Shioda Yoshiro had not stepped out of unit training for her security company in over a decade. But today? Today she had made a marked exception for the soon-not-to-be-anonymous man in her recent text messages. An exception that had Chiyo remote updating an impromptu dossier onto her phone, still held in one hand as she stepped out of a sleek, black towncar and onto the sidewalk. More exposed than usual in a dark tank and fatigue trousers, traditional yakuza ink moved over hard muscle as she stalked down the street toward the target building, her demeanor and stride alike intimating a kind of danger which made several pedestrians cross the street to avoid her.

Neither her appearance nor demeanor, however, swayed the executor of the event into letting her by without an impromptu questionnaire, and she is fairly certain but unperturbed that several tables were likely privy to the brief back and forth that included, "What kind of question is that? Fine. Doesn't matter, as long as I'm on top. Yes. That table. I'm aware. Thank you."

Hooking klaus anchoret 's date's chair with one boot, Yoshiro slid it back from the table, lifting her chin in scarce indication that the other woman should leave, and abruptly. She dropped into the newly vacant chair, head tilted back as her dark eyes flitted from his shoes back up to his magenta-red gaze, as self-assured of her own power over this moment as a king upon a throne.

klaus anchoret

☉

And how to take that?

Yoshiro contemplated it a moment, head atilt and dark eyes introspective as she recalled her lessons with Oba Guiying. Electricity sparks from the pads on its limbs. Wherever Zeraora runs, lightning flashes and thunder echoes. Zeraora. No matter how she contemplated it, she couldn't misconstrue it as anything but flattery. Do you really believe thunder echoes where I walk? They were young again, watching torrents of rain like silver beneath the eaves, craning for glimpses of Rayquaza amidst the roiling clouds.

They weren't young now, her dark eyes locked with...no, Junya.

But Amber's palm felt warmly electric against her own, and-

She was about to do something fantastically stupid about it.

Would have, had it not been for the way the other's words caught up with her, indignant, about Hydreigon, and making her suddenly remember herself all at once. An unbidden smile, the corner of which curled upward in a fond manner, broke over her features as she asked with a low amusement, "My Amber? Taming dragons?

Yoshiro moved to almost arm's-length, though left their fingers laced as she gave the other woman a thoughtful once-over, as if truly taking the measure of all that claimed bravado. But the watered steel of her voice was warm as she drew Amber back in, its cutting edge turned, a blade set aside in the sunlight, "I remember having to hold your hand every time we went out on the second floor balcony."

She blinked at mention of the kimono, blinked again, more slowly, at the notion that the other may wish to actually purchase it for her. Sure, Yoshiro had received gifts before. A nice watch, once, from- was her name Chanterelle? Chantal? It probably hadn't been her real name, anyways. But she was much more often the gifter than the giftee, and it was hardly ever with any deep thought, just a card swiped for a pair of designer shoes or a place on the wait-list of that five star ramen restaurant downtown.

Junya hadn't received a gift since...Well. Not since that last summer, when a well-loved, well-worn Growlithe plush had made its way onto the windowsill for her to find. It had withstood everything. Time. Distance. The near-end of the Shioda line. She had it still, set carefully upon the bookstand in her estate in its own tidy, precise spot, over a decade old now and missing the black rim of fuzz around its ears.

When all the childlike wonder faded from Amber's features, replaced by a simmering embarrassment, Junya was the one who looked through the window at all their lost time. The missed birthdays, the missed festivals just like this one, stretching so far back it scarcely felt fair. It was her hand, beneath a Shioda Oyabun's well-earned stripes, that caught the door handle, pulling it ajar to the faint clink of festival chimes.

"Not without that Houndoom in the window," Yoshiro answered with confidence, beckoning Amber inward even as the shopkeeper inside started to reach beneath the counter and insist, "I don't have any money in the reg-" At the cool, level look offered in return, they abruptly fell silent, and Yoshiro countered as if nothing had transpired, "I'll pay with a card, then."

A conspiratory look shared between her and the nearby Umbreon, she flashed a grin at his keeper, "Lucifer wants it. I don't make the rules."

When they departed for the shrine thereafter, wading through a crowded street strung with softly-glowing paper lanterns, Yoshiro draped her arm around Amber's shoulders to keep them from losing one another as they went - or so she told herself. Held securely in her free hand, a parchment bag decorated in scarlet-gold and containing far more than they initially went in for spoke otherwise.

"What are you going to wish for?" she asked in a smooth, curious timbre as they drew closer to their destination, turning toward the blonde to be heard above the street music.

Amber Lenoir

☉

Yoshiro lifts her chin in a polite nod to priam conrad as he passes, resisting the urge to light up another cigarette out of respect for those present. She never did catch his name. Her dark eyes scan the room keenly, checking first the number of exits, then flicking toward the observation deck with a vague curiosity, wondering at who sent the summons that brought them to this location. It does seem a motley collection, but she has done far more with far less before, and the prospect of squeezing blood from a stone has never troubled her.

As if on cue, the hair on the back of her neck rises, and she turns just in time to catch Elisabeth Fiorelli glancing in her direction. It strikes her that there is something vaguely familiar about that woman that she cannot quite put her finger on, save that everything in the blonde woman's demeanor is giving her old money and too perfect. She meets the other's gaze for perhaps a half-second, dark brow arching in a way that tugs at the butterfly bandage sealing it shut, and raises her hand in a polite wave of greeting before returning to her conversation with The Fixer .

"Dozen or so," Yoshiro responds with a noncommittal shrug, as if she had truly lost count in the process - a distinct possibility. A confident smile crosses her features as she confides, "Negotiations with a rival company are falling through. They're a bit upset about us folding their lieutenant into an origami swan. You know how it is."

"If you're looking for work-" she adds conversationally, allowing the sentence to hang with the assumption he will intimate her meaning.

participating! open to interactions

☉

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yoshiro shioda

☉

Yoshiro blinks slowly at Georgette Bluebottle's invitation, snowflakes gathering in her dark lashes from the BLIZZARD and expression thoroughly unreadable for a long moment. Flicking a glance toward the nearby Froslass and then its owner, she eventually assents with a subtly bemused, if cordial, "Yes. I could do that."

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A disgruntled look crosses her features immediately afterward as she looks down the path and spots a silhouette miming in the distance.

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"Hoshi," she instructs, snapping her fingers toward what she presumes is a Mr. Mime, "Take care of that."

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As the Zorua romps off, chasing the offending mime back into the grass with seeming delight and a number of SCARY FACES, Yoshiro clears her throat lowly and attempts to make conversation, "So. What has you out this late? Doing a bit of training?"

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+ ooc notes:

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Her latest bit of business only recently tended to, if in spades, and evidenced by the butterfly tape closing a nick in her eyebrow and the other two applied to split, bruise-dusted knuckles, Shioda Yoshiro wonders if she's already late, but takes a deep puff of her dwindling cigarette nonetheless before she ducks through the awaiting doors and out onto the exam room floor. Beside her, his tattered ears flicking to and fro to cast for sound, an Arcanine remains in perfect lock-step, his scar-striped maw muzzled behind an oni-style half-mask.

And while they were a common sight in the illicit, underground arenas of Johto, Torao in his mask and she in her familial Arcanine tattoos, they were distinctly newcomers here, Yoshiro muses as she exhales a slow, sweet breath of smoke through her nostrils and observes the gathering crowd near the bin. But perhaps not as out of place as they could be, she corrects, wondering if those surrounding the green-gilled klaus anchoret intend to bully him into it.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she takes it out to scan a dozen or so recently received messages before tapping out a hasty response.

shioda.y: cant talk now, Amber Lenoir
shioda.y: yes it looks good
shioda.y: seriously cant text
shioda.y: business meeting
shioda.y: make it up to you with ramen later

Rolling her shoulders to relieve a tight muscle, she debates whether or not to cross over and dispose of the cigarette butt, but the helmet glimpsed in the crowd makes the decision for her. Regrettably, Yoshiro decides when the acrid smell of bile hits her, makes Torao rumble deeply in his chest. She flicks the remnants of her extinguished cigarette into the bin, wrinkling her nose faintly before offering a nod of camaraderie to The Fixer .

"Hadn't expected to see a familiar face. How's business?" Yoshiro inquires in a smooth, smoke-limned timbre, before offering a cursory nod to the others as well. "Gentlemen. Ladies. Shioda Yoshiro."

OOC Notes: Participating!

☉

At the sound of howling in the distance, both Yoshiro and Torao look up of a sudden, then at each other. Not hesitating any further, they move together toward a nearby clearing, where the grasslands reach the foot of the mountains - a walk which takes the better part of an hour. Here, beneath an overhang of stone, a lone Growlithe howls mournfully, its calls unanswered.

[break]

Taking up post nearby, the two watch and wait, first for a few hours - then the better part of a day, and then into the next. When nothing has returned for the pup, Yoshiro snaps her fingers lightly, allowing Torao to lope over through the meadow grass and approach. Waiting until they are both distracted, the Growlithe pouncing excitedly at his paws and Torao bowing down to play in like kind, Yoshiro unclips a Pokeball from her belt and unlatches it, throwing it between them.

[break]

It's going home with them. It is well past time Shioda housed another of the Arcanine line.

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+ ooc notes: CAPTURING GROWLITHE

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"I answered you," Yoshiro observes, a current of amusement bleeding into her smooth timbre as she teases lowly, "Eventually." And then with far more seriousness, voice all watered steel once more, "Chiyo and I were in the process of letting your Bastidion Protection hire go. He didn't take it well."

[break]

Her other, bruise-knuckled hand lifts as if to catch Amber's elbow as the other woman wobbles slightly, lest she does fall into the Magikarp pond on accident and ruin all her finery. It wouldn't be the first time one or another of them ended up in one, she muses to herself, a quirk to the corner of her lips at the thought.

[break]

"I should let you," she informs the other in a serious timbre, though a mischievous spark of delight in her dark eyes reveals otherwise as she insincerely lowers her empty hand a fraction. "Keep all the daifuku to myself while you splash about like a 'karp."

[break]

A smile breaks out on her countenance, however, when the box is taken, and, contrary to her words, she waits until she's drawn along in step before discreetly passing her own mochi off to Lucifer, fingertips stroking the Umbreon's ears lightly as she scans the surrounding crowd and listens to the array of festivities available to them.

[break]

"You have a bit of-" Yoshiro doesn't bother to finish elaborating, instead using one hand to catch Amber by the wrist, while the other rises to brush away a bit of powder from the corner of the other's mouth. If her touch lingers a second longer than it should, is that really such a- She blinks once as if realizing herself, and recovers smoothly with, "Why not all of them?"

[break]

Withdrawing, if only the one hand, the other finding Amber's own to lace their fingers together and tugging her forward, as she cuts through the crowd toward their first destination, having decided upon it already.

[break]

It's been years since they were able to do anything together, after all. Why not make up for lost time? "The mall first. Then the shrine, foodstall, and -" She looks amusedly over her companion sidelong for an instant, as if in on a secret, "We'll find a roof to climb up onto, to watch the fireworks in peace. The pagoda - if you're feeling brave."

[break]

Guiding them down toward the entrance of the mall, where the vendors have already toted out row upon row of festival fashions, she catches Amber's gaze at the comment on her appearance, head tilting subtly at what follows after.

[break]

She remains silent for a solid three seconds before a warm laugh escapes her, an altogether too self-assured smile following after as she confides an octave lower, never breaking eye contact, "Hilarious."

[break]

And she shouldn't say it. She really shouldn't, but the Bolthund in her chest has stopped racing of a sudden.

[break]

"We'd have to give them something to talk about," Yoshiro intones further, nonchalant as anything, and winks at Amber once. It starts again. Only then does her gaze shift toward the nearby wares, fingertips catching the sleeve of a kimono to draw it out a scarce measure for view - its pattern of magikarp and autumn leaves intricate. "Ah. This is lovely."

[break]


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+ ooc notes: Amber Lenoir FESTIVE FLIRTS

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Let it never be said that Hoshiko does not do her job well, Yoshiro thinks to herself as she climbs along a half-felled tree to get free of the tall, frost-limned grass, hopping lightly back down onto the bare road as the first of the harried pokemon - a Snubbull - break from the edge of it and almost barrel straight into...

[break]

Hell. That girl again - Georgette Bluebottle.

[break]

"Watch out-" Yoshiro starts to shout, only to leap back abruptly when the hair on the back of her neck stands on end - the tree she only just clambered over erupting into shards of timber and ice mere seconds later, a Hydreigon looming where it had been.

[break]

"Oh, if you aren't the pettiest little bitch this side of Hoenn," she breathes with exasperation as Hoshiko slinks from the withered vegetation to settle smugly, and directly, between her boots. Not breaking eye contact with the dragon as it roars aloud, she makes no sudden movements, bending slowly to catch a broken branch from where it has landed and preparing, undoubtedly, to use it in her own defense.

[break]

Hoshiko, content to preen while the aggressive Hydreigon approaches, allows it to lumber one step, then two,...and then a full three toward Yoshiro, before taking action. Only when the shadow of the proverbial dragon falls over them does the little fox look up, sneeze once, which kicks up snow from the ground below, and then puff up considerably to offer her most SCARY FACE - a feat accomplished by virtue of on-end fur and copious illusions, and which seems to contain far too many teeth for so small a pokemon.

[break]

When the Hydreigon utters a warning call, retreating back into the grass, Yoshiro tosses her stick back onto the ground, another pointed look leveled at the now-sniggering Zorua before she turns toward the other trainer on the road.

[break]

"Good evening, Georgette."

[break]

And then, when the back of her boot is pounced on.

[break]

"I'm still not carrying you, Hoshi."

[break]

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+ ooc notes:

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