somehow, they knew waking up was a bad idea.

nothing was exceptionally different. just the same procedures and protocols that they droned on about in the event of an emergency. exits are there. try to avoid breaking windows. leave your things behind. avoid confrontation unless absolutely necessary. barricade yourself inside with the furniture until rescue teams could arrive. whatever. the thought occurs briefly that they wouldn't really need to hear these more than once a year if the league stopped painting a target on the doors of a building that was mostly civilians.

it never really feels like they're the ones who suffer for it. no one likes to hear that.

adele idly picks at their cuticles.

their pinky bleeds a little.

it's always going to be people like them. them, and this spunky little ranger trying her best to engage patent indifference to keep them up to date. a few weeks ago, it'd been fires. last tuesday, it'd been about floods and tsunamis. yesterday, earthquakes. every eventuality was possible when you co-existed with little monsters that could reshape the earth they stood on as they knew it. monsters is thought with just a touch of fondness, still. it's fine. an hour-long seminar about safety was doable.

what wasn't is being called upon for a demonstration.

adele glances up slowly, staring down robin's index finger like it was the barrel end of a gun. "volunteers are—" voluntary, as is implied in the word. don't sigh. don't make it obvious. they step out of the crowd and shuffle towards the center of the room at her invitation. pokeballs click together as they settle in and they pluck one after another off their snap locks. upon release, each look to their owner, then back to the stranger girl beside them. "alright, now what?"

robin coello

well, they don't know anything about instinct.

"adele," to fill in the blanks.

it’s hard to not imagine the disappointment. a chatot with an attitude problem, a psyduck that never really seemed to know what was happening and a gastly that was more judgmental than she was anything else—they weren't exactly an impressive bunch to be working with. any skills that they might've had were beyond adele's knowledge. they'd grown a bit every so often when they dropped them off at the daycare when they passed through verdanturf, but it wasn't exactly a convenient day trip from ever grande.

they weren't much of battlers as much as they were pets and adele, likewise, wasn't much of a trainer.

a part of them feels just the tiniest bit bad.

anyone would've hoped for something more. helpful, to illustrate the point. most people who worked here had some vague interest in this, didn't they? "mm, i don't know about that." they jerked a thumb in luce's direction and the psyduck blinks one eye after the other, still working on puzzling out just exactly what he was doing here. he picks his beak when it looks like he decides he doesn't care after all. "he doesn't have a whole lot going on in there." but, sure, to her point: luce could theoretically use confusion or something.

he's definitely had enough headaches where their back ended up cracking the drywall.

as for their chatot? adele bites down on their tongue to resist the urge to say nothing and look uncooperative.

but, really:

"i don't, uh. know? i guess he could pull on your hair."

or. um.

"he can sing, maybe." he had an awful voice, but adone undeniably had the confidence. chiara cackles with delight. but, at the prompt sing, the chatot preens with excitement and opens his beak, cheekily sing-screeching at the top of his lungs. adele stares back at robin, level expression without falter as they vaguely gesture to their show bird with a bland flourish. "then, you'd fall asleep, or—" "twwiIiNKlKLEEE, TWINKLE LITTLE STaaaARAARRRR!" "—go blind."

robin coello

bless her heart, she was trying.

it might've been condescending to say out loud. maybe they should've asked to borrow someone else's. their hand falls aback, resting at the space between their shoulder and their neck as robin works to find another reason. any reason to let this charade go on. "um, would it be easier for me to just—" adele vaguely gestures between themself and the crowd of on-lookers, who were equal parts entertained by the clumsiness of the presentation and irritated to see how long it was going on because they'd been less than helpful.

"a? heist?"

the corners of their lips twitch. "that's not really," what anyone here's actually worried about. "you're joking." they didn't put a lot of stock in any of the security around. but, between the league proper and the able trainers that were, the implication here is that they were worried that some rank-and-file were going to be subject to—what? thugs that were going to come in and crack their heads on the tile? they bite their tongue harder.

everyone's just—

it's not her fault, a voice gently reminds.

but, this is just the problem with everything, another balks, and their lips press into a tight seam. no one ever tells them anything until it happens. so, no one takes it seriously until they're staring dead-eyed at the five o'clock news, trying to figure out where the hell that they're supposed to run or if it's just another catastrophe they need to avert their attention from for peace of mind.

their gaze flicks away. hand ruffles through their hair. don't ask the question you actually want to. "um, i don't know. punch them. find the heaviest thing i can grab and hit them with it." sure. why not. "run?"

robin coello

the answer is satisfactory to the ranger at least.

adele breathes out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as robin turns her attention to the rest of them: discerning, realistic and critical. they think of lavender. then, of running and fighting and screaming until it became futile. it led to the same path. survival and death are two sides on a split coin and they're privately grateful that she's sensible enough to know that.

to admit it to people that survival in it of itself is a victory, and that more than that does not need to be meted out in combat.

not sensible enough to call it for what it was, though.

arms cross over their chest, nails digging into their arms through the sleeves of their coat. self-defense, battling—they twist their fingers through the fabric. there's nothing wrong with the insistence, thereof. they know that. it was just an additional layer of protection in case things went wrong. there's no promise that the league would be attacked in the first place.

this was just a fabricated scenario. something to think about in the worst possible situation, where their daily monotony would be interrupted by terrorists and the same self-justified violence.

there was security, protocols in place.

but, they hadn't thought that kanto would've fallen either. they'd been hopeful hoenn wouldn't. now, they're being told that they might one day soon have to fight or run or hide again? to escape more cruelty that people like them have never invited? similar signs, similar signals.

( it's not her fault. they know who to blame, and even then; they won't. a centrist's position is cowardly. )

they pick at an unraveling thread.

"isn't that the point of you people?"

robin coello