“Ah.” He shook his head, shoulders coming up and forward as though in disappointment, or defeat. “A fair assessment. Unfortunately, humor was not something I was schooled in during my education.” His voice took on a deep tone, playing the long suffering victim of his own attempts at humor (even though none suffered so as though forced to bear it).

It was a truth, in that it was true, and also a lie, in that his education had been anything but bog standard.

“And, no,” he added, as they came round the building proper to the front door, “but I’ve always found lighthouses fascinating. Insofar as one can be fascinated by humanity’s hectic attempt to control nature.” The door was a faded red wooden beast with a six-paned window of thick glass set in the center. The brass knob, well worn, jiggled but didn’t turn. Thomas frowned.

Helena was at his side in a moment. He was about to ask his Mismagius to assist them with entry to the lighthouse when he felt the telltale burning of a coughing fit punch its way up his throat. He gestured, instead, to the door, and turned away to mask it in the crook of his arm. Helena faded through the door, and a moment later, there was the telltale thunk of a lock opening, and the door swung inward.

“Apologies,” Thomas said tightly, stepping backwards to allow Jamie entrance to the Lifesaver’s station, “I fear the damp air causes me some concern.” He fought for a few moments more to swallow his cough and finally forced the burn back deeper in his chest. He’d deal with that later.

@abraxas

☉

She seemed like she had things well in hand.

Thomas took another step backwards, avoiding, this time, a fiercely swinging uppercut, and landed poorly on his bum leg. He winced as his knee buckled, caught by the brace hidden under his clothing but stupidly frozen in place. The bruising cultist aimed a sharp cross jab at his perfectly-punching-height head.

But that just would not do. Not only would it hurt, but it would be embarrassing-- and he was saved the dishonor by the timely intervention of Zachary, who blew the cultist off his feet with a close-range moonblast that sent the cultist spinning skyward, and left Thomas’ ears ringing and sparks burnt into his irises.

He swallowed, shifting his legs together in painful stages, much like a car shifts up through gears after the engine’s thrown. Once he was on two feet and standing, the pain faded to its normal, constant thud, a line of electric heat burning down his spine and into his ankle.

Arms crossed behind his back, he was standing straight again, a perfect gentleman.

Zach went to work dispersing the cultist’s Pokemon with lethal moonblasts and barrages of seed blasts, filling the air with soft explosions and the smell of a rotting vegetable garden. Amongst it all, Thomas stood, an untouched bastion against the chaos.

“All done, then?” he asked Lethe, watching with half-lidded eyes as the ivory-haired cyclops dealt with their last opponent, completely convinced of their capability to do so.

He had never doubted for a moment. For even if Lethe proved underpowered for the task, Thomas never had anything less than full, unwavering confidence in himself.

Lethe Ascelin

☉

WILD CAUGHT A powerhouse of resent and unchecked ambition, Leslie has no mercy for her enemies, and even less for her friends.

#655 THE FOX POKEMON

☉

LESLIE - DELPHOX - ♀ BLAZE EMBER, FUTURE SIGHT, PSYBEAM, MYSTICAL FIRE

Few things painted as poignant a picture as a lighthouse: stoic, solitary, the last bastion of survival against the wind and waves, but also a sign of sanctuary, and hope. A sentinel of order. Something reverent.

Thomas clanged his cane against the old sheet metal building protruding from the base of the lighthouse.

“This used to be the Lifesaver’s station,” he explained, looking up at the dilapidated, warped square box o a structure, “back before Hoenn had a Coast Guard.” He knew from his research that all the regions had these scattered up and down their sea-facing borders.

He stepped around the corner of the building, overcoat snapping in the sea wind, staring up at the glass-sided octagon that usually housed an Ampharos or two. It was dark and empty, now, dull in the gray sea light.

“You’d think,” he said, “when we became a congruent unit, we would’ve moved past Pokemon as the highlight of technological power.” He turned and cocked a grin at @abraxas , waiting for the pun to land.

@abraxas

☉

He heard-- distantly, as the world warped around him in Zachary’s Phantom Force, the doubt it Lethe’s voice, the hesitation in her words. Don’t worry, he wanted to say, I’ll do most of the shock, and you can stand back in awe, but luckily for Lethe, things were already underway.

Because this was the crux of Thomas’ world: there was chaos and there was order, and if you looked close enough, you could, if not organize, construct the chaos to benefit yourself.

“Quite,” he said, a curt nod in agreement as she called forth her Zebstrika and prepared herself. “I’ll take those on the left, if you’ll handle the right side, please. That will be four each.” He gave Zach a light tap with his cane and then stepped into the fray.

His Gourgeist rained down a volley seed bomb, the small explosives peppering the ground and erupting with wet sucking sounds as they blew the mud and rain sky high. Thomas stepped neatly around them, using them as a barrier between himself and the cultists’ Pokemon, while he focused on the human aspect.

Utilizing his cane as an extension of himself. With a flick of his wrist, it was up and jammed into a cultist’s throat; at the same time, he extended his left hand, fingers finding the soft eyesocket of another cultist, whom he bore swiftly to the ground, managing to not wince at the squish of aqueous humor against his fingertips.

An exploding seed landed directly on one, going off as they shouted and smacked at it before being leveled to the ground. That left one more for him, and a smattering of Pokemon; though he dodged out of the way of a heavy, uncoordinated, swinging punch, stepping back to look at Lethe and ascertain where she was in her process of things.

Lethe Ascelin

☉

Thomas tilted his head and listened to the shifting cadence of voices, the slosh and crunch of feet in the mud. He reckoned there’d be eight or nine individuals, all caught up in Bachannal glory, completely unprepared for the human equivalent of the wrath of god to come bursting down upon them. Or, maybe, that’s what they wanted, but this was going to be a decidedly different flavor than their god.

Not that he believed he was a god, he thought, smile wry as he tugged his gloves on tighter. Not at all.

“Well, I quite like a little shock and awe to go with my supernaturally struck thunderstorm, don’t you?” there it was, that cheery tone again. Like walking in and causing mass destruction was a walk in the park.

He pulled his collar up and spun his hand, like a magician doing a magic trick, producing a Pokeball (he’d pulled it out of his sleeve, but he’d spent so long trying to learn that sleight of hand, they could pry it from his cold, dead hands) and releasing his Gourgiest.

“I’ll disrupt them, and then we’ll both come in from the sides. They’ll never know what hit them.”

He grinned, looking all of 15 for a moment, before Zachary dropped a moonblast directly into the middle of the cultists. It went off like a flashbang, and a storm of lunar-colored sparks burst against the skin and eyes of the chanting cultists.

Nightingale gave Lethe the briefest of winks before his Gourgiest wrapped them both in shadow, using phantom force to shift them to the opposite side of the ritual.

Lethe Ascelin

☉