[attr="class","minicharh"]

Laurence Anderson / gaslight

[attr="class","minicharentry"]

“Keep justifying it to yourself,” Fox said, the reedy flatness of his voice clue enough to his disinterest in all of Lars’ excuses-- though he couldn’t help but weaponize one of his late mother’s favorite idioms against him: “If the League said it was okay to jump off a bridge, would you do that as well?”
[break][break]
He took off down the cavern, Olera at his side, the rustle of her skirts and the steady drip-drip-drip of something that was either more toxin or innocent, natural condensation the only accompaniment to the sound of their booted steps.
[break][break]
“There is a path. A cavern--.”
[break][break]
Olera squeaked a warning and bodied him out of the way as a tidal wave of purple gunk was spewed at him, hitting the ground where he’d just been standing and sizzling through the stone.
[break][break]
A shadow crawled along the roof of the tunnel, black save for where it was shot through with streaks of hot pink. Opening her cavernous maw, the large Salazzle hissed at Fox, before belching more toxic in his direction.
[break][break]
Pushing up on his heel, he pressed back against the cave wall, narrowly missing the splattered, corrosive goop. There was the smell of burning grass as Olera’s back bubbled and hissed, but the Bellossom scurried for cover behind a boulder, filling the cavern with pale light as she called down a moonlight to heal her wounds.

---

[attr="class","minicharf"]

“I neither need nor want your help, commander!” Fox snarled, turning on the balls of his feet to snap at Lars like a Seviper striking its prey. “But it is exactly that kind of pompous, presumptive arrogance that continues to prove me right about you-- so, for that, I thank you.”

He ground any aspect of familiarity or camaraderie that may have been forming to dust beneath his heel.

“As I said. We are done here.”

And he stalked away without a third glance.

Laurence Anderson
stretch of the imagination

☉

[attr="class","minicharh"]

Laurence Anderson / gaslight

[attr="class","minicharentry"]

Lars keeps on talking and Fox lets him talk, getting the feeling that he’s just filling the quiet and using it as a tool to settle his nerves. Though when he summons his Poipole Fox is slightly taken aback, narrowing his eyes with unrestrained vitriol.
[break][break]
“They should never breach this world and yet you’re walking around with one?” he asks, the snarl audible in his words though the bottom half of his face is hidden. "That's some rich hypocrisy, even from you, commander." He snorts with derision and continues the climb, one eye on Lars’ Poipole in case it decides to show its true colors and do Ultra Beast shit.
[break][break]
He’s careful to avoid much of the clinging ooze as he possibly can, both because it makes the going slippery and also because he’s worried it might be corrosive. Sure enough, by the time he’s at the bottom of the chasm, there’s a soft sizzling sound emanating from the bottom of his foot.
[break][break]
“Don’t touch it with your bare skin,” he warns, popping Olera out of her Pokeball to have her clean the gunk off his boot-- her poison typage made her immune to the caustic nature of the toxin.

---

[attr="class","minicharf"]

Fox swallows the lump in his throat as the fog in his head begins to clear-- slowly, like sunlight parting morning mist. His body, once overheated in the face of the flames, was chilled to the touch as he weakly lifted a hand to hug his opposite bicep.

“I…”

He could feel Lars’ presence behind him, a shadow, a warmth, but not entirely a comfort. Fox’s mind plays over everything he’d just revealed here, a play-by-play of traumatic proportions.

Like an arrow from a bow, he rises to his feet and turns on his heel to stalk away.

“We’re done here.”

Laurence Anderson
stretch of the imagination

☉