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Being transported between simulations was never not disorienting, but even Beau found himself particularly confused at where he found himself when the proverbial dust had settled.
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Slateport, he recognized, but not in this state of bedlam. More concerning was the fact that he was standing just outside one of the Pokemon Centers, and said Center was currently devoid of power and missing several windows. Torben was a reassuring presence at his side, but the numerous black-clad Rockets behind him were decidedly not.
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He tensed to turn and send Torben into the fray, but frustratingly, his body wouldn't respond. He glanced down to find that he was dressed in the same Rocket uniform, and blanched. Had the system really put him on the wrong side of things? This had to be a defect. Why couldn't he move?
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And then he was moving, though not of his own volition. He led the charge against the Pokemon Center, Torben smashing through the door as though it were tinfoil before Beau leapt in behind him. The interior was dark, patrons and their pokemon huddled into corners of the lobby. These were easy pickings for the other Grunts, but Beau had his eyes on the Nurse behind the counter, trembling.
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He strode up with a crooked grin, and it was his voice that spoke, but with a horrible amused cadence.
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"Hey there, cutie," he drawled, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning on the counter, almost disinterested. "Why don't you pack up the critters in treatment and hand them over? Then we c'n see about gettin' you out of all this mess. Easier to leave when you have a friend," he grinned widely, holding his hand out.
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The Nurse shook her head vehemently, one arm extending to reach for something beneath the counter.
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Beau's hand shot out faster than lightning, gripping the back of the woman's head and slamming it hard enough into the counter that the veneer cracked. A small pool of blood spread from the woman's hidden face, and she crumpled, sliding to the floor.
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"Wrong answer," he quipped smoothly. "Guess we'll make a manual withdrawal."
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Beau nodded as Jack called out his intentions, urging his Blastoise on and pulling forward to the middle of the ship's body as his partner circled away to the other side. Progression was slow and steady, and Beau thought for coming up with his first plan on his own, things seemed like they were actually going fairly smoothly.
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That thought proved to be his undoing, as almost immediately the ship started to list away from him. Unable to do anything here but watch helplessly as it tipped over toward starboard, Beau performed an immediate 180 and surged to the aft, the rain like needles on his face to match what he felt in his chest right now.
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Coming up on his Wailord and unable to call to it half-submerged into the water, he urged his Blastoise forward in a WAVE CRASH near its flank. With a deep, persistent cry, the Wailord slowly course-corrected, angling under the back of the boat from the left. Too slow, too slow, dammit... his thoughts raced.
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He felt the surge of energy before he saw it, and a wave of relief washed through him. Jack's Mega Gyarados was correcting the tilt, thank Arceus, and all he had to do...
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Was be back where he was, in case it overcorrected. Crap.
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Panting from exertion, his Blastoise cut through the water back to mid of port, but - miracle of miracles - the bearing stabilized on its own, and continued straight.
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What followed were the most anxious minutes of his life, but fortunately no further imbalances occurred, and when the Lilycove docks came into sight, he felt warm pride bloom through his chest. They'd done it.
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Once the ship came to rest just outside the docks, anchors safely deployed, Beau recalled his Wailord and cruised through the water's surface to accost Jack. "We did it, brah!" he yelled, pumping his fists in the air triumphantly. "And DAMN that was cool!"

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"Nah, brah, I get it," Beau assures, flashing a thumbs-up with a cheery wink. "We usually keep to ourselves, 'cept when we don't." A little chuckle accompanies this, tinged with just a hint of...bitterness? Guilt? Something off-putting, if he'd let it linger on the silence long enough before continuing.
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"Oh yeah, I'm over in Lilycove a fair bit," he nods. "Got a buddy who works the lighthouse out that way, really kinda neet. Action, though?" He tilts his head slightly, as though puzzled. "I dunno, seems if you ask some people there's more action in Dewford than oughtta be, right now. Havin' that weird portal thing up in Granite Cave sure ain't helpin' things," he sighs.

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Beau punched the air, beaming broadly as Eddie reunited with his wayward shadow. "Yeah, brah, you did it!" he enthused. Said enthusiasm dimmed only slightly when Eddie posed his question, and Beau glanced over to his pack - still perfectly, innocently still - and shrugged.
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"I hate to trouble ya, but probably, if mine decides t'run around like yours did." Two heads were definitely better than one, in that scenario. He moved to his pack and tentatively crouched down. Extending a finger, he prodded the pack gently, then immediately snatched his arm back, as though it might get bitten off.
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The pack gave no obvious response.
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Emboldened, Beau gripped the pack by the handle near the top and stood, hauling the pack upward off the ground to reveal -
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The huddled, translucent form of a small Skitty, mewling piteously as it sat curled atop a black, inky blot that surely must be Beau's shadow.
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Blinking in consternation, Beau completely forgot to recoil from the spectral sight because the poor thing was just a sad kitten. He peered at the form curiously, then turned to Eddie, his face uncommonly somber. "Brah, I think it's stuck," he commented, jerking a thumb skyward at the slowly drifting souls that passed far overhead.

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Beau called out his Incineroar with barely a thought as he marveled at the enormous Venusaur. The Garbodor had been startlingly impressive, but this - this was really dangerous.
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Roaring, he bellowed a command to Incineroar, who leapt at the gigantic Grass-type with a Flare Blitz that cracked the shield protecting the Venusaur. "Come on, brah, you can do better than that! Remember your training and HIT IT WHERE IT HURTS!" he enthused, slamming his own chest with a fist emphatically.
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Landing, the Incineroar responded with a snarl before launching another attack, joining in the assault. Beau felt another wave of nausea, the gorge rising in his throat, but he simply spat to one side and returned his attention to the threat at hand. Taking care of himself could come later, there were people and pokemon at stake first.

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Though Beau arrived at the Petalburg woods raring for a fight, he was mildly disappointed to note that most of the aggressive pokemon had been thinned out already.
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He peered around at the trees incredulously instead, the graffiti from the outbreak both impressive and horrifying. "Ahab," he scowled, releasing his Poliwrath, "We gotta clean this up."
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Normally he would feel poorly about interfering with pokemon in their natural habitat, but something told him - if this was related to any of the previous outbreaks that seemed to be plaguing the region this month - this was not a natural phenomenon, so he didn't feel too bad.
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As Ahab began directing pressurized jets of water at the surrounding trees, slowly washing the offending markings off, Beau was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea, bending over and retching. What the hell was happening?

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Beau grinned as Klaus tucked in, finally allowing himself to do the same. He polished off his pancakes with impressive - if predictable - speed, and decided he'd done alright.
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"I know it's really good," he laughed at Klaus's comment, "I told you it was. You should listen more," he winked. "And yeah, brah, you're welcome! Thanks for comin' all the way out here for it, least I could do."
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The mention of the movie gave him little pause, but it was a little pause. He dealt with this by collecting the dishes and stacking them mostly (surprisingly) neatly in the sink. "Yeah, sure," he offered, moving into the living room and picking up the DVD case. He turned it over in his hands experimentally, as though it would spontaneously transmute into an action movie or romantic comedy instead, but no.
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Still zombies and guts.
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Steeling himself - You asked for this, dummy. - he put the movie in and sat heavily on the couch, digging into the cushion with one hand to fish for the remote control. "You sure you got the time for it?"

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"Well, dang," Beau quipped upon hearing the other man's status. "Mine's either, like, in my pack or underneath it, I think." He eyed his supplies, squinting suspiciously, before determining that nothing untoward appeared to be disrupting his efforts further. Other than, you know, not currently having a shadow.
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He watched Eddie tromp around for a little bit, then offered a shrug. "I kinda don't wanna touch it, because what if I have your shadow then? That would be kind of weird. But also kinda cool..." He trailed off for a moment, wistful. Then blinked. "Wait, no, it's your shadow," he declared.
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"What if I help try and herd it toward you? Cut off its escape?" He moved experimentally, circling the platform opposite Eddie. When the little inky blob darted away from the older man, Beau jumped in front of it with a "RAH!", causing it to almost comically skid to a stop and veer back toward the other man at a sharp angle.

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Oh, neat. Beau is used to being thrown with any number of random people he hadn't met yet for these missions, with the handeds being so short, but it's cool that he got paired with another ranger. jack wainwright would probably call it, uh...a 'networking opportunity'.
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"Good t'meetcha!" he returns, shaking the offered hand warmly. "I'm Beau. No worries, brah, Dewford is kinda off on its own little island sometimes, an' I'm just glad I haven't done bad enough the past couple'a months t'get on anybody's radar," he grins, unabashed.
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He glances around briefly to survey the area as they walk - he'd been down here before, and after getting ambushed by a couple of Rockets he really wasn't keen to repeat the experience. Then again, safety in numbers, right?
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"Captain, huh? That's pretty rad. What area do you oversee? I ain't really met one of those yet, 'less you count ollie morales. Dewford's kinda on its own at the moment, from what I hear."

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Although he didn't spend much time near Fortree as a rule, Beau had to admit that the goal of providing a safe area for pokemon affected by the tumult of the region was one he not only could get behind, but was duty-bound to. "Over here, dude, you're in the wrong place!"
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He called out to Torben, who was laden with an absurd amount of neatly-cut logs and by all appearances couldn't quite see where he was going. The Pangoro huffed irritably, turning toward Beau and lumbering forward before depositing the lumber with a clatter and shake that Beau felt in his feet.
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"Attaboy! Now we gotta place 'em, do like me and we'll be done with this part in no time, then we c'n see if anybody else needs a couple of hands, yeah?" Indicating the slope he was crouched in front of, Beau began directing Torben on the process of shoring up the soft earth, wiping sweat from his brow as he bent to haul one of the logs up. Work like this was physically taxing, but he couldn't help but wear a smile the whole while, knowing what it was meant for.

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