[attr="class","oznitop"][attr="class","ozni"]

[attr="class","oznimain"]Ozni turned to face the volcano with eyes full of suspicion. A sigh shook his slouched frame. “If this were anywhere else, I’d find that comforting.” But Hoenn wasn’t exactly an easygoing holiday destination. He was also starting to think it wasn’t a place he should be trying to prove a point. Just this week, the God of the Sea had been unleashed upon the oceans. Then, a month ago, the two doggos had clashed with some weird moose and an ice ferret.

The talk of kimono dancing brought a smile to Ozni’s face. Though it was more taunting and knowing than friendly. His dad loved that stuff. It fulfilled some kind of geisha dream he had. “I’ve been there before. Left a great Yelp review too.” He’d gone so far as to enroll in a few dancing classes with his girl. But it was soon pretty clear all he’d be good for at it was a laugh. The same thing went for his cooking.

As the conversation shifted to the old man, Ozni couldn’t refrain from muttering: “You can say that again.” While his own eye wandered, he’d never pretended he and the gals (minus one) were serious. But his dad couldn’t manage to pull out in more ways than one. Every single lady was wined, dined, and convinced they were the only one. But the second the apple of his eye came up pregnant, he vanished like a magician’s Buneary.

The story’s conclusion received a sympathetic wince. He had no doubt that his pops saw being kicked out as a blessing. It meant he didn’t have to make up some BS reason to go back to his wife anymore. Judging by the age of the next set of kids, it hadn’t left that much of an impact. “Father of the year, that one.” Ozni shook his head. “It seems like you landed on your feet though.” That’d be Gramps genes no doubt.

A cheeky thumbs-up served as his response. By the time she turned around, he was already dabbling on his phone. A bunch of brightly colored dots distracted him from how time seemed to draaag on. After a few seconds, a metal foot kicked at his chair. “Ghold.” Chippendale’s voice was a reminder. He turned pointedly to where the girl had disappeared. “Yeah, yeah.” He stretched back over the chair, the new position like something out of a horror movie.

“Dhengo.” He gestured toward the bottom of the hill. A large hand waved the ghost-type off as if he was a bag of fake farts. “I know. I know. I figured I’d get our drinks first before we PHC this biatch.”

[attr="class","oznipoke"]