A soft, alerting huff from her Arcanine alerts Yoshiro to the clan of Oshawott playing near the reeds upriver, and it takes her the better part of an hour to determine an advantageous angle from which to strike, waiting patiently for them to venture further and further from the shoreline. Quietly slipping in a circle around them, using the rocky banks as cover, she utters a shrill whistle as she climbs up onto the shore once more, sending the majority of the creatures scattering wildly in every direction: save for the one effectively cornered between herself and Torao.

[break]

Snapping open a Pokéball with a deft flick of the wrist, Yoshiro crouches down even with the little beast, and points toward the open contraption to instruct simply, "Get in the ball."

Junya made many, many sacrifices to become Shioda Yoshiro, a heavy weight in blood and gold for every stripe indelibly inked upon her skin. Her father wore them before her, and his father before him, as many generations back as there were Shioda and Arcanine to serve them.

[break]

It would not have been proper to wear them the way she does, not on the backs of her hands, nor curling up the sides of her throat. In the old days, they were a sign of station that was kept secret - that was more known than not - that must be covered in public forum. But the times have changed, and the family with it.

[break]

Each one represents toil and suffering and pride, from the traditional Arcanine motifs on the backs of her hands, arms, her back, the clouds of smoke and ash, sparks of ember, inked in the old way, beneath the old ceremonies. But there are others, less often seen, hidden within the traditional patterns upon the ribs, where it is most painful - citrus blossoms and citrus boughs, a string of ornamental magikarp in ivory and darkness, spots of vibrant orange-gold.

[break]

A Shioda Oyabun's fate is for their body to tell their story, from scar to black stripe, and Shioda Yoshiro has no shortage of either. She knows an intense pride for the way her story shows her accomplishments, but the citrus blooms and the orange-black scales, those. Those are just for her. They are the beginning and the end, and everything in between.

[break]

Her last memory as Junya was in the summer.

[break]

The air is clear and hot, shimmers in the sun, her hakama rolled up to her knees and tied as they wade in to look for Froakie in the stream behind the estate, under the watchful eye of Asahi and members of the family guard. Torao is still a pup, ambling after her and prowling in the shallows after Wishiwashi with Lucifer - their secret name for him - who pounces in after him.

[break]

They sit on the still-warm stones once the sun has set, and Asahi uses his Arcanine to light a fire, on which they roast chestnuts and wild plums and little fish on long sticks, staying out to watch the stars rise and the Volbeat illuminate the forest in the distance in little flashes.

[break]

There is a moment therein in which Junya lives forever, in the liminal space between the sunset and rise - in that liminal summer in which Amber is theirs forever, and never has to go home to her unkind mother and the unkind trailer, and the many more small unkindnesses that linger on a horizon youth cannot yet imagine.

[break]

Asahi tells them stories about the Pokemon of old, of the nine-tailed enemy and the thousand-year curse, and the boy who stole a tail from a fox and lived to tell the tale. He carries them home when they cannot stay awake any longer, fast asleep in a heap of blankets on the cart pulled by his Arcanine.

[break]

In the autumn, his blood will be scattered across the tiled stone in Ecruteak city, a heap of orange-gold furs heaped before the hearth of a nine-tailed enemy to mark the fall of her brother, her father, her mother, the whole of her life taken in one fell swoop - her father's blade but another war trophy in another hidden war.

[break]

She remembers sitting in the back of Oba Guiying's car as news crews attempted to snap pictures of them beyond the tinted glass. The way her hands trembled a little as she dialed a familiar number, dressed in her funeral best.

[break]

She remembers listening to the way the words on the other end slurred at the very edges as Ms. Berry advised her to, "Never call this number again." The next time she tried it, the number would be disconnected.

[break]

She had lain the phone in her lap, and wiped at her eyes. She could not afford to show weakness now. It would bring her father shame. He would have forgiven her.

[break]

Autumn was the season in which the Shioda family lost everything.

[break]

It lost Ai.

[break]

It lost Hinata.

[break]

It lost Asahi.

[break]

And in the end, it lost Junya.

[break]

"What have you decided on?" Oba Guiying asked of her much later as the older woman came to stand beside her at the magikarp pond, where she has been for hours, watching them swim alone.

[break]

"Yoshiro."

[break]

"An interesting choice. We will begin tomorrow, Shioda Yoshiro."

[break]

"I want to begin tonight."

[break]

She would fell her first of nine enemies by the cusp of the third spring, take her father's sword back from the mantle and take her place at the head of his empire, the one he created for his sons, and which passes just as easily to his daughter.

[break]

Years would pass, and the seasons would turn, but on summer nights when the Volbeat danced in the forest, or at the scent of citrus on the breeze, the taste of ichigo daifuku, she would remember. Would find herself between this job and that, bruised knuckles and split lip in an alleyway, or beneath the roar and din of the underground as Torao spilt blood to defend his title, scrolling through her news feed for the latest on Amber Berry.

[break]

Sometimes, upon returning home, she would send oranges, or fanmail, never more than a few encouraging lines on sweet, citrus-scented parchment, and always without a signature. Sometimes, she would lie to herself and imagine that somewhere, her childhood friend read them and remembered, too.

[break]

Oba Guying was stitching a split in her shoulder by the firelight when the news televised the emancipation of Amber Berry, and she remembers thinking - Good. Good, you can finally be happy now. You're finally free. And perhaps she would have reached out, said all those things then, were it not for the hidden war in the streets of Blackthorn City. Were it not so dangerous then.

[break]

"I used to write to you every summer," she confides smoothly, and all this time later, over a decade and a continent away from where they began, it feels as natural as dipping her toes in the magikarp pond to escape the afternoon heat. It feels easy to confess, as she separates the sections of the orange neatly and sets half of them back onto the plate.

[break]

Extending one of the segments out to Lucifer, Yoshiro nonetheless continues to converse with her unconscious companion, "Never all the things that I wanted to tell you, but some. That you still hold your chopsticks like a Slowpoke. That I can't eat daifuku without thinking of our tree."

[break]

"That I missed you."

[break]

She speaks quietly to her childhood friend well into the night, of all manner of things, a hundred, hundred stories that she's waited to share and yet remain unheard. And when the moon shines through the curtains, and she can keep awake no longer, Yoshiro rises to turn out the light - falls into a fitful sleep in a hospital room chair, half-covered by her tearoom jacket.

[break]
[break]

+ ooc notes: Amber Lenoir BOOM BOOM BAKUDAN

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

Yoshiro halts suddenly at the movement in the nearby rocks, a soft chiming sound preceding the arrival of a CHINGLINGfrom the surrounding area. She watches it for a few minutes, playfully bouncing around Torao's paws with a wild abandon as he blows a gentle huff of smoke in response.

[break]

"Thank you, little friend," she intones with a vague amusement, leaning over the Arcanine's side to leave a small section of her travel meal on a nearby stone for the creature, and urges Torao onward in search of more.

[break]
[break][break]

+ ooc notes: SKIPPING Chingling | SAFARI ZONE

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

As swiftly as they had begun to traverse the snow, Yoshiro heels her Arcanine abruptly once they break the treeline, his breath steaming in the air as they round on the first thing that catches her attention - lamentably, the ILLUSIONed form of Hoshiko, who looks up unrepentantly from seated on a snow-drift and snaps down another pastry in too-few bites to be proper.

[break]

All scarf and turquoise eyes and too-white smile that curls a little too wide at the edges, the Zorua flings the parchment wrapper amidst a scattering of others, and starts in on the last one gleefully.

[break]

"Get up here," Yoshiro exhales in a sigh, a similar cloud of mist rising with her words, and reaches down for the ILLUSIONed Zorua, who scrabbles up onto the Arcanine's back with her and is none-too-still as she scrubs a bit of confection from the tip of its nose. "Frosting on your nose."

[break]

At the sudden appearance of white frosting on Yoshiro's knuckle, the child-Zorua abruptly bites it, clearly intent on retrieving every last bit of its pilfered reward, and nearly earning itself a cuffing upside the head before she simply steers the Arcanine toward the SCREECHing Jangmo-o in the distance with a tired, "This is why no one likes you when you have sugar. Honestly, it's as if you were raised in a barn."

[break]

As they make swift pace toward the commotion in the distance, Yoshiro onlyl just slows Torao, sliding from his back mid-bound to command as she stalks toward her errant Jangmo-o and the stranger who he is scuffling with.

[break]

"Tatsuo," her voice rings out, firm and clear, "That is quite enough!"

[break]

With a soft, sulky, altogether guilty peep, the little dragon tears a magikarp from the end of the paper chain, peering resentfully up at the Alolan Vulpix for a solid ten seconds before starting to trudge through the snow toward Yoshiro with his apparent treasure.

[break]

A warning glance spared for the approaching Jangmo-o, Yoshiro then looks up toward the other woman and her fox, a contrite gesture offered palm's-up as she intones, "My sincere apologies. They are usually much better behaved."

[break][break]

+ ooc notes: Georgette Bluebottle TRAPINCH WHO STOLE CHRISTMAS

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

Yoshiro rests as indolently in a hospital chair as if it were the Shioda throne, drums her fingertips on the arm of it as she scrolls idly through her phone with the other hand. Reports are coming in, an easy dozen messages received since her arrival through security downstairs. No less than six attempts have been made to breach the perimeter, which is as she had anticipated when they locked it down. It's always the same with celebrities.

[break]

Three intrepid journalists looking for an inside story, two civilians, and at least one paparazzo who set up their camera on the roof across the way, taking pictures of the closed curtains in an attempt to sneak a picture. What he received, instead, was a first-hand tour from Kaito of the edge of the rooftop two stories up, and the confiscation of his camera, which will be mailed back to him once the film has been destroyed.

[break]

shioda.g: youre on the news, junya

[break]

shioda.g: try not to allow it to go to your head

[break]

She snorts softly with amusement, taps out a quick response before setting her phone to the side. Chiyo has access to the law enforcement reports, and has been questioning the bystanders that they deemed unimportant for additional details. Thus far, it's been determined that the suspect is male, likely between thirty and thirty-five, clean-shaven and otherwise unremarkable.

[break]

Average, from all accounts, in every sense of the word.

[break]

Above board, he is a needle in the proverbial haystack, but they are well-accustomed to this work, Botan and the others already identifying potential suspects from those who have come to crowd around the hospital. He will want to witness the chaos he has caused. Beneath it, if someone so much as breathes a word in the black market, the bounty alone will have a ten of their closest compatriots clamouring to turn them in.

[break]

It has cost a fair price, from the respectful offerings sent to the local oyabun, as is custom, to the compound that Reo scouted for their Slateport operations, all traditional stone tiles and tatami, its dark maples around a cool, dark pond of ornamental magikarp. It reminds her of home, which makes it well worth the hefty price. And there will be contracts soon enough. Contracts and other business to take, but first - Slateport.

[break]

And before Slateport, Amber.

[break]

Always Amber.

[break]

Amber, who is a memory in a similar house with tatami floors, with ornamental magikarp lazily swimming beneath the cold, dark water, rising up only to steal the breadcrumbs offered from small hands when they are supposed to be inside colouring.

[break]

Who stood out as starkly as anything in that house of old memories, all frivolous dresses that the other girl didn't want to wear and blonde hair done up in bows amidst a sea of dark silk kimonos. Who was her first and oldest friend, a rarity in such a household as hers, where friends and enemies trade roles often and with fervor. Who would always have a place in Shioda, even if her harpy of a mother told her she never would.

[break]

"Do you hear the way she talks to that child?" her mother, silk-smooth voice undercut with a certain sharpness, the danger a mother only shows those who threaten her cubs. "It's despicable, Hinata."

[break]

"There is little we can do about it outside these walls," Her father's soft exhalation, evident displeasure in the calm iron of his voice. "Were she not so...publicized, it would be easier. There would be more options."

[break]

Yoshiro, then Junya, all of seven and a half and pretending not to hear as she spars with her brother in the courtyard, yelping as her knuckles are struck and she drops her stick. He will crack them again and again until she does not react, and she will be thankful for it one day, ready for the life they lead.

[break]

Her mother's voice, more hushed, "Do you want our children to think that it is acceptable? That anyone should talk to them in the way that-"

[break]

"It is not that simple and you know that."

[break]

"Her parasite of a mother...I swear she gets thinner every time you bring her here. She and Junya are already close. She isn't an oyabun's child for you to have to worry after."

[break]

"Junya will understand."

[break]

"Junya shouldn't have to."

[break]

"Don't drop it again," her brother, Asahi, all dark eyes and seriousness, but no malice as he pivots on a heel and sweeps for her leg.

[break]

She hits the sand hard, but she doesn't let go. He approves, offers the hand that lifts her back up.

[break]

"What do you want me to do, Ai?" her father again, earnest. "We can't just-"

[break]

"Anything," and now her mother's voice is all watered silk, watered steel, cool as anything, "Anything that gets that little girl out of that house for a season."

[break]

She leans forward and reaches out, tattooed knuckles a sharp contrast as she tucks an errant strand of blonde hair behind Amber's ear, watches the other's eyelids shift and wonders what she dreams of. If it is the house with the tatami floors. If it is stolen ichigo daifuku, sweet with strawberry, consumed high up in the garden tree while Shioda Ai pretends not to notice them.

[break]

"I hope your dreams are pleasant," Yoshiro confides smoothly, softly to her unconscious companion, smoothing the other's brow before settling back in her chair once more. Selecting an untouched fruit from the nearby tray, she works a section of rind free, the sharp scent of citrus filling her senses.

[break]

A flicker of mischief runs beneath her timbre like smoke, her tongue clicked softly before she confides for only the other to hear, almost conversationally, "Lucifer and I are eating all the oranges without you."

[break]

Then, just as idly, "If you aren't up soon, you'll miss your limo and they'll have to give the Meloetta Award to Yasutake this year."

[break][break]

+ ooc notes: Amber Lenoir BOOM BOOM BAKUDAN

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

Shioda Yoshiro has never tolerated failure.

[break]

Whether it is her failure or another's matters very little. As her father said, it is Shioda that sets the bar and Shioda that metes out the bitter rewards deserved to those who cannot grasp it.

[break]

It tastes bitter on the backs of her teeth, far more abrasive than the smooth, sweet-tasting smoke of the hand-rolled cigarette that smoulders between her knuckles. She lifts it back to her lips, the ember-red end reflecting in her eyes in the moment it takes her to inhale deeply, exhale slowly, a curl of smoke that lingers in the air for no more than a few seconds before it dissipates. It does nothing to quell her frustrations.

[break]

Bristling.

[break]

Restless.

[break]

Incandescent.

[break]

All of these sentiments are accurate as the head of Johto's Striped Syndicate paces to and fro on the tarmac beneath her family helicopter like a caged animal, the amber-red gleam of the setting sun rippling over the copper of her skin and the dark banding of her tattoos like stripes on an Arcanine - the likes of which prowls the same circuit as its master beside her, the occasional huff of smoke expelled from his jaws.

[break]

Seven hours ago, she was seated on the tatami floor of the tearoom with Oba Guiying, discussing business, when her underboss had entered unannounced; a serious breach of etiquette that he will surely pay the price for, or would have, had the news not been important.

[break]

BLAST FROM THE PAST: JOHTO CHILD STAR INJURED IN SLATEPORT MALL EXPLOSION, was how the tabloids were reporting it - and if it weren't a futile effort, another grubbin of a reporter emerging from the dirt to take another's place, she'd have long-since had that dealt with too. It's disrespectful.

[break]

But she knows enough - certainly enough to make the moves she already has, to have her men on the streets in a way that she can't be because Amber wouldn't be Amber if she weren't the hot gossip all over Johto and now Hoenn. Enough to know that someone set a Voltorb off behind the stage while the models were walking, and that one of them wasn't lucky enough to make it out of the blast alive.

[break]

Her phone buzzes in her jacket pocket, and she hastily puffs the last bit of her cigarette before grinding it out beneath her boot, using the tip of her finger to flick open the lock screen. Amber's last album cover. Botan and his crew were already in Hoenn, have made it there before her.

[break]

tanaka.b: on location, ms. lenoir reported unconscious but in stable condition

tanaka.b: building swept and clean

tanaka.b: im setting up plainclothes at both entry points

tanaka.b: chiyo at mall w/law enforcement

[break]

She releases a held breath, relieved at the news.

[break]

tanaka.b: ms berry present, talking to media

tanaka.b: security worse than useless

tanaka.b: bastidion protection co.

[break]

She taps out a hasty reply, glancing up only to see a rather nervous attendant approaching with her paperwork before hitting send. He'd only been lightly threatened and his superior heavily bribed to expedite the process.

[break]

shioda.y: inform ms. berry that i will arrive shortly

shioda.y: if she tries to enter that room, have her removed from the premises

shioda.y: i don't care if it's seen

[break]

And then checks the distance between the airport and the hospital proper, before offering a distinct, crisp signature the the documents and accepting her identification back.

[break]

"W-welcome to Hoenn, M-miss Shioda," the rattled attendant only just manages. "Would you l-like me to c-call you a taxi?"

[break]

"No. Thank you."

[break]

Instead, Yoshiro catches a handful of her Arcanine's mane, swinging easily up onto his back to settle behind the shoulders. He flicks a tattered ear in her direction questioningly.

[break]

"Torao," she instructs carefully, adjusting her posture to keep low to his back. "Use EXTREME SPEED, will you - we wouldn't want to keep Ms. Berry waiting."

[break]

An adult Arcanine can run six thousand, two hundred miles in a day. It is twelve miles to the hospital. She arrives in less than three minutes, a bit wind-burnt about the tips of her ears, hair a bit mussed and hastily raked back into place as she looks toward the stairs, where the cluster of camera-flash is the brightest.

[break]

"Ma'am. Ma'am," Botan is already at the entryway, all dark suit and dark glasses and dark hair slicked back to his scalp with pomade, his intricate tattoos hidden beneath the crisp white of his collar as he bars entry to not only several paparazzi, but also, the estranged mother of her childhood companion. He repeats as if for the thousandth, thousandth time in a direct, unwavering timbre, "Miss Lenoir will not be seeing visitors at this time."

[break]

"You're keeping a mother from her baby," it's always the feigned conviction that gets her when Miss Berry speaks. It's all bullshit, every last word that doesn't come with a cut check. Amber's mother looks older than she remembers, even polished beneath a veneer of cosmetics, is all Krookodile tears and theatrics, the promise of more therapy than even years of child stardom could afford, all dressed up in a chic black dress as if she knew even this would be an opportunity for a photo op. "I'd like to speak with your manager."

[break]

Yoshiro snaps her fingers lightly, wonders if the abrupt and rumblingly aggressive Arcanine growl that sounds on cue is response enough, the pair afforded a wide berth as they ascend the stairs in a prowling yet precise lockstep. Torao's training has always been a point of pride for her, and he cuts an impressive figure, the orange-gold of his coat interspersed with the furrows and silver of long-healed scars, offset in bold stripes of sooty black.

[break]

A journalist lifts their camera hesitantly, the flash going off as she walks toward Miss Berry, a hand on the back of Torao's neck to smooth his hackles. He's never liked Amber's mother either. It suits her just fine, she in her non-descript grey sweater, black trousers, black boots, her tearoom jacket folded over her arm and traditional tattoos curling up the sides of her neck, unhidden, as she steps up, up, even with a woman that still owes her more money than is polite to speak of in public spaces and that she is certain she will never collect in full.

[break]

"Miss Berry. What a pleasure to see you after so many years," Yoshiro intones smoothly, her voice as cool as watered steel and light with unspoken threat as the reporters start to clamour all around them. "We're on retainer - " Her voice drops, all but inaudible save to the other now, "Which you may be aware of, were you not violating the terms of a restraining order."

[break]

She clicks her tongue once, advises, "On public television."

[break]

"In front of half of Hoenn," her dark gaze flick toward the other woman's heels and then back up, dismissively. "I suppose you were always fond of a scene." A crook of her finger summons one of her plainclothes men from behind Botan and her informs , "Hiroto will take you for coffee while we await more news."

[break]

He will, if only for appearances sake - and then he'll escort her to the train station and put the fear of Arceus back into her, where it belongs, before she's sent on the 7:00PM back to Johto. It almost surprises her when there's not a scene, Miss Berry rarely knows when she's beaten, but then - she's also in no hurry to address her owed debts.

[break]

"Miss?" the reporters are in a fervor now, one of them narrowly avoiding a snap from the Arcanine as she jostles too close to Torao's side. "Miss, could we have a name?" "Will Amber make her summer-" "How do you-"

[break]

She beckons, Torao falling in behind her as they slip past her men and into the hospital interior. The tabloids are going to have a field day. Oba Guiying will both not like it, and be pleased for the security contracts it brings in, widening their net in Hoenn as they once did in Johto. But that doesn't matter right now, perhaps never did.

[break]

Shioda Yoshiro is slipping into the heavily guarded room on the third floor, folding her tearoom jacket over the back of a chair. She is stroking the sleek, black fur of an Umbreon as his head lifts from the foot of the bed, and uttering a quiet, "Hello, Lucifer," as Torao sprawls out in front of the door. She is checking the latches and the windows, and everything else at least twice over before settling into the chair nearest the hospital bed with a sigh, and resisting the urge to smoke.

[break]

She waits.

[break][break]

+ ooc notes: Amber Lenoir BOOM BOOM BAKUDAN

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

A tattooed hand lifted to shield her eyes from the sun, Yoshiro scans the grounds with a keen eye before nodding her head toward a distinctive cliff face in the distance. The Arcanine upon which she rests flicks a notched ear in the direction of the stone, huffs a querying sound that emits a puff of smoke from betwixt his fangs.

[break]

"I think yes," she replies, voice cool and smooth as watered steel, perhaps just as dangerously sharp when warranted. "We'll have the best vantage point."

If Yoshiro notices the near-fall of Henry Driscoll, she does not betray it save for the faintest twitch of the fingers, as if she may reach out - far as she is - to prevent the fall if she were able. Leveling an unimpressed look upon the resident Toxtricity for his lax attitude, she rolls her shoulders a scarce measure before grasping onto the harness with both hands, and plants her feet flat to the ice.

[break]

Waiting courteously until she is certain that Henry has a firm grip, she affirms, "Torao."

[break]

At which, unhindered by his erstwhile passengers, the Arcanine digs his claws into the frozen ground and draws them step by step into the awaiting dark at a much swifter pace, occasionally halting to puff a gout of flame to better illuminate the path.

[break]

"I am," Yoshiro intones as they sojourn on, the creak and groan of glacial ice as it shifts beneath the earth echoing hollowly beneath her words. "Never know what you might find in a place such as this, after all, only a hope that not many tempt fate enough to journey this deep. And no - I am not opposed to the company."

[break]

"I'm not overly familiar with Hoenn just yet, you may catch something I would miss. Unless you are also an import, in which case it will be an adventure either way, no?"

[break]

The cavern walls glitter with ice from floor to ceiling, casting eerie reflections in all directions when illuminated, only to flicker out as the fire dies around Torao's maw. He exhales puffs of smoke, the scent of hearthfire clinging to his fur well after the warmth is gone.

[break]

A soft chirp sounds in the darkness, accompanied by what sounds suspiciously like a Zorua attacking a leather boot.

[break]

"Wait," Yoshiro's voice halts the Arcanine in his tracks before he can continue. "Again and hold."

[break]

A flicker of flame gathers within Torao's jaws, snapping with embers that threaten to strike inthe woman's coat as flame curls around his battle-scarred maw and laps upwards, the scarce nicks in his ears casting tattered shadows along the ice overhead. The fire provides a pleasant, warm, if somewhat too-near-for-comfort rush of light and heat, and more importantly, illuminates the cavern once more, the mere shadow of intricately carved stonework only just visible beneath the opaque ice underfoot.

[break]

"Any idea what that might be?" Yoshiro asks, head atilt. Not releasing her hold on the Arcanine, she nonetheless bends to scoop the Zorua up once more, a congratulatory tap of one tattooed knuckle beneath its chin eliciting a pleased sound from the creature.

[break][break]

+ ooc notes: Henry DriscollBRUMAL BOUNTY

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

It is a perfect winter's eve.

[break]

Hushed.

[break]

Quiet.

[break]

Still, but for the last few shoppers tucking wrapped parcels beneath their arms, drawing their scarves snug against the wind as it blows a fine glitter of snow from the rooftops.

[break]

Lanterns glow warmly from the shop-fronts, painting intricate patterns in amber and honey across the frosty walks, and in the distance, one can only just hear the sound of carolers making their way from door to door after some custom or another, warmly greeted or turned away, only they can tell.

[break]

A shop-door bursts open, the bell above it jingling merrily, though the shopkeep appears anything but - looking to and fro as if in search of something. As if at the sight, a small child, bundled to the ears in coat and scarf, an armful of whimsically-decorated confections precariously balanced, smiles impishly almost from ear-to-ear, an all too white, all too fox-cunning smile for one so young.

[break]

Turquoise eyes bright and impish, they laugh merrily as they dart through the shoppers without losing a one, jostling into bags and ducking around knees until they vanish entirely from view, leaving behind only a trail of oddly vulpine footprints in the soft powder.

[break]

Amidst the dwindling crowds, down the snow-swept end of the cobblestone path and into the trees, a string of gaily-decorated paper magikarp disappears from view to the soft tinkling of festive bells.

[break][break]

+ ooc notes: Georgette Bluebottle TRAPINCH WHO STOLE CHRISTMAS

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

Yoshiro snorts softly as she steps down the ice-slick steps into Shoal Cave, a cloud of silver-white coiling from her nostrils like dragon's-breath from the sharp drop in temperature.

[break]

Flexing her tattooed knuckles to the crackling sound of frozen condensation, she rubs her hands briskly together before sparing a glance over her shoulder in wait of her companions.

[break]

Their arrival is both with and without ceremony, the Zorua's velvety paws carrying it downward in a series of dainty little hops and bounds from ice-shelf to ice-shelf, and winds, all inky fur and silky tail around Yoshiro's boots until it is lifted up to be carried in the crook of her arm. Nestling into the side of her neck to peer over her shoulder, the fox pokemon utters a disdainful peep for the efforts of the Arcanine behind it.

[break]

Children.

[break]

Always squabbling.

[break]

Far more laborious a process, Torao's entry into the cavern is punctuated by displeased huffs and a rumbling growl, ending with the sharp, screeching scrabble of curved claws against the ice as he brute-forces his way past a tight cluster of stalagmites.

[break]

"It's unbecoming," Yoshiro advises the Zorua; and though she doubts it stops Hoshiko's smug gloating in the least, it at least quells Torao's rumble of warning in return. Their approach has no doubt been noticed by the cavern's other occupant by now, despite his intense focus on his...sliding, slowpoke-paced method of forward progress.

[break]

With a soft 'tch' from the back of her throat, Yoshiro makes her way over, the Zorua deposited back onto the ice as she wraps a hand around her Arcanine's riding harness. The other, she offers palm-up to the gentleman beside her in a show of good intention, offering in cadence as smooth as watered steel, "Shioda Yoshiro. This is Torao. If you wish to hold onto one side - he has far better traction than either of us will manage."

[break][break]

+ ooc notes: BRUMAL BOUNTY

[attr="class","pokeclass"]