"You say that like I didn't come here chasing the aliens," Atlas's voice is disingenuous, a sarcastic lean putting all their words at a slant. They'd heard of all the incidents in the region -- they were international news. Of course, Rocket's interest and involvement were missing from most of the stories.

The idea of fighting some blue-skinned cannibals makes them shudder.

"More or less."

Atlas repeats without elaboration, turning the phrase into something like a discount echo between the two of them.

"I figure I'm more of that sort myself, a nomad, at least so far. It's impressive how many places Rocket has work for us," Atlas says, "I think it's nice though, having a place that's my own. Just in case things get overwhelming. The sub is too cold and cramped for me to ever completely relax."

Then they're at their destination and Parker is knocking.

"With pleasure," Atlas replies, casually taking their suit jacket and flinging it over their shoulder before the door opens, "Baxter! My friend calls you Bax, can I call you Bax?"

They take a step forward, stealing some of the man's space and boxing him into his doorway, "Bax, you've got some debt we need to settle up."

"Appreciate the welcome, Bee."

It's a good handshake. A good smile. God, Bee means it, don't they? It's still weird for Atlas to run into people like him. Criminals with a heart of gold or whatever. But maybe they're getting ahead of themselves. Maybe it's more like honor among thieves. Maybe he's just as fucked as the rest of them on the clock.

Atlas is settling in to listen to whatever Bee wants to gab about when the harsh wailing from above cuts him off. It nearly makes Atlas jump out of their skin, but they tamp down that reflex the same they did the one before. Instead only their eyebrows leap. They look more bemused than startled when they look up at the ceiling.

When they look back down they meet Bee's frown with a slightly apologetic smile. Maybe there is something weird going on here.

"Guess it's more than the ambience," they reply, face tight. Well, that's some shit. Bee goes to leave and Atlas for the second time is ready to leave him to it. Chasing monsters isn't really their thing; but then Bee looks back and asks and, fuck! If they stuck around to avoid wasting a connection they walk in Bee's direction to avoid soiling their reputation.

Atlas is hardly the bravest person alive, but they can't afford to come off as too much of a useless coward when they've only been here for a few weeks.

"Of course, I hardly want to walk back to my room alone now do I?" Atlas keeps their smile level, their voice dripping in humor and sarcasm.

For a moment Atlas feels anxious. Maybe a little silly. Who the fuck cares if they've got questions? But then Theo replies and Atlas nods. Okay, cool, apparently he does.

"So, like, Rocket it's . . . it's more, than we are," Atlas begins cautiously, "and I know you told us we'd have to operate a bit differently. I was wondering what, god this is ridiculous, I was wondering what your, like --"

They sound like such a stupid fucking kid, why can't they just get their thoughts out.

"What's your deal. The guys, they care about fast times and a warm box and the money to make it happen. And the structure kind of follows. How is it any different for you stiffs?"

The air whips by again and Atlas winces, pulls their flapping shirt down over purple skin. Tries not to wince when their fingers press against it.

Oh, the man's aggression is on a swivel. Atlas takes a step back, best to acquiesce a little to the loud and punchy types, and raises their hands in a show of surrender.

"No friend of mine. I just know people aren't exactly keen to walk face first into a beating. Or threats of one, in this case," Atlas replies, grinning just enough to show their humor but hiding most of their teeth. As if they were dealing with a Rillaboom instead of another person.

"Can I take your offer, to spare them a concussion, as invitation enough? I don't want to go for the door and get caught in the crossfire."

Atlas's sneakers squeak as they slow to a saunter next to Theo. Their arms wrap around their body, hands clutching to biceps, once they're no longer needed to scare off side stitches.

They scoff at the question the Rocket poses.

"Not at all," Atlas replies, "all of us are still keen to keep our heads."

A beat.

"I guess I just have . . . questions? About Rocket. I know you're a big deal in Kanto but Johto still doesn't know shit about you beyond that."

"Between the pipes, the sea, and the grunts shoved together like sardines there's plenty for your ears to distort," Atlas replies with a nod, a placating smile spreading across their face. Nevertheless they can't help but keep an extra-sharp ear out going forward. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst and all that.

There's a part of Atlas that expects that to be the end of the exchange. Their attention is starting to wander when the stranger speaks up in introduction. At this hour they can't say they're in the most social mood, but every connection is a foothold. It would be silly to pass one up on account of mere tiredness.

"My name's Atlas."

Atlas clears the space between themselves and the stranger as they speak. Comfortable steps, punctuated by the ugly slap of plastic soles on metal. Once they're in range they offer their right hand to shake. Relaxed, held out tilted so the soft palm is exposed.

"The pleasure is mine, I was just getting sick of stomping about by myself."

No smile in return, but the offer is accepted. Atlas decides to push a little harder. Their smile goes wider, grateful, as they nod at Grump. The Houndour walks to a pleasant halfway between them and huffs (once, twice, like a sputtering lighter) before an EMBER springs to life just ahead of her snout.

"I've taught her pretty good control," they start in a friendly tone before they switch to a lower voice, as if sharing a secret, and shoot a sneakier smile their partner's way, "but maybe still don't get too much closer, yeah?"

They'd physically leaned a bit over the gap between themselves and Izydor while joking with him, but straighten back up for introductions.

"I'm Atlas, nice to meet you. I'd offer a hand to shake; but in case you haven't noticed it's fucking freezing in here, and I'd hate to leave the hand warmers in my pockets."

"Thanks for the warm welcome," Atlas replies, voice pleasantly sarcastic. An intentional lean in. Even if Atlas is happy for the chaos of the region, the opportunity it presents, Parker clearly isn't.

The mention of 'Bax' takes a moment to process. Right, the name on the file. Atlas listens attentively and nods along as Parker speaks. The crack of her knuckles after such a call for peace earns a huff of air (a barely stoppered laugh) and a brighter flash of teeth.

"A quick day, and I don't have to get my hands dirty? Well maybe this region isn't all bad then."

After a momentary pause they push on, as if having almost forgotten something.

"And yes, Slateport is home for now. More or less."

Not far behind the other Rocket, Atlas saunters up to the dorm with a distinct lack of the same kind of rage the man possesses. They take a bit of time to straighten their jacket and smooth their tie while angry shouts echo down the tin-can of a hallway.

Inquisitive heads that poke their way out of nearby dorms are met by cool smiles and placating gestures. Conspiratorial pointing to the raging demon that pulled them from whatever they were doing communicating plainly: 'Do you really want to get in the middle of this?'

When all curious minds are put back away and the shouting pauses, Atlas does their best to insert themselves between a breath and the next tirade.

"You mind if I give it a shot? By all means, I'll make way for your boot the moment I fail; but no harm in a gentler attempt, right?"