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Bailey Cooper

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Bailey Cooper does not see elegance in violence.[break][break]

She sought what was natural—the ingrained strengths of her pokemon that had been bestowed upon them. Some trainers enforced their own style, their own strategies, into the minds of their pokemon—treating them like molds that had to be fit into a bigger piece. Bailey never bought into that kind of enforcement. Like a whetstone, her words aimed to refine what they already possessed, and to teach them a truth that so many trainers tried to shelter their pokemon from.[break][break]

Pokemon were monsters, and they had to fight like monsters. If they chose to battle for her, then they would be hurt. She could not promise to keep them safe from all harm, and they accepted that there was always a danger when they stepped into these arenas.[break][break]

She does not force her pokemon to fight—they have a choice, and those that accepted were taught that nature was the truth that she pursued.[break][break]

Because, oddly enough, there was an elegance in letting them grow into their own strengths. There was an elegance in the stalking, pack tactics of the pyroar, in the lunging strike of the luxray, and in the skull-breaking punch of the kommo-o. It was not the violence that was elegant, but how natural it could come to them, and the ease behind its execution once it had been refined.[break][break]

But it was also messy. There was nothing pretty in the bruises, the cuts, or the scars. No pretty songs to be found in the wails and the battle cries. Those things cannot be glorified, because it was overlooking the truth—they were animals fighting in a ring to prove who was superior, and no amount of elegance in the tools they used could bring them further from the barbarism.[break][break]

What was natural was also what was cruel, and in that indifference, Bailey Cooper found her strength. Do not celebrate the violence, but what was efficient, and know that those that fail will fall because strength was forever shifting. That was what it meant to be a pokemon trainer.[break][break]

She just wished she knew how to put that into her own words, instead of latching onto its feeling.[break][break]

The newly dubbed pokeball-man shifted her gaze at the laughter as a new challenger made his approach—and she wondered why the strange sway of his hips made it seem like he was a runway model. The urge to chuckle was almost irresistible, so she had to bite her lip and try to hold her composure.[break][break]

All that gold made it even harder.[break][break]

Instead of replying to the man's challenge, she flipped him the bird.[break][break]

The next moment, the materialized sandstorm would obscure the battlefield and her crude gesture. She can hear the booing of the crowd—they wanted full visibility.[break][break]

Bailey would stare into the surging sand with familiarity, and knew that no orders would be exchanged as her Krookodile was swallowed by its expansion. She lost sight of his distorted red figure.[break][break]

But she saw the way his claws flexed, eager for what would come next.[break][break]

A lone call would resonate from within the storm—a howling, cackling laughter as the Krookodile gnashed its maw in amusement at the tiny dragon and its efforts to hide; taunt.

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Bailey Cooper

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0000 words

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What the fuck was he saying? The roar of the sandstorm cut through his words, to where she was only able to hear every other word.[break][break]

Beautiful? Bailey Cooper could only glance down at herself, wrapped in an oversize mascot costume, and wondered what beauty could be derived from this ridiculous costume. Was he one of those guys that liked doing the nasty in costumes? “dude what the fuck,” she would mutter to herself, knowing that her voice was captured in the helmet encircling her head, not understanding the meaning behind his words.[break][break]

The change in shape was not slick—both bailey and her krookodile blinked, synchronized even if they were unable to see one another. The briefest flickering of a shadow growing in shape would not be lost on them.[break][break]

They knew when a swap-out was being telegraphed, even if someone was doing their damnedest to hide it. That came from years of experience. Years of battle. Even if her Krookodile had been consumed by an unyielding desire to battle, that did not mean that he battled without wit—that would have gone against his typing.[break][break]

spirit break came with its purple glow.[break][break]

Some pokemon were taught to dodge, weave, and evade oncoming attacks. Not this one.[break][break]

The attack would make contact—krookodile standing in place as the fist was driven against him. Its effectiveness came as an afterthought, a discomfort that had to be accepted if this battle was going to be satisfying. Up close, the distortion of the Krookodile would become apparent; the scars that ran like acid burns up his arms; the enhanced red of the skin; the smell that hung on his breath like a poison.[break][break]

But the punch had not sunk into the Krookodile's stomach[break][break]

A clawed grasp had wrapped around the closed fist—an inhumane force that had kept it from landing somewhere more effective. Black, thick ichor oozed from one broken and split claw, but that does not draw the Shadow Pokemon's attention.[break][break]

No, his foe would have all of that. A grin would manifest as his hand would tighten its grip, just to keep the fellow dark-type from trying to wretch away.[break][break]



With a speed that might have been surprising, Krookodile would use the forward momentum of his foe to his advantage—his leg jutting out as he ripped the grasped arm upward, trying to wretch the grimmsnarl from the ground and make it lose balance.[break][break]

And then a pivot, as the ground-type would shift his own weight and spin. With a strength that went beyond what was characteristic of his species, the Krookodile would attempt to toss his opponent straight out from the sandstorm, and straight against the cold, concrete walls of the battle arena.[break][break]

payback was always a bitch.[break][break]

If successful, Bailey would find herself throwing herself out of the way of the opponent's pokemon, cussing out of reflex. “Gator! Fucking watch it!” and she would mentally kick herself for speaking after all the effort that had gone into remaining stoic.

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[attr=class,punkisavelighttags]
Bailey Cooper

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0000 words

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What pokemon was that?[break][break]

Bailey Cooper was only able to get a split-second glance of the Grimmsnarl before it was withdrawn to its capsule. A galarian pokemon, she presumed, as her eyes focused back to the fight and how it would unravel. New pokemon posed new risks, and her fingers flexed similarly to her krookodile at the potential challenge.[break][break]

Krookodile kept to the whipping sands, more than comfortable to stay obscured. No orders are exchanged between the two of them—no gestures, whispers, or other outward indicators.[break][break]

She picked herself up from the ground, brushing the dirt of the arena off from her knees. Her verbal exclamation did not weigh on her mind—as one of the more obscure members of the Elite Four, she knew that she was not easily recognizable.[break][break]

Besides, who could have known it was her from one off-handed comment? A freak, most likely.[break][break]

No pokemon were deployed—all she heard was her opponent and his declarations.[break][break]

Her head titled, and it felt like the pokeball-like helmet was ready to roll off her shoulders. An unpolished gem? Something to be refined?[break][break]

She thought of the rough, cutting edges of the red orb—how the power it possessed abided by no standard. It was strong because it existed, not because it was trained to be.[break][break]

“Are you stupid?” Crude in nature, what would stand out was the empty happiness behind the eyes of the mascot mask. “I'm already stronger than you.” She spoke without confidence. She spoke as if it were fact.[break][break]

The itch. The fire. Her hand scratched at the material above her chest, against the collarbone.[break][break]

“Deploy your next pokemon. Take your ass-beating like everyone else.”

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Bailey Cooper

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0000 words

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He had no idea what he was dealing with.[break][break]

Great.[break][break]

His comments do not rouse a reaction—like a knife that was too dull to sink into the skin, Bailey Cooper felt no sting. She knew how battling looked—she knew how it was supposed to feel. It did not sound like the novice trainer, who shouted orders to their pokemon. It looked far more subtle. It looked like an encryption, where glances and smiles were codes for orders that a pokemon could follow.[break][break]

Some people had code words. Some people had hand signals. Some people whistled, but Bailey Cooper knew that even in silence she could let her orders speak volumes.[break][break]

She wondered if that early pokemon swap had been wise, as it gave something far more valuable than the power of any executed move—it gave her time.[break][break]

The moment to breathe. The moment to speak without addressing her pokemon.[break][break]

The moment to let her Krookodile process all of that information in the swirling sandstorm. He was not a whelp. He did not need his hand held. He took his own initiative.[break][break]

When two pokemon were deployed, her reaction was hidden by the disguise—an arch of the brow, followed by immediate recognition.[break][break]

Those two pokemon were only deployed for one fucking purpose.[break][break]

The series of explosions were sound-rendering.[break][break]

The disrupting winds that rendered the sandstorm had a similar effect on her attire—she can feel the way that the air tore past her, and it caught itself beneath the cusp of the helmet.[break][break]

And tore it straight off, making it hit the ground and roll away from the scene.[break][break]

A silence captured the crowd.[break][break]

Smoke cleared, and there stood Bailey Cooper, unmasked with a look of complete bafflement.[break][break]

Because the scene of the explosion revealed two unconscious pokemon, and neither were the Krookodile. Instead, what revealed itself was a hole situated in the middle of the storm where her Krookodile had executed dig. He had scrapped straight through the concrete, down to where raw earth could be seen.[break][break]

And who knew how far he had already managed to tunnel.[break][break]

“You are actually a moron.”[break][break]

Who in their right mind used explosion when they lacked visual on their target?[break][break]

“What in the goddamn.”[break][break]

All eyes focused on her, and the silence remained like it was one laced with fear. The jig was up. Her cover had been blown...but all she felt was a mounting frustration that made her burst.[break][break]

“Fuck, right when I when I was getting into a groove—fuck you. Holy shit,” but she continued as if she was ignorant of that revelation. “Who knocks out two of their pokemon like that? Two? All at once? On a gamble? Huh? Hello? Common sense? Why? Stupid sociobaths with their exploding voltorbs I swear to god you dipshits are a dime a dozen—” Her misspoken word was not acknowledged, as if that was how she thought it was actually said.

She slicked back her bangs. “Why do people act so goddamn smart but do this shit? Like, what in the goddamn possesses you people? Why do people think they're hot shit when they're hot garbage like can't a girl have some fun? Can't I get one good fight every once and awhile?!”[break][break]

Red in the face. Her chest burned as the Victory Star was denied.[break][break]

“Now I gotta do my goddamn job. I was hoping to just stand around, battle for a bit, and maybe—fuckin' maybe—get something valuable out of this, but nooooooooo, god forbid—I lost a motherfucking bet. A bet. Because this was supposed to be a grand ol' fucking time,” She dug through her outfit, pulling out her badge and radio.[break][break]

Krookodile, hearing all of the ruckus, burst up from the ground with a confused expression; burns lacing his arms reinvigorating old wounds, suggesting that the explosions had been able to navigate the tunnel he had been digging; he looked similar to a child watching his mother, wondering if he would also receive a verbal lashing.[break][break]

She put the radio up to her face.[break][break]

“Hey, Joe? Get the paddy wagon. Start the raid. I fuckin' tried... yeah, yeah, I owe you ten bucks. Fuck off. I almost made it twenty minutes, okay?” She hissed her breath like it was steam, coiling with the same intensity.[break][break]

She cleared her throat. “SLATEPORT PD. HANDS UP IN THE AIR WHERE I CAN SEE 'EM!”[break][break]

And that was when the silence broke, and chaos erupted across the stadium.

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[attr=class,punkisavelighttags]
Bailey Cooper

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[attr=class,punkisavelightbottomslant]

0000 words

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