On a nice, emerald patch of grass, Grigori planted himself down.

The breeze gently grazed the land, and distant trees swayed softly. Beams of warmth coated him in their radiance, and distant Pokémon acted in the distance. None dared bother him, for the cruel whims of other trainers had taught them caution. Even the normally unstable paradoxes did little more than glare him down from the safety of distance.

Summer infiltrated his nostrils with the aroma of grass, pollen, and bustling life. Unlike some, allergies were not a struggle he had to contend with. Combee danced from brightly colored petals in their strict dance, and one buzzed faintly to his side. They too did not bother him, but for more innocent reasons. The sickeningly sweet nectar was vastly more important than a wayward soul.

This was nice...