Onyx stopped with one boot up on a small headstone, the warm summer wind whipping around him. Now and then a chill would slip against his skin, a noticeably un-Hoennian frigidity that burned cold, like touching dry ice (which was a thing he’d done as a child on a dare from his sister, unfortunately).

The sky above Mt. Pyre was clear blue, but it smelled off, like ozone and electrical charges instead of grave dirt and fresh air. Streaks of lavender lightning danced at the corners of his vision, like ghosts that, if he turned fast enough, he’d just barely be able to see.

He still hated cemeteries.

“This is the place,” he announced, swinging the equipment down off his shoulder and setting it gently on the ground. Normally, he wasn’t the go-to guy for scientific readings and such-- but these weird distortions, as they’d been coined, had proven to be more dangerous than most scientists (read: nerds) would care to experience. Not all of them, of course, but Onyx also figured it had something to do with dumb muscle being expendable.

Like him and Gerald Kaiser .

Gerald Kaiser
THREE YEARS LATER LET'S GO

☉

Onyx’s blood drips down his fingers, spiderwebbing in spirals along the creases of his knuckles, falling like red gems to the sand below. Pepino’s tongue comes within inches of touching his hand, crimson polka dots splattering over the Zigzagoon’s brown fur.

Onyx is realizing, sort of at a distance, that his hand is starting to go numb, and like an idiot, he says, “It’s okay, I’ve lost more blood than this before.” Which is an absolutely idiotic thing to say, because a) no one asked, and b) how did that make anything any better?

There was an equally as stupid look in Andres’ eyes that used to make Onyx so mad. That stupid, doting, starry-eyed look that the kid always turned on whenever he wanted to be Onyx’s stupid friend. Like Onyx had been saving the world and not out in the ocean fist fighting sharks like a fucking moron because he’s poor and has a coke habit to fuel bills to pay.

“I’ll take a bandage,” is all he says, and then he jumps and hisses as Pepino finally gets a good lick in; he flexes his hand and a new wave of blood cascades over his wrist.

andres buenaventura

☉

Onyx is distracted by the runt playing under his feet (and he’s really going out of his way to not kick the thing) that he doesn’t have the attention span to ridicule the apple bunny. Andres is lucky that Onyx’s brain is being stretched really thin trying not to jump the guy’s skin and also being really fucking confused as to why he wants to do that.

He was going to have a really long think about this, later. A really really long think.

“Three servings of fruit,” he says, voice scornful, “how lucky for me.”

And he does, unfortunately, look up just as Andres drops the whipped cream and it smears a white stain down his lips and his chin, and he gets some on his fingers, and Onyx’s brain short-circuits.

Amongst other things. Other long things.

His mouth goes dry and he can catch the light off Andres’ tongue piercing as it tries to clean the sugary sweet mess off his fingers and Onyx has to leave. Right now, he has to leave, because all he can think about is pushing the table out of the way, thighs on thighs, helping him--

“Take mine t’go, thanks,” he says in a huff, grabbing the glass (and spoon) and whistling to Jules before stomping for the apartment door. Fuck his shopping, he can do it later, he’s so--

He needs to go have a long think.

Jules makes a sadface at Pepino and a confused face at Andres, but she promises the little pup (in PokeSpeak) that she’ll see him again soon, before excusing herself and following her trainer out the door, which Onyx has left open, and Jules, at least, has the grace to shut.

andres buenaventura
local jackass processes the first positive emotion he's felt in sixteen years

☉

Pepino runs tireless laps around Onyx’s feet, kicking sand up against his legs. It sticks to the wet neoprene of his suit, which is unfortunate, given that it’s a rental. Even more unfortunate is that he’s bleeding on it, but at least the blood was his fault.

Andres tries to play footsy with the little rodent and Onyx just rolls his eyes. Eventually, the man gives up, smiles his stupid dorky (cute) smile, and asks Onyx how he’s doing. Tch, as though he cares.

When Andres notices Onyx’s hands, his dorky (cute) smile falls away and is replaced with concern. Onyx snorts, a derisive sound. As though he cares. He holds up his right hand, revealing a long, jagged cut, diagonal across his entire palm.

“I was hunting sharks.” He lets his eyes flick away, for a beat. "For their teeth."

andres buenaventura

☉

Onyx puffs his cigarette down to the base, flicking away the smouldering stump and relishing the tiniest hint of a burn on his fingers. A flash of red goes past him, and Onyx doesn’t pay it any mind-- he’s focused on his mission. That’s what makes him such a good dog for team Rocket.

A skinny, hunch-backed nerd with big round glasses and bowlcut hair plastered to his forehead with sweat ducks out of a door into an alley, looking around nervously. Good, that meant Onyx didn’t even need to sniff them out.

He cut down the alley, parting from the main flow of people with nonchalance. When his target looked back, he paused to look up at a piece of graffiti, innocent as could be-- and when the target moved, again, Onyx was on his trail, boots a heavy clip down the questionably wet alley. It cut a sharp c-curve ahead, buckling back out towards the main street.

Casey Fincher

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