Day after day, Angelo is drawn to the gentle waves of the ocean that houses the event with his Floatzel bounding by his side. It's going to feel weird not coming back to the beach every day once this things is over...

At least he's getting a lot of diving practice in for Nautica jobs.

“What happened to my favourite rival's aim?” Angelo quirks a brow at Salem as the ball spectacularly misses the target.

Handing Razz Kingsman his towel to hold, the pilot steps up to the plate, ready to pitch. “I'll show you how it's done!”

By the time life stirs within the sanctuary of warm, soft sheets and snores long associated with peace, the cookies have grown cool.

On his back, Angelo remains still as he slowly wakes. Awareness trickling in with a slow drip from the tips of his fingertips to his toes, from the ache in sore muscles and the sweet scents he can't quite place lingering in the air...

He's unsure how long it takes for him to muster the energy to let blurry eyes crack open, but the familiar warmth pressed against his side, gentle snores whispering pleas for him to wake into his ear, is more than enough to convince Angelo to brave the world.

For skyler dross he'd venture to the farthest, darkest unknown reaches of the universe to be reunited with her.

Unfocused blue eyes blink around the room. He finds a plate of cookies on the bedside table when he tilts his head just so, the mystery of the sweet aroma discovered.

Blue scales peek out at the end of the bed, while on the floor his jacket is thrown in a heap. Claimed by four Dreepy, sleeping soundly in a bundle with their noses buried in the fabric.

Surrounded by the drowsy breaths of his family, fatigue clinging to every bone, it's a sentiment that the pilot deeply shares. An exhausted temptation that Angelo stubbornly refuses.

Not until he sees her.

Not until he can assure himself that if he whispered a touch against her cheek, it would reach her.

That he hasn't been swept away to limbo...

Beneath his gingerly shifted weight when Angelo rolls onto his side, a bedspring routinely creaks. If his throat hadn't felt tight under the bands of gauze, he'd groan about the protest in his body, too.

Like Jolly's tail, Angelo's heart does a little tap tap of its own when he sees her. Golden hair untamed and drool pooling on her corner of the pillow pulling a smile from him, weak in too many ways to count.

Finally a thumb takes to her jaw, slowly tracing the shape with the wonderment of a castaway finding the shoreline again.

A peaceful sigh escapes.

He's home.

Hidden behind the curtains, two shadows drift outside the window then linger...

Angelo did have a cheeky and cute interaction with skyler dross here but I deleted it by accident. Whoops.

Anyway it was great. Trust me. skygelo rocks.

Now he's just going to throw the ball at whoever's sat in the dunk tank chair instead.

There really is nothing sweeter than seeing your friend faceplant into the sand, then successfully perform a stunt after gloating to them.

But watching said friend eat wave for the second day in a row comes pretty close. He laughs at Amelia Livy as if it were his first time seeing her crash and burn.

If Nereid lands a STARMIE 720, he's not going to let the historian-ranger live it down.

While yesterday's dive had been languished in, Angelo indulging himself more so in the pleasurable company of his wife than looking for buried prizes, today was a different experience.

Beach crowded and sunshine already beating down in the early hours, it's very much a quick swim and dive affair.   

He had an office to get to...

Yesterday had seen him pulled beneath the tide, breath stolen by a siren's kiss.

Today, Angelo spots her first. He submits to the song of sweet revenge, memories fresh like the salt water on his curled lips.

Beneath the surface, where all is peaceful and still, an arm tightly squeezes around skyler dross's waist. Fingertips trailing a purposefully meandering path towards the curve of her ass which is promptly squeezed.

Encouraging her away from digging through the sand into a nearby field of slow, waving kelp, Angelo enjoys his spoils.

He'd found himself some treasure.

“Hey, Nerd!” Amelia Livy would near an all too familiar voice calling over the sound of the sea and Wingull song, straining with joyous laughter held thinly back. “The waves are over this way!”

Angelo can't hold back the sharp barks of laughter after watching his friend spectacularly eat sand.

Real friends take the piss out of each other. He expects she'd do the same to him if he fucked up this OVER THE GYARADOS.

While Salem gives FERNANDO SILPH a happy little clappy in congratulations, Angelo stands beside Razz Kingsman with a hand squeezing his shoulder. He needs it to keep himself standing as he nearly doubles over laughing, deep and hearty, after skyler dross is toppled into the dunk tank by Mr Capitalism himself.

Ow. Fuck. His cheeks hurt.

When Angelo takes to pitching the ball again, his eyes are still blurry from laughter.

Angelo has the luxury of viewing dahlia goode 's speech from the front row, reaping all the benefits without being there at all.

Hidden behind the dark lens of the Pinap shaped sunglasses earlier precured at the swimsuit contest, iridescent eyes fade back to oceanic blue when the commissioner wraps up her pep talk.

Disconnecting from his sight sharing with Latios as, invisible above the crowds, the dragon turns his attention towards finding a perch to privately roost.

It leaves the pilot back at one of the many bars lining the concert edge, cool beer in hand. Having never left his seat.

It seems that Angelo wasn't the only one that dahlia goode hadn't yet managed to convince with her plan.

Still, it's good for her to hear the differing voices of the public - of the people she's meant to be representing - he thinks.

Doom and gloom is quickly booted from his mind when Melody Miro takes to the stage, earning a quirked brow at her choice in song and dedication. “Fuck 'em up, Mels.” He smirks around the lip of his bottle in quiet amusement.

Angelo's knee bounces to the beat of the 'breakup' song anyway, until someone bobs into the corner of his gaze, catching his attention.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't Rowan Wrynn.” Lifting his shades to rest atop brunette hair, Angelo flashes the familiar face a sharp smile. “Stop making the world feel small.”

He reaches out a hand for the man to clasp in a handshake-clap greeting, their ventures to Johto leaving them with positive familiarity. “Enjoying the festival?”

notes;

- +1 crown for reacting to dahlia goode
- at a bar. sight sharing for a front row view. goals.
- invisible bird-plane-dragon
- hi Rowan Wrynn!

Just behind one of the crowd favourites, Neffatari Nzingha, comes one of the swimsuit contestants that had thus far left a lot to be desired.

Angelo doesn't seem concerned about his pathetic score as he lifts his 'borrowed' neon green, pinap berry themed sunglasses atop his head. Casually strolling down the soaked runway as the fabricated RAIN DANCE falls.

Everyone likes an underdog story.

Cutting over the tail end of Neffatari Nzingha's ear-orgasmic Oceanic Operetta, comes the screeching heralds of hell. Wingull blasting the song of their people for all to appreciate SUPERSONIC sending ripples across the soaked runway like heavy thrums of a beat dropped, sending droplets skyward.


Hey, they are one of the pokémon affected by the dome, after all! They should be celebrated!

Fragile floorboards creak beneath his steps, no matter how softly the soles of his boots are placed. Dust shimming in sunbeams like star fragments as they quietly ascend, illuminating the way through a deteriorating roof.

Their presence stirring life within the sealed floors, the undying spirit of the Burned Tower awakening in its old, ashen bones.

It's song sombre and ancient. Not yet finished mourning.

An altar warming beneath morning rays draws Angelo's eye but Rowan's approach has the pilot pausing from getting a closer look. To do so, as the younger man begins to speak aloud to the cherished being he seeks, would feel like intruding.

They'd flown out here on Rowan Wrynn's monetary request, after all.

He keeps his distance, looking elsewhere as he takes a pencil to his travel journal. Enough for the prayers to turn soft, not quite far back for the wobble of emotion or the confessions to fall on deaf ears.

Sounds as if Rowan Wrynn had some stories to tell...

Angelo wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on more however, not when his cries are answered. Although perhaps not by the being he'd hoped to reach...

Their visitor elegantly slips from the shadows like a ghost herself, all but gliding, had her sandals not kissed the floorboards so.

There's no apparent outrage for their trespassing from one of the famed Kimono Girls, so Angelo relaxes. Although he keeps observant blue eyes on her, curious to her visit in kind. 

“It does. Especially up here,” he acknowledges her in kind with a slow smile, before glancing towards Rowan. “Hope you don't mind us straying from the tourist trail, by the way. The visitor's pamphlet didn't quite cover all our curiosities.”
 
There's nothing apologetic in Angelo's voice.