[attr="class","angelotag"] John Sullivan

[attr="class","angelomain"]“Then enjoy my hand-me-downs, kid.” In the flash of sharp teeth, a crude innuendo is wordlessly conveyed - a metaphorical elbow to the ribs shot Doug’s way.

He couldn’t not get one last jab in now, could he?

“Now less daydreaming about your waiting ride and more mining,” detaching the pickaxe that he’d strapped to his back, Angelo and his Marshadow prepare for work. Chester drifts through the pilot’s shadow until it reaches the edge, bright red eyes peering into the darkness to keep watch while his back was turned.

Angelo claps his callused palms together, before readying the swing. Its routine light and descent, his exhale and inhales, help with the brewing darkness clouding his mind.

“Ah, but my dear Dougie. Where will you be when all the pharmaceutical companies are forced to release all the cures they’ve smuggled away from the public and medicine becomes a worry of the past?” When he tosses his friend a return wink, its filled with mischief and mirth.

AKA: Absolute bullshit.

In fact, Angelo founds himself quite proud of the teenager’s opportunistic attitude.

“How’re you holdin’ up over there?”

► focus on mining (+1 curio)

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[attr="class","angelotag"] John Sullivan

[attr="class","angelomain"]That grin is returned, vibrant in the nefarious glow of the magenta organ. “Mining. Salvaging. They’re not so dissimilar. I’m sure I could spin something there an’ rake in a few more PD.”

Personally Angelo hoped that this particular job didn’t become a long running staple. He still wasn’t particularly hot on the cramped conditions of the caverns leading to the Ultra Deep Sea.

Today’s venture had at least seen him accompanied by Doug, who true to form brings a spark of life to their cramped mining operation and a distraction Angelo appreciated.

Quips were the perfect form of communication and deflection, as far as he was concerned.

“Woah, looks like we've got a Casanova on our hands. And here I was worrying about you gettin’ lonely on the road.” Within the depths of his shadow, a gloomdweller blinks in innocent confusion. “Speakin’ of, why are you down here when you could be enjoying your trip? Miss work that much?”

► take the brunt equally (+50 RKS)

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[attr="class","angelotag"] freya morningstar

[attr="class","angelomain"]Standing this close to Freya, he can make out the intricacies of her bow. Its silver sheen weathered through age but no less elegant and powerful.

In the back of his mind flashes the memory of a far more modest stretch of carved wood, imperfect with notches and decades worn. Can remember how hands, similarly imperfect, had flowed with years of practice bracing the string.

For a moment Angelo is back amongst a field of white until he’s suddenly not. Circhester snow pulling away like the rhythmic flow of the tide. Instead the pilot envisions himself on a tiny, familiar speck of land - an island, far out in the Hoennian sea - where there is nowhere to go.

Where the silent snow shrinks back into an ocean’s roar and the wave grows bigger, and bigger…

Its as seafoam twists into rows of pearly white teeth, leaning over him from above his head like falling stalactites, that he’s snapped away from the cumulation of memories.

Sprout is tugging sharply at his shoelaces with his teeth. When Angelo reaches up to wipe his forehead, he finds sweat has turned cold. “Relax, buddy. I’m still here.”

His brow crinkles when he turns to Freya, seeing the beads of blood balanced on her fingers. “Collect what you can. We can always come back for more later.”

After all they’d both been here before. They knew what was coming next.

MEMORY  
+50 RKS Points

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[attr="class","angelotag"] Remiel Calcifet

[attr="class","angelomain"]Steel striking mineral soon overtakes the sound of conversation in their corner of the Ultra Deep Sea.

He’d come down into the depths multiple times now, guided by an eagerness to fill his pockets that never felt quite full enough. Experienced his far share of radiation poisoning for it, also.

It didn’t make the feeling of enclosing walls any easier for him to stomach, however. Angelo focusing through the pressure weighing down on his chest on the way his muscles pleasantly ached with every swing of his pickaxe. In the rhythmic strikes of their labour.

Their Naganadel visitor and Remiel Calcifet's interesting display was enough to get the pilot to pause in his work, lips twitching humorously.

“Nice pickaxe action you got goin’ on over there,” he muses, pausing to admire the defensive waving display and wipe his brow with the back of a scarred hand. Not even the hallucinations could fully take the sharp, witty edge from Angelo’s tongue. “They teach those moves in archaeology school?”

While he turns back to chipping away at the ore, aiming to strike off a generous slab with a hungry twinkle in his eye, Midge flutters between them. Keeping an eye on their backs as the pair focus on mining.

FOCUS ON MINING
+ 1 CURIO

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[attr="class","wownewtag"] Caleb Harcourt

[attr="class","wownewmain"]Angelo had been prepared to sway Caleb into giving up information about project sapphire, been planning on coaxing the ranger into delivering him what he wanted to know. Only to find out that the groundwork had already been paved.

That Caleb was already more than willing to give.

“Watch out Hoenn, the rebel of the rangers has arrived.” He chuckles behind his scarf.

“Well, if you ever feel rebellious enough to share information about that pokémon we saw at the border before - Victini, I think you called it?” His eyes crinkle in a mischievous flash of ocean blue, locking down the man beside him. “Then I may know someone willing to encourage you.”

There’s a whisper of calamity in his head, an omen foretelling of an unknown expiry date - his.

Now more than ever Angelo craved the flames of victory he hoarded to grow, to keep his bones warm and luck shining on his head for the disaster that lay ahead. That craving inching towards hunger with every passing day…

At the sound of Nox’s clicks, followed swiftly by the alerting yips coming from Sprout, Angelo turns to check out what the two pokemon had uncovered. Together the two men wade through the sand towards what they had discovered.

“No good at finding things, he said. I call bullshit, Caleb.”

Crouching down, Angelo’s fingers find a gap within the two doors to pry it open with a protestingly miserable groan from the hinges. He steps back, waving away dust and sand from his face as it puffs up in a cloud.

“Do you want to be? A hero?”

He glances curiously towards Caleb out of the corner of his eye as they stand on the edge. From below a cold breeze drifts up towards their faces, softly howling like a siren song from the dark underbelly of the golden sea.

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[attr="class","angelotag"] John Sullivan

[attr="class","angelomain"]Fingertips linger on the handlebar, slowly peeling away with all the resistance of old velcro. When Angelo steps back to let Doug hop onto seat, his smile is fond and full of memories.

This old bicycle had given him his first real taste of freedom all those years ago, back when time felt fleeting and options limited.

Given him flight before wings had found him.

Now it was time for it to help Doug find a new adventure.

“Oh shit. So we did.” Recollection flashes across his expression and as they laugh together about a simpler time, Angelo relives that moment they’d been launched through the air in their daring escape.

What’s changed? He thinks to say, only to leave it to the wicked grin that stretches across his mouth to voice.

“It was good fun though, huh?” He says instead.

And just like that it all softens, Angelo’s expression and the laughter as gratitude drifts between them.

Unnecessary, he thinks, because brothers looked out for one another.

Whether it be as they flee from vengeful pokemon their troublemaking had crossed or sitting by one another’s side in a hospital waiting room, in the middle of the night.

“Just take good care of her, alright?” His hand reaches out to pat Doug on the shoulder. “And stay under six foot. That’s all I ask.”

With a smile, he nods his head back the way that they'd come along the docks. Hinting it was time to leave the hangar and their sentimentality behind. 

“Now, time for that coffee? Your treat.”

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[attr="class","wownewtag"] John Sullivan Elisabeth Fiorelli

[attr="class","wownewmain"]And just like Doug imprinted easily on his mentors, Angelo too felt protective of those that he considered close. Those of which a brotherly instinct emerged when in their company.

That sadness was enough for Angelo to not bring up the threatening letter Elisabeth had sent him.

Protectiveness sparked, shining even amongst even the curling fog the poisoner had inspired in his brain.

“I’d actually ordered something for my father-in-law here. Tried to get in contact and nothin’, so thought I’d come see what was going on.”

(Not technically a lie. He had got a berry bush for Mr Dross here after he'd helped care for him during the whole poisoning ordeal, ironically.)

With a soft whistle, he encourages Pinky back to him. His illumina dreepy settles around the back of his neck and shoulders, lounging like a glowing scarf.

“Anyway, we should call it quits. Doubt she’s going to reappear.” Fingers slip into his jacket pockets, face adorning a calm expression as he tilts a head towards the stairs. “And you’re going to need to gather some more hands if you want confiscate all this.”

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[attr="class","angelotag"] John Sullivan

[attr="class","angelomain"]“Coffee? You’ve come to the right person. I know some good places.”

He knew Doug had some sense in his bug brain. Some of Angelo’s first paycheques after he’d turned self-employed had been an investment in good quality ground coffee and an Alto Marean moka pot.

Angelo chuckles as the door unlocks, chunky metal warehouse door opening with a protesting groan that hinted at old, sea-salt weathered bones.

“Well if you don’t, you’ll at least be able to make a quick getaway.”

And with that as a hint he pilot disappears into his hangar.

Its some handful of minutes later that his voice calls out after a series of crashes and curses, echoing from deep within the belly of his metal base. “You're not ready for this, Dougie.”

He doesn’t wait for Doug’s inevitable quippy response before returning, wheeling a blue mach bike. Well loved but still vibrant.

“Could do with some new tyres an' it’s got some spinark webs on it, but I figured you of all people wouldn’t mind.”

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[attr="class","angelotag"] angelo vestri

[attr="class","angelomain"]“I didn’t hear a no.” He muses quietly to skyler dross, that slither of blue he casts her from the corner of his eye brimming with suggestions unneeded to be conveyed into words.

Her idea of a portable, artificial power spot could be a card to play later in the war if they found themselves on the skin of their teeth - a precarious trump card.

(But when did they ever shy away from the reckless?)

dahlia goode’s input has the pilot leaning into his chair, a forearm propped against the backrest as he digests the intelligence she has to offer.

“There’s no shortage of uninhabited islands in the eastern sea if we want to keep them away from civilian homes. If the radius is generous enough, we can look into pinning down a location where the power spots can cover the cities without needing to set it up in the middle of ’em.”

Who was to say that they’d even find any natural power spots in time or, in the case that they did, that they were even in advantageous positions?

On that subject, Angelo next turns his attention to illeana reyes. “I’d add the desert to your list. Doubt there’s much left to find in the Regirock temple now it’s a pile of rubble, but dynamax did happen there. Could still be something hangin’ about.”

And just as she offers information to Freya, he in turn holds out some to the head professor. If there’s any hesitance in Angelo’s gut, it doesn’t outwardly show. Revealing this long guarded secret could benefit him now in many a ways.

“And speaking of the temple, Illeana… If you’re going to be looking into dynamax, I have something from there too that might be of interest. I can show you later.”

It had been some time since Chip had visitors.

► suggesting using uninhabited islands around previously mentioned cities for power spots. gives another location for illeana and offering her to check out the perma-dynamax roggenrola he received from the regirock raid.

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[attr="class","wownewtag"] Gunner Graves GIDEON GRAVES

[attr="class","wownewmain"]At least Angelo jumps down alongside them, boots hitting the surface of the moon in unnatural silence as loyalty guides him Into the crater with the brothers.

He’d walk beside them through worse, he feels deep in his bones.

(Something told him he already had.)

“So I’ve been told,” he flashes Gunner a sharp row of teeth. Unapologetic.

Peeling itself from off his back, one little hitchhiker finally manages to free itself after being disorientated from the storm. The kartana hones in on Taliesin, greeting the other tiny ultra beast with a series of rapid chips.

Its easy for Angelo to divert his attention from a seemingly non-hostile ultra beast, when the ambling shapes in the distance get close enough for details to be made out.

Angelo finishes Gideon’s perplexed, stunned question for him.

“The fuck…?”

Megalopolans. Only their expressions look beyond them to the stars, their bodies weighed down with snaking vines and rotting flesh, peeling off their lurching forms. Lifeless puppets and yet guided still by hunger.

He grimaces. “Here comes the 'welcome to the moon committee'.”

Unclipping a pokeball from his belt as the aliens lumber forward, Angelo releases a winged creature into the air in a burst of scarlet energy and a charizard's blue inferno flames, roared towards the Megalopolan horde.

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