He thought of Diego, and how deeply his friend had gotten himself into trouble; the change in his demeanor when he’d known he’d slipped up, and they’d been watching. How jumpy he always was. Roach had no idea what evils constituted the struggle in Lex’s life, nor, honestly, did he have the welfare in any capacity to care as much as she probably needed.

But he did care.

“Mm.” His mouth skewed a bit. “Well. I ain’ never been to Johto. I don’ know if that makes ya feel any better, but—…” he snorted. “Shit. I ain’t gon’ kill ya.”

For a moment, an eye hung in the drivers-side mirror, in some sort of waking dream. Bad memory. Something made him huff, a gear shifting in his mental visibly. He folded.

“So what d’you wan' do? We goin’ to the beach or the hospital?”

He lied against the grass to gaze up at stars through a clearing in the wood. They were not dim, but dimmer than the lights of bug love which swirled around. So much cash.

The skull of a mother pressed against his rib, lungs filled with bitter plum, glow, and fresh air he didn’t usually allow himself the time to seek out. He was here for more than leisure, but work usually didn’t feel so pleasant. The breeze hit in just the right way.

Boomer shifted and elbowed him, of course. ‘Cubone!’

Roached grunted, lowering his cigar to catch the sight of something through the trees. A shadow distorted from the dance of a small fire. He rolled up on a wrist to place its origin, moon flashing steel and wood of a handle sliding into his palm.

Roach’s fingers splayed, hovering over untouched skin a moment as Lex helped herself off the door. “Y’good?” But he slid into the driver’s side too soon, and as Lex made her way around, the riled pokemon on top of the sedan snapped and squawked provocatively.

“Gyahd—Chill, damn you!” Roach pounded the torn ceiling of the car a couple of times again, until the Mandibuzz quieted down. Her talons shuffled on the tin can roof, before they heard a BOOM of the metal giving and bowing out again, and the bird was gone, off into the dark.

When Lex slid into the seat next to him, his eyes shifted at her—cut, discerning. There was a lot to talk about, but he opted for silence for a breath or two. Then, she tried to open the glove compartment.

“Aye!” A hand shot out and snapped it shut again from the corner, his fuzzy jaw angling at her squarely. “This ain’t a taxi, Lex.”

He sighed, deeply, pacifyingly, and his back rounded into the seat, and for a long moment only the sound of the engine would fill the tunnel. After those moments, though, he shook his head and reached into the center console, retrieving a flask and tossing it into her lap. It contained whiskey, of course.

“Shouldn’ o’ let yew down here.” He met her growl with a gravelly grunt. “Who’s after ya?”

Slate slid over a tumbler, the ice clinking in the glass. The sound of @everett ’s piano played lightly in the background.

“Whad’ya know, Slate?”

The tall, lanky man—who’d been a long-time member of Rocket, as well as the only remaining bartender leftover from Ritual’s prior ownership—responded in a gravelly, dry voice, “Been a slow night, Roach.”

The owner ran a finger over the burn mark which ran all the way across the length of his bar-top. “Yep. Fig’re it’s prolly gon' be like this fer a while.” The pool tournament had not been his brightest business move. To be fair, though, the incidents which had occurred could most certainly be credited to mostly shit luck. Something Roach found he was bountiful in.

After a long moment of silence he clicked his tongue and let out a long sigh, picking up a burning cigar out of a nearby ashtray and puffing on it pensively.

The Mandibuzz landed on the roof of the car, causing it to bounce a little, and screeched back at the Braviary. Combined, the sound was almost painful, echoing all the way down the tunnel. Roach grimaced. “Betty!” A fist rapped on the ceiling a couple of times to discourage her.

He watched her get up and stagger over to lean against the window, and he was faced with a sight which he had not sought out but was now seeking him. He might have appreciated it more, had she not been in such a state. Didn’t mean he didn’t look.

“Uh, no. Sure wuhdn’t plannin’ on it.” He stared at her, shaking his head. “Yer a fuckin’ wild one.”

Watching her rub her head, his forehead wrinkled and he sighed roughly and climbed over the console, pushing out the passenger door and going to offer an arm. “Git’cher bird ‘n c’mon. I ain't gon’ do nothin' and yew can’t jus’ stay here.”

The car slowed before stopping—no screeching tires or added drama, just an easy approach. He poked his head out of the window and looked down at her.

“Now, Lex. I’m gonn’ tell ya agyain. You can’t get out. Not that way,” he pointed left, “’n not that way.” He pointed right. “Secondly, I got a rifle in the backseat. If I was gonna do some’m, woulda been done. N' that's the thing. I ain't about t' do shit to ya, I jus' wanna make sure y'aint gonna fuck me over.”

He looked her over from where he was sitting still within a cracking interior. “The hell yew think is goin’ on here?”

What in the world?

He felt the weight of the rumbling tin can shift, and then she was gone in a flash of eagle feathers, the bird seeming to scream at him, which made him jump in his seat. “Damnit.” He muttered. The brakes screeched and turned, and he was driving after her again.

He struggled to yell out the window through the cold tunnel air whipping at his face, “I don’ know what the fuck yer runnin’ from Lex, but you cut out on this deal n’ that ain’t no good!” She'd seen his location. She'd better do something incriminating, or at least leave a contact. Fair's fair.

“Betty! Git ‘em!”

Turning to the straight-oncoming targets, the Mandibuzz let out a scream and dove, attempting to KNOCK OFF Lex.

Roach couldn’t tell you the notes on a piano, but he had been around the passion language enough to make out the words which resonated from each hit of the hammer. He had a perceptive ear and a good imagination. While he chalked a stunted shyness of self-expression up to a lack of talent, Betty, may she rest in peace, had instilled a sense of wonderment when it came to the arts.

The cigar burned in his hand and he turned it idly on his lip.

’A toast to friendship.' “Yuh.” This was a little wholesome for him. Clink. “Glad I could help.”

Baked goods were not really Roach’s thing. Put a steak on a stick and plop it in a strong bloody mary and the man would be happier, but… this wasn't half bad.

Betty the Mandibuzz smacked her beak, dropping bits of donut onto the man’s shoulder and the modest brim of his hat while struggling not to choke on her treat. Boomer the Cubone waddled along beside them, not having taken a bite of his own yet. It would be savored on a nice patch of grass when they landed.

It didn’t take long to decide on the perfect spot. Antisocial vibes and boundaries be damned, Xander Belmont would hear his boss.

“Well I’ll be, Xan. Ya can do more ‘n pour a beer.”

Behind him beamed the good-natured smile of an unshaved asshole sipping his coffee. He plopped down in the grass and assessed the unfinished work with a scrutinizing gaze, clueless to any disrespect. Boomer, who Xander would surely recognize from work, waved his donut at the redhead excitedly before sitting close and nibbling at his sugarsnack.

“Hurry up, Boomer! This shit’s weird.”

The Cubone scrambled over rocks after its trainer, wobbling from side to side, hurrying up. When it got to Roach’s knee, it threw its arms in the air to be lifted. It wanted to see.

Entrancing was the only way to describe it. Roach was unsure how long he stood and stared before he’d snapped out of a reverie. It was like staring at a campfire.

“Yer goin’ down there.”

‘Cuuuu...’

Roach clicked his tongue. “Yeuhp.” And without warning, placed the pokemon on the stone in front of him which angled downward and into the chasm like a steep slide.  He let go.

‘CUUUUU!’

“Go on 'n' git‘em, BoomBoom! I believe in ya!”

He smiled back like an old stray dog, but it went a bit uneven at the question. Arms leaned further on the bar, and he indulged with a large puff of his cigar, tasting the leaf and taking his time with an answer. Typically, Roach didn’t talk much about his reasons for anything, but his employees always got more out of him than the average Joe.

“Well, Ev'rett,” he gave a sigh, and his chin drew a small rainbow in the air for emphasis. “That’s a laooong story—and the short of it ain’t really that int’restin’.”

After a pause, his broad shoulders did a one-eighty and he scanned the booze, clearly looking for something specific. Seemed lost for a moment. Slate and Kendra knew this wall much better than he did.

“I used t’come by here a lot—back when I didn’t own it. Like yew said, s’got some kinda at-mas-phere..” Nevermind the tunnel downstairs. “I haven’t changed a thing. 'Cept fer yer piano, now.”

He squinted up at labels, teeth rolling tobacco a little. Remained turned, until finally finding what he was looking for just over his shaggy head. “S’far as bein’ in Slateport… well, I don’ know. S’pose it's just kinda where I ended up.”

An intricately labeled, cut-glass bottle was placed on mahogany. Roach poured two fingers each into a couple of clean glasses and slid one Everett’s way, thick cigar still hanging from his lips.

Roach’s lips pursed and skewed at her response. It wasn’t what he was expecting, and it certainly wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. Strike two. Then, she was gone out the door.

Shocked, he did a doubletake at the empty seat next to him and the door she’d left bouncing a couple of times until it clanked shut on its own. “The hell?” The brakes were slammed and the car came to an ugly, screeching halt.

Roach stepped halfway out of the car to yell after her, obviously baffled by the turn of events. “AYE!” his voice echoed down the tunnel at her. Briefly, he chewed a nail, brow furrowed as he considered what to do, before swinging back into the car. “Alright.” he sighed, throwing the cheap sedan into reverse. A large arm went around the passenger seat and the car rolled backwards towards the woman, only as fast as it needed to go.

When he reached her, he would roll down the passenger side window and stare. “The hell’re yew doin’? You crazy?” He shook his head to emphasize his bewilderment, fingers lifting off the steering wheel some as the car continued to roll. “Actin’ like I’m gon’ kill ya er sum’m, goddamn. Can you calm down, please? Get back in the car?”

He nodded towards the rearview mirror, to the side of the tunnel from which they’d come, where the rock wall had been replaced. “Ya can’t even get outta here.”

Of course, the man had no idea who he was challenging.

He slouched, looking through the valleys of forever-swollen knuckles into the abyss of the tunnel for tailfeathers. His stare circled back through melancholy at it always did. He hated this.

When she’d been flung forward, Roach inwardly kicked himself, and the following descent was like molasses. His steel toe compressed the pedal with the anxious care of someone smuggling a carful of eggs.

But he still wouldn’t look at her.

At some point, they stopped slowing, and coasted at a low speed. His head bounced loose on his neck at potholes on a poorly maintained, unregulated road. 

“Yuh’.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Lots people willin' t'get ya for the right price, too.” 

An eye finally glared her way, briefly, before it fell back on what could be seen of the road. “How do I know I can trust you?”