Fox frowned up at the wall of yellow and green that seemed to sprout off the building, a jaundiced, cancerous growth. There was the hum of life as the little bug-pods huddled for warmth. A drone Beedril buzzed down to check on the placement of one and, finding it satisfactory, rose again.

This was going to be a job, that was for fucking sure.

He was still frowning as he pushed through the doors on the ground floor of the building, checking his pouches and bag for the items he would need. Back in Kanto, before… well, before everything, he’d had a lovely little apiary and a garden, and he’d experimented with the happiness and productivity pheromones put out by bees.

Later, he’d used his experience with chemicals in a decidedly different fashion.

He was directed up an elevator to the office of a one mister Frank Caffey, whose door he rapped on gently.

“Pest control.”

Frank Caffey
for the swarm

☉

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Fox settled on his heels next to the indicated nest, gently pushing away the sand and watching little heads pip out from the grains. “It’s been hard on them, too,” he said, ever the ambivalent one, “having to deal with this unseasonable cold.”
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He waited until a decent number of hatchlings were burrowing up to the surface and then scooped them into the hem of his shirt, holding them close to the warmth of his body.
[break][break]
Inari grinned at the Cramorant, snapping her jaws together. Try it. I dare you.
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“Then there was the whole thing with the dome… I’m sure a lot of these Cramorant would love to return to Galar.” He fished in the sand but came up with nothing but empty eggshells. Carefully drawing the edges of his shirt together, he fast-walked the writhing, ticklish mass to the surf, before falling to his knees to deposit the baby turtles within the safety of the waves.

[attr="class","bottom"]Lydia Magnusson [break]

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“Of course you do,” Fox says, and this time he doesn’t bother hiding the derision in his tone. He begins to walk towards the party. “All the lower citizens enjoying themselves. How dare they.”
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Still, Lars has a point, though Fox would rather choke to death on a razorblade than admit it. Don’t be fooled, he warns himself, it’s all an act.
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Obviously, this mistrust of authority is going to be something that takes a while to break down.
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“Policeman, security guard, officer of the peace. It’s all the same, just a different color. You can put makeup on a Ducklett and it’s still just a Ducklett.” He begins to walk towards the party.
[break][break]
Lars can follow or he can not, it’s up to him.

Ah. So Hoenn’s powers that were-- powers that signed this man’s paycheck, most definitely-- didn’t know what to do about the dome, either.

“How disappointing,” Fox sighed, leaning forward to peer over the Aerodactyl’s pale lavender shoulder.

Nincompoop. Fox laughs-- a dry, giggle-like sound.

“I am not known,” he said, measured despite the dire knowledge his captor had just laid at his feet, “for my timing, all the time.” There’s a lilt of humor in it.

And his smile was easy, in the way of those thrown into an unavoidable fate they no longer wish to fight against.

boruta maher

☉

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“Oh?” he asks, syllable woven with curiosity, though his face remains artfully blank. His knuckles graze ever so slightly against the silk of Lars’ lapels as he drops his hands to a more appropriate stillness. “Why ever not?”
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The crassness of the Head Ranger’s speech makes his mouth turn up, despite himself.
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“I suppose, after a certain level, public figures shouldn’t be quite so public.” Though it was still surprising that Lars seemed so down to earth.
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Fox had a hunch it was all an act, however.
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He realizes he’s closed the distance between them unintentionally, so he steps back and turns away.
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“Ever the approachable policeman,” he said, and his words contained the tiniest bit of a sneer.

Fox listens to Wren explain what little he knows about the dome and nods along, but his gaze rests on the Relicanth Wren is befriending. “That makes sense,” he says, drawing out the final sibilant as though in deep thought. Of course it would muddle with the coming and going of migratory creatures-- it had muddled with his own.

Olera fires off angry giga drain spores into a Croconaw which had surfaced before it can fully rise from the water. It flops a little, drained of energy, and Fox bops it with a Pokeball.

“I thought at first it was a government thing.” But then talking to Laurence Anderson had convinced him otherwise. “It still might be, honestly. I’m from Kanto, though, so. Naturally distrustful.”

wren rourke
catch attempt croconaw
rock/water

☉