[attr="class","sunshine"]Thomas watches the Pikachu disappear into pokeballs with little to no response. The Trapinch's gibbering is met with similar apathy. He croaks, a low and lazy sound, before getting back to the task at hand. As the Pikachu are sucked up by SAND TOMB he fires off a few more rounds of MUD SHOT that dirty their coats and leave them unconscious on the ground.

"I guess I get it," Plank replies to the man's explanation for his pointless lie in the meantime, "depends on the place though. I can't speak for whoever gave ya an earful before, but out in an open field like this with no one but us here . . . I just don't see the point of all the theatrics."

After a short stretch she reaches down to the pallet of pokeballs, pausing as she notices the beanie held out in the man's hand. Apparently offered to her. She raises an eyebrow before waving him off.

"Ah, thanks for the offer?" she says, the barest bit of confusion seeping into her tone, "but I'm all good with my hood."

Again, she adjusts her bangs and hood. Self-conscious that awareness of the injuries she was trying to hide prompted the gesture.

Her attention is pulled outward again by a few more urgent croaks from Thomas. Not panicked, but delivered with the obvious intent by the Palpitoad to get his trainer's attention. Plank shoots back up to standing, a few pokeballs in her hands, just in time to see one of the Pikachu's silhouettes glow and shift. Body becoming fatter, ears and tail longer.

"Good on ya for noticin' Thomas, but the plan is still just the same! Knock it down so we can round it up!"

[attr="class","sunshine"]The rain thins as Plank and Princess continue their onslaught, but unlike the last time she was in this position Plank picks up on it. The ring-lights start to shine brighter as the clouds begin their slow thinning and the pitter-patter of rain on the mat lessens.

She won't be left at a disadvantage whenever it fades away completely, not this time.

"We've already got 'em on the backfoot, keep the pressure on! Confuse 'em!" she shouts to Princess as the Seaking bears down to push forward. Charging in despite the FOUL PLAY that leaves a painful cut on her side.

Even in the weakening rain, SWIFT SWIM allows her to stick close to her opponent. Taking a page out of its book, this time she opts to use proximity to the advantage of a less direct attack. She opens her mouth wide and a warbling screech bursts forth -- a SUPERSONIC meant to scramble the Malamar's senses and disorient it.

At the same time, Princess's scales start to shift the way they did before. She breathes a little heavier as she sacrifices stamina to set up a pre-emptive SUBSTITUTE.

[attr="class","sunshine"]"Don't let it catch its breath!" Plank shouts as the Malamar backs up, narrowly avoiding a MEGAHORN to the gut, "Grind it down!"

Princess hunkers down and chases after her opponent, heeding her trainer's commands.

A tailfin flicks as the Malamar prepares to counterattack. The first PSYCHO CUTTER hits the SUBSTITUTE -- thrown forward into the attack's path. The dummy tears and bursts from the force of it. Stuffing bursts from its chest and sequins fly before all of its components simply fade away into nothing like smoke on a breeze.

The second PSYCHO CUTTER hits its intended target. Princess attempts to maneuver around it, but her SWIFT SWIM isn't quite enough to avoid a point-blank attack. It cuts into her side, leaving an angry red line where it strikes her underbelly.

It's not enough to deter her offensive, though. The same range that allowed the PSYCHO CUTTER to hit allows her to instantly mount a response. The Seaking lurches forward to close the small space between herself and the Malamar. Water gathers and spins around her horn before cascading down her back as she throws herself into a full-body tackle, WATERFALL.

Immediately after the attack is completed she wheels around. For the third time her horn shines as she attempts to follow-up the boosted water-type move with another gut-bound MEGAHORN.

[attr="class","sunshine"]"Sub up!" Plank shouts as the MEGAHORN hits home and the Malamar rears back to counter-attack.

There's an odd pulse over the surface of Princess's body, and then suddenly she changes. Scales go from organic flesh to shiny sequins, her eyes lose their light as they're replaced with beads, and her fins flap about a bit more than usual.

The REVERSAL bounces off of a SUBSTITUTE, and the HYPNOSIS tries and fails to take root in a mind that's not there.

"Gut 'im, Princess!" Plank orders as the dummy falls away, revealing the lurking Seaking behind it. Once again she lurches forward and stabs at her opponent. Another MEGAHORN hopes to find purchase in the Malamar's midsection.

[attr="class","sunshine"]Most of life is chaos. Who you bump into on the street, what kind of problems you'll face, if you'll live to see tomorrow -- they're random results decided through unknown means every day; but sometimes it feels like something aligns just right. Serendipity strikes and just the right thing appears at just the right time. Just the tool you need is right there in front of you just when you need it.

That's how Plank feels seeing the face of the man who beat her black and blue on the other side of the ring. The person she hates second most in the world right now has appeared just in time to be the target of her anger.

She wouldn't have felt bad bullying some poor nobody, but she feels much better thinking about mopping the floor with this smug son of a bitch.

"Blow this, ya fuckin' prick!" she shouts across the ring, to the sound of oo's and ah's that turn to outright cheers as she throws up a confident middle finger. The bell rings and the PSYCHO CUTTER flies at practically the same time. The only answer she expects to get.

"Take it on the chin, Princess!" she shouts, and her Seaking does just that by charging forward into the attack, "Make it pour 'n' let's gore this son of a bitch!"

Princess pushes through the pain to continue her approach, fins dancing as she weaves back and forth. A RAIN DANCE that dims the lights, obscuring them with storm clouds that start to weep fat droplets of rain. The water streaks off the Seaking and something about her changes.

She surges forward, SWIFT SWIM allowing her to close the space between herself and the Malamar in a flash. A greenish glow bathes her head in light as she thrusts her MEGAHORN forward with the intent to put this calamari on a spit.

[attr="class","sunshine"]It's weird, being in the open air and feeling wind on her neck. It's not bad. Just weird. She can't remember the last time she had short hair. God she must have been . . . Doesn't matter. Now's not the time to be daydreaming. Right now she's got a job. It's been a while, and she can't afford to make any stupid mistakes.

Especially not now.

"This is gonna be quick and easy Thomas," she speaks to the Palpitoad toddling along beside her, he gives a low croak in answer, "just keep knockin' down Pikachu 'n' I'll keep pickin' 'em up. It's that simple."

Around the time she finishes instructing her pokemon she manages to make out a silhouette in the distance. A spike of anxiety runs through her, which sends a flush of irritation through her system right after it. What the fuck does she have to be jumpy about?

She throws up her hood to hide her mottled cheeks and smooths some hair over the healing bruise on her forehead anyway.

Thankfully, Plank's partner for the evening does a good job instantly disarming her. What the fuck is he going on about? She breathes air hard through her nose, lips twisting into the slightest of smiles.

"What? No, I'm here t' poach some Pikachu," she says plain as day, walking passed the young man and directing Thomas to get to work, "ya know ya can save the alibi for civvies 'n' the police, right?"

Meanwhile Thomas wastes no time waddling up within firing range of the Pikachu. Without any ceremony or flare he sucks in a breath and then pop pop pop fires off several MUD SHOT that whistle through the air before bursting and knocking Pikachu to their knees. He inhales again before letting out a croak that makes the air vibrate, a HYPER VOICE that knocks out several of the weakened Pikachu.

Plank pulls out a few of the pokeballs issued to her for the mission and tosses them casually into the lot of them.

[attr="class","sunshine"]Finally, Plank's vision doesn't swim every time she turns her head too fast. There's no ringing between her ears, no ice pick driving itself ever deeper into her skull, and the fog on her mind has lifted. Has mostly lifted. There's still this nagging irritation always close at hand. This frustration that drowns out everything else.

She's wanted nothing more than to leave the sub for damn near a week now, and thought doing that would do away with that restlessness. It hasn't. It's only after she spends a day throwing shit and screaming in her apartment that she realizes what the issue is.

Plank wants desperately, so desperately, to just . . . let go. And unfortunately getting a noise complaint and breaking off the door of her microwave isn't enough. She wants to go absolutely apeshit. Just for a little while.

"Princess, we're not fuckin' around today alright?" Plank questions her Seaking where she circles around her, doing that thing water-types do on land where they float around like fuckin' ghost-types, "We're leavin' everythin' out there. We're gonna fuck some shit up."

Voiceless out of water, Princess makes her agreement known through a little wiggle. Usually she'd use Hull for something like this, but something tells Plank putting his recklessness and hers together right now is too much.

The ring-lights catch her eyes as she climbs the stairs to centerstage and she flinches away from them instinctively. It's weird not having a migraine for the first time in days. Especially when her bruises still leave most of the skin on her face mottled shades of green and yellow.

[attr="class","sunshine"]The sudden dismissal is a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. This conversation isn't exactly enjoyable. Plank didn't actually get the food she was promised either, and she'd like to get on that.

"Uh, yeah, sure," she says, standing up slowly.

The room tilts when she's most of the way up -- as if pre-empting the warnings from the woman. Plank has no choice but to prove her right even as she speaks. The comments about her concussion, and the second order in as many days to go to the med bay, are given as she leans against the wall. Gently pressing the bruise on her forehead against the metal in hopes of soothing it.

She fought the order last night, but then it was given to her by the person responsible for her injuries. The last person she wanted looking out for her or telling her what to do.

"Fine, whatever," she answers, pushing off the wall hard enough to start her on her path out of the courtyard. Apparently food will have to wait a little longer yet.

[attr="class","sunshine"]The bark of laughter from Plank is short. Mean. Takes her back to the room where she'd collected all these cuts and scrapes and bruises. When she laughed at Gavin for telling her she had a concussion. It's the same kind of bitter humor that inspires them both.

"Yeah, pretty sure," she stops fiddling with her socks to cross her arms over her knees, "been on a few missions with him."

Was recruited by him. Killed a man at his direction (no, that's not fair, she did that herself). Thought she was becoming something for him. Thought maybe he'd cared at least a little bit about -- no. She's doing it again. Her thoughts are getting away from her. This concussion . . .

"Tried t' fix up my face before I left, like the guilt was catchin' up t' him or somethin'. Stupid," she grumbles without being prompted. Mostly to herself.