the way here to make sure nobody was following her. In the sky, her Crobat circled. Its keen eyes swept across the forest around them, looking out for movement. As she crested the next hill, the redhead took a deep breath.

This anxiety stuff wasn’t really her, and she didn’t exactly know how to deal with it. Sure, she knew she could count to ten or whatever, but she doubted that would help for now. And, it wasn’t like she could just ignore her surroundings as she approached 100. So, instead, the ginger tried to convince it away. Look, it’s just a chat. A simple statement of fact that—as most people with anxiety know—did jack all.

In front of her is a small clearing. A few faded red benches and tables are visible from here. “Well—” SHe turns to face the Obstagoon next to her. She’s fully prepared to get her ass slapped in irons. And, maybe, she deserves it. “--let’s get this over with.” Even his blinding smile is more subdued. At some point, there’d been a little shop out here. An old Yuletide tree farm or something. The pine trees are still crowding the tiny shack.

Adjusting the hoody for the fifth time, the masked woman steps into the clearing. A twig snaps behind her. She jumps. ”You there?” The act vanishes. Her voice isn’t the gruff one she often forces. It’s soft, and cultured with a detectable Galarian accent. “Mister Morales?”

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]