[attr="class","icon"]

Fox had been foraging for saltbush for his newest recipe when the yelling disturbed him. Curious, he wiped his sandy hands together and pushed off the rock he’d been perched on, toes hitting the chilly beach and sinking into the damp sand.

[break][break]
The unseasonable winter’s chill had affected many things, though it seemed yet others would continue on regardless of the temperature.

[break][break]
Cresting the lip of a small dune, he saw a woman punch a Cramorant full on in the face. The scuba chicken squawked, confused, and shook its head; not too full on brains, were Cramorant, which was much to the woman’s benefit, as their beak was sharp and their skulls were hard, good for stabbing and bludgeoning.

[break][break]
He was, at first, confused by her efforts at animal cruelty, until he slipped a little in the sand, almost stepping onto a buried Tirtouga nest. This one’s hatchlings had already broken free and made it to the water, it seemed.

[break][break]
Ah. So that explained things.

[break][break]
“You know,” he called as he came closer-- every nest he passed he marked with a pink rosehip, plucked earlier from under the snow-- “they have to eat, too.”

[break][break]
He released his Blastoise to guard a collection of buried nests whose younglings had yet to emerge.

[break][break]
“Though I suppose we can help out, just this once.”

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

[attr="class","icon"]

He feels the presence behind him before he ever lays eyes on it, trained soldier senses bristling at the invasion of his personal space.
[break][break]
Fox freezes, mind whipping through all the possible exit strategies, from a jerked-back elbow to the throat to a spinning leg-sweep to a crouch-and-turn suplex to--
[break][break]
--the voice is a familiar one.
[break][break]
“Captain.”
[break][break]
He doesn’t relax, really, but he makes a show of it by letting his arms fall, fingertips pressed to his side in a forced show of leisure.
[break][break]
“Lucky for you, I’m just full of surprises.”
[break][break]
He turns, then, mindful of the inches the antlers on his mask give him. He’s almost Lars’ height. Almost.
[break][break]
“You’re arriving a little late, aren’t you? For one of the region’s top 10 public figures. And bachelors, if the gossip magazines are to be believed.”
[break][break]
Lars’ tie is slightly crooked. Fox reaches out to straighten it before he can stop himself.

He considers Wren his feedback machine and decides, then and there, he will, in fact, make a series on the special bits of Hoenn. Despite his latent acts of terrorism and innate dislike of the government (it’s part of his breeding, he can’t escape it) he isn’t totally loathful of the general populace.

“I imagine if you have to be stuck here,” he said, stepping up on a small ledge and placing his palm to the cool rock, “you might need a-- a new viewpoint on what makes it wonderful.”

And, you know, something to focus on other than your imminent destruction.

Wren suggests they go further down and Fox agrees with a nod, bending at the waist to bow and sweep an arm forward, gesturing him onward.

There’s a slam and the cavern shakes, as an angry Gigalith blocks their path.

Olera, pissed that Fox interrupted her last fight, fires a giga drainright in the Gigalith’s face (Giga this, you fuck! was her train of thought but no one knew that except her). A sapping vine the size of a tree trunk punched a hole in the Gigalith’s rocky body and began sucking the vitality out of it.

Fox winced and threw a Pokeball as it began to shake and fall.

“So. Speaking of being stuck here,” he said, once their path was clear, “what do you know about the dome?”

wren rourke
catch attempt gigalith
rock/water

☉

“Ah, so I’m a lord, now, am I?”

Fox had never made anything easier on anyone involved in the government in his life, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now.

“How exalted.”

He went when led, not keen to be chased down by a living fossil again. But he was also after information. If you’d had asked him if getting arrested was part of his plan, he’d have said yes.

Because, after all, plans change.

“What’s wi' th' giant bubble dome?” he asked, turning so he could heft his backside up on the Aerodactyl, like a princess riding side saddle. “Is that tae protect against th' big fuck off rock?”

boruta maher

☉

[attr="class","icon"]

He’d thought long and hard about not going to this shindig. Actually, he was amazed his request to go had been approved.
[break][break]
His cloak was long enough to cover the tracking band strapped to his anklet. A soft priority, put in place now that the dome was gone and the threat of him running back home was, in the eyes of authority, very real.
[break][break]
Fox suppresses the nervous tick to pick at his gloves and hovers at the edge of a crowd of those arriving fashionably late. Already a stranger to Hoenn, and now protected by a masque, there was little chance of anyone guessing his identity-- though the green streak in his hair would be a dead giveaway to the three people he’d spent any time with.
[break][break]
Once upon a time, in his academic years, he’d been quite the social butterfly. There was nary a mixer or congress he skipped, if only because he enjoyed sharing the space of his peers, and stimulating conversation. Now the thought of crowds and noise made his skin crawl, and he felt uncomfortable in spaces where he couldn’t directly put a wall at his backside.
[break][break]
War never changes, but it sure changes you.

His arrestor looks vaguely confused. Fox imagines he chances a scant glance towards his Aerodactyl as though to confirm it is not, in fact, a dragon-- though that may just be a trick of the light and his own preening.

“Dragon, flying dinosaur,” he supplies, hoisted up and arms bent, “‘stoo late t’care about semantics.”

Despite the Ranger’s willingness to admit he might toss Fox into the open air, he doesn’t seem the type. Not really. By force of habit, he tests his cuffs. Not that he’s going anywhere, really.

“What would you like my name t' be?” he asks, grin sharp in the dark.

boruta maher

☉

Looking for all the world like a middle-aged dad with a toddler, Fox hugs the Bonsly closer to his hip as he and Wren turn to face their newest opponent. “I’ve no idea,” he admits, cocking his head and squinting at the… the… “Whiscash on steroids?”

Wren’s team makes quick work of the strange creature.

“I’m considering a new PokeTok series,” Fox says, gesturing at the grandness of the caverns around them, “about the hidden, beautiful locations around the region, and eco-friendly tourism.”

He had, actually, been looking for a way under the dome-- or secret Rocket bases. But Wren didn’t need to know that.

A curious Spheal roll-roll-rolls right into Olera, who immediately angers. Fox tosses a Pokeball to save its life before she can blow it to kingdom come with a moonblast at point-blank range.

“Besides our strange catfish friend, have you found anything interesting?”

wren rourke
catch attempt spheal
rock/water

☉

That seems to get her attention-- though which part hooks her, specifically, Fox can’t tell. Her focus shifts from the Minior stacking up around her like the ball return at a bowling alley to him.

“Fox,” he introduced, holding out his hand to shake, “most recently of Kanto.” He tucks his chin, one eyebrow lifting, thoughtful.

“Y’wouldn’t happen to be Eva Morales of head professor of Hoenn fame, would you?”

Eva Morales

☉

If he’d had ears, they would have perked.

“Microbiology was my passion,” he said, gently rolling another stunned Minior closer to Eva, so she could collect it. “Bacteriology. Infectious disease.”

Before… before.

“I turned in my white jacket for… more wholesome endeavors.” It’s not a truth and not a lie. “I got so sick of studying what hurts and kills people. I wanted to learn more about what keeps them alive. Botany, health studies, nutrition.”

Not a truth, and not a lie, though sometimes the fox outfoxes himself.

Eva Morales

☉

Fox laughed so hard tears began to prick at his eyelids. Or maybe those were just stars, remnants from hitting his head so hard.

“Aye,” he wheezes, “that I will.”

He peels his upper body off the stone, stiff and sore and liable to bruise purple all up his backside.

“What’s next, cappy,” he asked, a question that wasn’t really a question, a loll of his tight neck, “the jailhouse, or do y’ just skip straight to throwing me off y’r dragon into the sea?”

How deep does your corruption lie, is what he’s asking. Kanto, born and raised.

boruta maher
narrator voice: he should not have felt confident

☉