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What was bad enough at the Space Center that Gwyar was having to call in reinforcements already? Beau tried not to think about it as he ran, Atlas buzzing along behind him. Whatever it was, there were enough of them that they could take care of it; he just needed to bust through who- or whatever needed busting through. Working by himself was not a strong point, but in the mix with his friends and colleagues? He was at least comfortable, there.
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Then, as if the universe itself had been reading his thoughts and decided he was in need of yet another in the series of painful lessons he'd been dealt over the past several months, a violet streak of flame surged past him from the side, causing him to skid to a halt. No, not flame - a pokemon? Then it wasn't even a pokemon at all, crashing to the ground and resolving as probably the scariest-looking woman Beau had seen in his life.
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She raised her fists, and he hesitated; he never liked resorting to violence at first blush, even though not one of these Rocket creeps had seemed to have any sense of rationale or remorse for their goals.
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"Left my refrigerator running, brah," he quipped back, twisting his mouth into a guileless smirk. "Figured I'd better go catch it."
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His gaze darted over her as he took her in: She looked dangerous, like already-been-in-the-thick-of-fighting dangerous. Her knuckles were bloodied, her frame sturdy, and her stance one of familiarity and practice. Shit, he did not have time for this right now, even if she was a...she.
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He could get past her, probably. Asking her to stand aside probably wouldn't work, not judging by the feral glint in her eye, but he reckoned he could outpace her if he needed to. But then what? Leave her out here to go after others? The kid?
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The enormity of the situation creeped up on him, ice in his spine, just like the Penitentiary. If he dove past her and somehow made it to the Space Center, the city would burn. If he took her on here and now, the Space Center might go under, and he still had no idea what they were facing there. There was no winning this completely; which was the better path to take?
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The big brass would probably want the Space Center safe, and whatever else was stored in there. That would be the on-paper call to make. He thought of the kid, though, and the dozens of people that were still trampling their way up the street and through the alleys around them. What good was saving stuff if it was the people who suffered, the ones they were supposed to protect?
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The only redeeming factor about ice was that it was sturdy, and when he dropped into his favored boxing stance, bouncing lightly from one foot to the other, his spine - his core - was strong. This was his move to make, and he didn't even have to trust that he wasn't making the wrong choice.
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He knew.
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"Come at me, if you're comin'," he winked.
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Atlas, for his part, turned his head one hundred-eighty degrees, proboscis twitching as he sighted the Ceruledge further down the street, after clever use of an ALLY SWITCH. Buzzing furiously, he wheeled around and took off with a burst of wind that blew dust from the pavement, lunging at his opponent with a POWER-UP PUNCH. The brawny attack slid right through the other pokemon as though it were made of mist, and Atlas buzzed in confusion.
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Beau, his narrowed eyes never leaving the obstacle that Parker posed, had no idea how bad his position was.

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Beau almost started as the Head Ranger burst back onto the scene, accompanied by the tantalizing aroma of food. The Kantonian spot was not one Beau frequented, but the slight rumble his stomach gave at the mere scent had him deciding that yes, he would indeed lay into whatever had been brought back.
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Lunch with ollie morales was a rare thing - only slightly more rare than Beau sitting in Dewford's Ranger HQ. Normally he was in and out - finishing a mission, starting the next, maybe occasionally filling out a more detailed report than he usually was made to. His thoughts drifted momentarily to the night he and jack wainwright had rerouted the stranded SS Tidal; that had been so many loopholes and reams of red tape that he hoped he'd never run into something that logistically nightmarish again.
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He grinned at the other man as he sat down. "No, I get it, everybody wants a piece of you, right? At least out here you can say you have sketchy service or somethin'," he laughed. He waved off the comment about his preference of food - by and large, if it wasn't still moving, he'd eat it - but the follow-up question had him pause.
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A combination of big hands and impatience had left him with only the most rudimentary understanding of chopsticks; he knew he wasn't holding them right when he did use them, and even then there was a three-in-four chance the food would drop right out of the unwieldy utensils, as if taunting him.
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He scoffed, though, raising an eyebrow and offering a cocksure grin. "Uh, obviously! Who doesn't know how to use chopsticks? Psh."
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He was only sweating a little bit.

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For all he expected to be cast aside like a piece of particularly heavy garbage, Beau found himself almost surprised that he wasn't losing ground to his armored foe. Weight and leverage, it turned out, did count for something, and if he couldn't lay a fist on the other, at least he could keep him from reaching for that scary-looking hammer until Millie held out and tipped the scales.
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If she held out.
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A rush of motion caught his attention much sooner than he would have expected, and - oh, dang it, it was the Grimmsnarl. He tensed, bracing for an attack, and was utterly blindsided by the knee that slammed into his solar plexus, causing him to see stars as he choked out a low groan.
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Fumbling to keep his assailant from gaining any ground, he rolled back atop him, drawing his fist back this time and laying a hard punch into the side of the Rocket's head. Yeah, no, his knuckles didn't enjoy that, judging by the sudden and profuse rivulets of crimson dribbling down his wrist. He did it again, anyway, and it only hurt a little less than the knee.
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The Tinkaton canted her head to the side inquisitively as the Kingambit appeared across from her and called out boisterously. In response, she offered a quiet coo: "@$!* your @#%@ing @#%^, hee!" She dashed forward with surprising speed, wielding her hammer with expertly-honed viciousness to PLAY ROUGH with her opponent.
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Beau groaned again; he could feel himself giving out, but he couldn't, and so he grappled with the other man still. Giving up would mean death, and more than likely not just his. He had to hold out, because words weren't the solution and he couldn't do this by himself.
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Yet here he was. By himself. Again.

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Contrary to popular opinion, arguing out of sheer stubbornness was something so far out of Beau's wheelhouse it might as well have been nonexistent to him. Most often, he hated rocking the boat; he'd made several decisions in his past - and allowed loved ones to make decisions - that they would collectively come to regret, simply because he hadn't had the nerve to speak up, to challenge what had been presented.
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Eddie fired back with the same passion Beau himself felt, staring at the older man on the sandy beach of his hometown in the final moments before the golden sands would surely see the crimson stains of war. In the face of that stoic righteousness, the utter conviction that laced through the man's retort, Beau would have ducked his head, agreed, and done what he was being told.
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Unfortunately for Eddie, Beau felt too strongly about the subject matter this time.
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He frowned, his features softening as he took in the man before him. "What am I gonna do if something happens to y-" he murmured, biting off the last syllable with effort as though speaking the thought aloud would manifest it. He wasn't going to run and hide. He wasn't going to quietly hope that disaster would take a light hand to Dewford while others were risking life and limb to stand against the intruders, to make sure that they would turn back.
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The explosion broke him from his thoughts, and he squinted down the beach at the sight of the impact. The sounds of panic from the far side of town swelled, distantly reaching the beach, and Beau pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to stave off the headache that had begun to settle at his temples. Eddie wasn't going to be moved, but he wasn't going to be, either.
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"Compromise," he allowed. That was a thing people did when they refused to yield, right? "I'll go round up the last few and get them into a bunker. I'll stay out of your way up here," he grunted, eyeing Telly appraisingly, and communicating with his expression as much as he dared that the metallic tank of a beast had better keep his friend from harm.
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He beckoned Callum to his side, the Gallade obeying silently. "After that, though, I'm coming to get you. Whether we're fighting or finding the nearest hole in the ground." He punched Eddie's shoulder lightly, though he was looking at the ground as he did so; this wasn't a goodbye, after all, it wasn't.
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"I'm with you. I meant it. I mean it."
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Callum touched his elbow, and the pair disappeared in a flash of light.

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The acrid scent of smelting metal rose into the air as a loud BANG sounded behind Beau. He turned, diverting his attention from the fallen Torben to witness Orson laying a FIRE PUNCH directly into the crumpled wound he'd inflicted on the Mega Metagross only moments earlier. With this, the metallic juggernaut went limp among a tremendous creak of plating and limbs.
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Offering a satisfied, vitriol-laced grunt, the newly-christened Urshifu approached Beau and Gunner, the heat of battle ebbing out of his stance and movements to be replaced with the same concern Beau wore as he looked upon his fallen mentor. Gunner's words were of some relief, at least - Beau trusted the other implicitly. Though they had only worked together a few times, Beau had a sense that Gunner didn't say things frivolously, and so he had to hope that between his medicine and the Heal Pulse from Bayleef, Torben would pull through.
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But what now?
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"I gotta try to make this work. Can you wrap up here? I'll come back as soon as I can, but I gotta get him to a Pokemon Center." Uncertainty screaming in his mind with every motion, Beau recalled Torben, replacing him with Callum the Gallade. He had to hope that the pokeball wouldn't worsen Torben's condition, but he had to do something.
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He laid a hand on Callum's shoulder, and Orson moved to mirror the motion on the Gallade's free side before Beau could even think to recall him. "We gotta get to Fortree, now," Beau issued lowly to Callum. The Gallade offered a perfunctory nod before the trio vanished in a flare of light, TELEPORTING from the scene.
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Even instant travel might take too long, but he had to try. He had to.

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Beau offered a relieved grin at his friend, clapping him on the shoulder as a bit of the tension eased out of him. "Lucky you don't have to wonder what you'd do without me, brah. I'm always there for you."
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He kept a weather eye out as Eddie got to his feet, but no immediate threats were forthcoming, and the man he'd just put down seemed content to stay down, unconscious. Beau followed Eddie's gaze to the shoreline, and bore witness to the same sight: they'd managed to take out a couple, but dozens more of the opposing force were fast closing in on the beach.
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"Yeah, you said it," he quipped faintly, turning back to face his friend. Shit was indeed getting dicey, and they'd have to change their tactics or fall back to higher ground if they wanted to stand a chance of making a dent in the invaders.
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Eddie's next comment had him freeze, however, and his pensive expression slid into full annoyance. He regarded the other man with a stubborn glare, and if he paused to think about it, he might recognize it as the first time he'd laid eyes on Eddie with anything less than a smile.
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"No," he responded shortly, accompanied with a frustrated exhale. "That's bullshit and you know it, Eddie. I know I'm not the strongest or the smartest, but I can fight." He balled his fists, teeth gritted as he scowled through his tirade. "If I can get hurt, you can - we all can. You want my resume? I was an Arceus-damn Gym Leader, one time, I'm not gonna break like some china doll."
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He took a step forward, jabbing the other man in the chest with his extended finger, heat in his cheeks. "I'm not hiding in some bunker when you refuse to take your own fuckin' advice. I'm with you - I mean it - and I'll be damned if something happens to you if there was something I could do about it."
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He stepped back, loosing another sigh, and turned his head to glance out over the increasingly volatile waters.
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"So figure out another plan, asshole. You can't get rid of me."

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What was he even doing here?
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Beau had been to Mossdeep maybe once, ever, and he was absolutely sure that it had not looked like this the last time he was here. He'd been on-site to support, as requested, but absolute hell had broken loose not long after. When the alarms had begun sounding, he joined a few other samaritans in guiding civilians in as orderly an evacuation as they could manage, moving to sequester deeper in the city.
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When the Rockets started loosing both their pokemon and their fists, however, things got significantly out of hand.
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He shouldn't have been the one here, not here or now. He was a ranger, and barely that, not a peacekeeper. He wasn't even high enough on the roster of League brass to be fully in the know of what was going on, only that Mossdeep was likely to be the site of a Rocket attack; now that that particular notification had proven prophetic, he found himself out of his depth. Where was the more seasoned veteran to tell him what to do, to lead by example in trying to quell this mess before it resulted in even worse chaos?
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No such help was forthcoming, and in the crush of bodies swarming the street in retreat, he froze. He was out of his depth, and he knew it. Just another lunk that happened to have a couple of halfway-useful pokemon if needed.
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What was he even doing here?
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Then he heard the kid scream.
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A young boy, trailing at the end of a cluster of civilians making for the nearest bunker, had been separated from his parents. More concerning than that was the Mightyena that snapped at the kid's ankle, clamping down and causing him to cry out as he fell to the ground.
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Where were the cops? Where was the rescue?
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Dammit, he was supposed to be the rescue. What the hell are you doing, you idiot? Get your shit together!
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He had to move, now, because no one else was coming. The sounds of battle reached his ears from every direction, and if he didn't do something now, the kid would just be the start.
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Lurching into motion, he called Atlas out, the Buzzwole materializing with a thrumming reverberation of wingbeats before LUNGING forward to skewer the Mightyena on one of his spiny legs, bodily hurling the Dark-type away from the boy. Beau crouched and lifted the child into his arms, glancing around and catching sight of the next group of people scrambling up the road.
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"Here," he called, handing the boy off to a perplexed man, "Take him with you, think his parents are up ahead. Go, don't waste time!"
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Whirling, he oriented on the Mightyena, who dissolved into a stream of light that darted back to a dark-clothed figure nearby. As the Rocket reached for his belt, Beau pounded forward, laying the trainer out with a vicious uppercut that lifted the man bodily from the ground before sending him crashing to the roadside. "You don't!" Kick. "Attack!" Kick. "Kids!"
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The man groaned and fell still, and Beau turned to find the next threat, only to hear an emergency broadcast over his comms: Reinforcements to the Space Center.
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Cursing under his breath, he beckoned to Atlas and turned to haul up the street toward the sprawling building in the distance. He didn't pretend to know what was going on, but he knew it was something big, and he just hoped he got there before things got worse.
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He had to get there before things got worse.

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The ground shook.
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For an instant, the ground shook. The glow around Orson intensified, a crimson-and-black vortex that consumed him before exploding outward, leaving an Urshifu that mirrored Gunner's own, standing taller than Torben and wearing a glare that promised murder upon the Mega Metagross before him.
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As Beau gaped, he blinked and lost sight of the newly-evolved ursine, who lunged forward at such speed that he seemed to vanish between one place and the next, landing a WICKED BLOW on the Steel-type that sent a shockwave through the air from the impact. The enormous pokemon resisted - or attempted - before an enormous dent appeared in its hide from the force of the blow.
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With the sound of splintering metal, the Mega-Evolved assailant was sent spinning end-over-end, crashing into the cliff below Beau and Gunner's position. It twitched, attempting to move its limbs, but could not seem to raise itself from its fallen positon. Before Beau could think to gather himself and issue another command, Orson pressed the attack, lunging forward to the Metagross's landing site.
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"Uh...kick its ass!" Beau whooped, before turning his attention to the prone Torben. "Shit!"
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He scurried across the embankment, carefully avoiding the melee going on beneath him, and slid down to land next to his fallen friend, rummaging in his satchel and liberally spraying the site of Torben's wounds with a Hyper Potion. "Come on, come on..."
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He couldn't lose one companion at the expense of another. He couldn't.

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Subjected to the Grimmsnarl's TORMENT, the bear could only utter a snarl as his foe's attack derailed his only path to victory. Ragged and panting, Torben lurched forward to launch a spray of sand toward the imp in a PARTING SHOT that saw him dissolve into a spray of red light, zipping toward his trainer's belt. An answering light rebounded almost immediately, resolving in the ursine's former space as a Tinkaton, hefting her hammer with a surprised blink that slid into a stern glare.
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Beau, for his part, had succeeded in his initial plan, but had given no thought in the slightest to what followed. His arms strained, his whole body strained as he grappled with his opponent, and he cursed mentally. The armor wasn't simply a tool to supplant a deficient wearer; this man meant business, meant to kill him, and if he lost his only upper hand, Beau had no doubt that the other would not hesitate.
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Five minutes ago, Beau would have hesitated. Would have looked toward a more peaceful resolution, would have appealed to the basic reason that all humans possessed. He'd seen and dealt with what initially appeared to be worse than this.
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It was only now, struggling to keep this tank of a man pinned to the sand while he worked out how to *actually* incapacitate him that he realized peace was never an option. The conflict was bigger than him, bigger than all of them, and if he blinked, this man or someone worse than him would lay waste to Beau and all he'd worked for without so much as blinking.
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The other's grim diatribe might have caused Beau to waver, once. Now, though, he had himself to fight for, and not just his hometown. He wasn't fool enough to break his knuckles against the man's armor - not only would that hurt, it would hasten his loss of grip on the man. He could only hope to hold him down while Millie took out the Grimmsnarl.
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So, he hoped.

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