x - 35-50 - THE MORIARTY - FEMALE

Nikita had a crime lord rival during his days of being a famous investigator. He came close to pinning her down for her crimes dozens of times, but she always got off on a technicality or through her evasiveness. They would likely be a master of disguise. After the death of his family, she was likely livid because that was her detective toy and someone broke it.

Without him in the region, she eventually grew bored and tracked him down. Liking what she could do in Hoenn, she set up shop. Likely disguising herself as someone else, they'd meet, and she'd be disappointed. Where's the fun man? Why's he so mean? In an attempt to get her rival back, she'd embark on a forced recovery scheme. Maybe she has a grandchild or child of her own? Enemies to lovers, anyone? Face claim suggestions would have to be mature and include Ozen, Lady Nagant, Signora, Scatath, Specter, Heidi, Quercus, Kamishiro Rize, Indra, Caitlyn, and Xayah.

Also, WHAT THE HELL DID HE DO TO HIS HAIR!? Mission one? Get the man to cut it.

SUGGESTED POKEMON:

Taking this with ryuji katahara.

When people learned a world-famous detective had come to town, they had treated him like some minor celebrity. A few people even came wearing deerstalkers, not comprehending that the Galarian fob had nothing to do with him. For the most part, Nikita ignored the onlookers. His manner of ridding himself of them was not just coarse but rude as well. For those acquainted with his more amiable self, this came as quite a shock.


Today, he was able to enter his office with little fanfare. His refusal to give statements or dance for the press left the starving wendigos to seek nourishment elsewhere. With their departure, the publicity vultures disappeared to find another washed-up hasbeen to nibble on. “Close the door, Winters.” The ghost hound did as told, nudging the door closed with its stony snout. His laptop bag was settled into the armchair by the entrance. Every file on it was a cryptographer’s worst nightmare. “I will start the—”


The detective realized the building was off. The curtains were already open and the smell of premium coffee satiated the air. The lights had also been on, the typical morning darkness non-existing. Suspicious of these harmless contradictions, the man’s hand dropped to his side. Slowly, he crept towards the back room, suspecting an interloper of some sort.


Instead, he was reminded that it was Monday, and his assistant had been allowed to start. No doubt the Intelleon—who lived in the lounge—had let him in. The viciousness faded, replaced by cornflower exhaustion. “Good morning, Ryuji.” With that, he moved to take a seat at his desk. Instantly, his brow lowered. Why did everything feel strange? Had someone adjusted his monitors?


“Did you find a case you are comfortable with?” Nikita turned his laptop on with his index finger. As he did so, the Intelleon swept by, sparing the older man a nod.

THEO BECKETT

In this palace, Nikita killed two birds with one stone. Only one of those was figurative. A nasty Rocket operative by the name of Fearow was now sealed in a body bag on the way to HBIC headquarters. With that dirty deed done, the man turned to his secondary task. A young woman had recently contacted him to report a series of poisonings in the area. The police stated that their hands were tied. Today, he aimed to investigate that case.


“Have a good day at school, Samuel,” Nikita murmured to his son—grandson--as they disconnected the video call. The boy’s babysitter (an older Alakazam) was in the background, the child’s backpack in hand. The signs of brain matter and blood on his clothes were completely absent as he exited the hotel he’d been staying in—under a pseudonym, of course. The gloves he wore today were of a different shade of grey than the night before.


His outfit was predominantly navy with a pair of simple, durable slacks. A jacket was layered over it, aiming to keep any bugs or leaves at bay. His belt contained two Pokeballs. Though, only one of them was full. As was typical, his Houndstone walked at his feet, his hollow eye sockets as sharp as his fellow investigator. “I have found four separate reports of poisoning in the area,” Nikita explained as they disappeared into the first. “There is little evidence they come from a Pokemon.”


His cell phone was pulled out as he headed toward the scene of the first crime. Somewhere along the way, a female Intelleon joined them. Her steps were silent and her demeanor more befitting a Frosslas than a lizard. “Please keep watch, Ana.” The water type shrugged and went off to do as told. Her heavily scarred tail swayed behind her in time to an inaudible tune.


With that done, Nikita set to his investigation. Within moments, his stylus was flying across the tablet in a half-cursive scrawl.


This ended when the Intelleon made a ‘hmm’ noise deep in her throat. A branch snapped. The head of the hound jerked up, his eyes burning like twin embers.


“Out for an afternoon stroll, are we?” Nikita asked the newcomer. His bright blue eyes caught on a piece of fabric in the grass. This he pulled up with a pair of long-neesed tweezers. It appeared to be a rough fabric with a bit of threading on its edges. A uniform, perhaps?

The anti-terrorist chuckled, though the sound resembled a death rattle more than actual humor. “It is a bit of a riddle, I suppose.” A true Rocket would be ridiculous to state his or her allegiance. But simply being from the league—or claiming to be—was truly no guarantee of safety. Devils lied, but so did so-called angels. “Though, if you had, you would not be the first to make such a request.” Typically after many hours of torture. Something he normally watched in silence. In those scenarios, he somehow became the good cop. “People are into some strange things, I am afraid.”


Tch. This ranger possessed some semblance of brains. Still, he was allowed to be here. “Ah, an astute observation,” Nikita murmured. “Though not one that does not hold true if a crime scene is truly active.” Police officers did not cordon corridors before stopping a criminal in the act. Or, at least, the smart ones did not. His eyes briefly shifted to where he’d entered. “Did you shut your entryway behind you?” The last thing he wanted was for the rats to scurry off.


Detective Winters stared at the possessed doll. Even without muscles, his stance made it clear he was unimpressed. He did not smile. Back before he died, he had ripped apart chew toys larger than this thing. Knowing these pair were not the intended targets, the Houndstone moved toward his partner.


“Well, I am sure the people are grateful.” With his writ, dry as crackers tone, it was difficult to tell the intent of this comment. At the question, Nikita nodded. “Detective Winters investigated the room earlier. The scientists are not here.” The old man sighed. “But their subjects may not be…salvageable.” A deep rumble ran through the old dog. “We disabled the cameras earlier—a simple bit of frozen footage.”


The man adjusted his dark vest. “I intend to take advantage of the opportunity to observe their work before they flush it.” Then, hopefully, he could trap them here another day. “Try not to let your heart bleed too much.”


The ghost type at his side disappeared through the wall. After a moment of examining the numbered keypad, Nikita quickly punched in a number. With a click the door popped open. Fortunately, only one arrangement of those numbers formed a date.


Click! He gestured the young man inside. The smell and sound—the latter far from celebratory—were deafening.

From her silent perch, the Intelleon allowed her aim to swivel from packmate to packmate. Finally, feeling them to be the leader, her point settled on the Lycanroc. Though, it did not seem these mongrels were much of a threat. When the trio began to speak, the water type lowered herself into a sitting position on the branch. Her feet swayed in concert with the light woodland breeze. In truth, she was glad to be out of sight. Children--walking snot and germ factories—were more trouble than they were worth.


The wildness in this child was apparent. It did not take a detective to suss it out. The signs were apparent in everything from her stilted speech to the gnarled mess of curls. The clothing she wore, meanwhile, would not look out of place in Neverland. The urge to run fingers through that bird’s nest—to corral it into something human--came as a surprise. Aside from his grandson, Nikita rarely felt the urge for physical contact. “It is quite all right,” Nikita murmured in response to her apology. “Try not to repeat the mistake. Some humans can be rather twitchy.” Blue eyes met blue as he turned briefly to the irritated Lycanroc.


Nikita did not respond to the greeting. It seemed a pointless endeavor, as they were already in the midst of a conversation. “Friend? Hm.” The detective mulled the world over, sampling it like one might a fine wine. After a moment, he sighed. This situation reminded him of Little Red Riding Hood. “Young ladies should not trust so easily.” At his side, the Houndstone perked up slightly. Dark, glowing eyes met Annie’s evenly. “Wolves are not constrained to fairy tales.” His eyes flickered to the Lycanroc. “A metaphor, of course.” Still, with his hand no longer near his firearm, he did not quite fit the role of the wolf. He certainly did not eat grandmothers—their skin was far too tough.


As the little pack investigated, the man took a long drag from his cigarette. The ghost type glared as smoke wafted over his skinless snout. After a moment, Detective Winters rose to join the teenager and her pup. “Have you noticed anything out of place?” Aside from a feral woman with the body language of a wolf. No doubt another missing child that wasn't worth enough money or notoriety to investigate. “Screaming or fighting, perhaps?”

Another drag of the cigarette followed. Ah, how his wife hated these things.

“I am sure the pleasure is mine,” Nikita murmured to himself. Though, in truth, it was just another gear in the machinations of human niceties. Since the attack, pleasure seemed like something just beyond a fogged window. His fingers could brush it—feel the heat--but could never quite grasp it. Still, the young woman’s arrival was welcome. The simple presence of another human being distracted Samuel from what could be a depressing situation.

Ah, so she had named the insect without any regard to its actual rank. How peculiar. An accidental whale tale, it seems. “I do not believe that has much impact on leadership, at least when it comes to Beedrill.” Humans sometimes deferred to the largest for advice, though that animalistic idea was often eclipsed by things like charisma and cronyism. Nikita was not certain which he preferred. “Regardless, she is a regal creature, deserving of such a moniker.” Even if Zing sounded like some off-brand spice mix.

When the giant bee lowered herself beside him, Samuel was initially filled with excitement. “Wow! Are you—” He wasn’t just a hero! He could be a flying hero. The boy’s eyes shifted to where his scarred Vulpix sat in the sand. Its blue eyes were sad but fixated. Then, his gaze moved to his grandfather. “Poppa, can I get on the bee? I promise I’ll be careful and buckle my seat belt!” The older man sighed in response to the child’s question. “Very well, Samuel.” Blue eyes watched some trepidation as the child clambered on the back of the bee.

The Alolan Vulpix continued to nose its way toward the beautiful Ninetales. Tears shimmered in his bright blue eyes.

Snkkkt! With that cut, its front half was free of barbs and rope. Perhaps finally realizing the strangers were trying to help, the cetacean calmed down somewhat. Its concerned cries turned into silent tightenings each time the blade flashed. As Shalin spoke, Nikita tilted his head slightly towards her. “An explorer?” Here he mused for a moment. “Were you running toward or from something?” He let her finish. His lips pursed slightly at the question. “Look indeed.”

As he stepped over the Finizen to treat its other side, his eyes caught on the patchwork quilt that was the Vulpix. “Stop sniffling.” Perhaps a little cold. They had discussed this matter before, albeit not before another of his kind. “Your scars are nothing to be ashamed of.”

As Josh conversed with his Manectric, Nikita took a moment to truly survey his surroundings. He did not wish to seem desperate or pushy. For, in truth, he was neither. His grandson would not be picky with what the picture was of. The boy was still fascinated by chalk. Without his deductive lens clouding his view, it became almost charming. In younger eyes, this dog was not a mutt in a costume but a god. Perhaps, if time allowed, he and Samuel would pay another visit to this place.





At the acceptance, Nikita first turned to Manectric. He dipped forward in a half-hearted bow. “Your generosity knows no bound” Was that exasperation in his voice? A bit of sardonic humor, perhaps? At the request for copies, the P.I. nodded. His phone—a beautiful, new model—appeared in his gloved hands. “I believe that can be arranged.”





With the camera ready, it took Nikita only a short time to catch numerous photos of the pair. These pictures were then sorted into his images, next to damning evidence of infidelity and corporate subterfuge. With the showstopping piece taken, where the ‘god’ clawed at the air, Nikita lowered his hand. “Thank you, Josh.” It appears he’d recognized the costumed man at some point during the photo shoot. “I believe Josh will suffice.” It had been some time since he’d deemed another person a sir, and he was not going to buck that trend.





A single drop of blood hit his wrist in the gap between his glove and his arm. This Nikita wiped away before flipping through his gallery. “I am conducting an investigation.” At this, he almost sniffed. This reality show drivel was far from deserving of the word, but it was simpler to manage with his other job with a similar cover. The completely double lives of many coworkers seemed needlessly complicated.





“Hm?” Nikita slipped his phone away. He’d seen the aftermath of such tournaments in the past. One ebony brow jerked up, his eyes sweeping up the young man’s form. “In spite of the danger, or because of it?”

Nikita was relaxing after a long night. Rinsing the blood—or at least its impression—from his hand had taken some time. Though the woman bore responsibility for dozens of deaths, she seemed so harmless. The way her eyes filled with tears as she kissed his feet like he was some medieval lord had almost unnerved him. But, in the end, he did what was required. One bullet to her diseased skull followed by a phone call.


Now, the agent reclined in his favorite armchair in front of his oversized 5K television. One black-socked foot was elegantly crossed over the other. A cup of dark tea sat in his cup holder. To his left, a Houndstone dozed beneath his Alolan Vulpix cap. A few yards away, a young boy toiled with Legos. Flipping away from a completed movie, Nikita paused at the red banner of a special report.


Had someone already stumbled on the woman’s body? If so, it would be an impressive record. Still, it would further increase the discord the organization had been sowing in the enemy’s ranks. A den of rats was easier to destroy when the beasts began eating each other.


“Route 120 is currently under assault by a group of Pokemon. Our in-field researcher is in the field with more—” Nikita lunged for the remote. Unfortunately—though he was elbow-deep in a castle of building blocks—his grandson was faster. “Oh! Wow!” With a gentle clunk, the remote settled back on the coffee table’s wooden top. The old man sighed as the child stood up, upending hours of work. . “Poppa, those are awesome.” Samuel’s blue eyes sparkled like a moonlit cornflower. “It’s like a ninja with a mustache!”


Nikita shook his head. He sipped from his mug. “I believe they more closely resemble samurai.” With a grin, the child charged his grandfather’s armchair. “Can we go see em!?” Nikita coughed. The man’s dislike of poor enunciation ran almost as deeply as his distaste for terrorism. “--them. We never do anything cool! Please?” A sigh shook the man’s frame as he sat up with faux reluctance. “Very well. Get your jacket.”


A few hours later, the pair sat a safe distance away from the path. Nikita had brought along a folding chair and a pair of binoculars. The latter of these were passed along to the boy beside him. “Wow! Lookit, those swords! I bet they're super duper dangerous!!” The elder gentleman’s eyes slid to the people crowding around the Pokemon. A few of them he recognized for less than legal reasons.


His hand settled almost tentatively on his grandson’s head. “They are.”

“I am Nikita.” The older man answered in his typically soft tones. For a moment, his eyes hovered almost protectively over his grandson, as if giving his name could be dangerous. Then again, he’d been raised in a land enthralled by the fey and merry men. A few syllables in that world was a powerful thing. Still, this woman and her craft bee did not seem overtly dangerous. “He is Samuel.” Excited by the introduction, the kindergartener waved emphatically.

The insect’s wave was met with a small head bob from Nikita. The child, meanwhile, just grinned big and wide. He wanted a giant bug one day! But not a bee! Maybe an ant, instead. Or, OOOH, a beetle. Then, Shalin told them of the Beedrill’s past. An awed gleam sparked in Samuel’s eyes, his eyes snapping up to the bug type’s head in search of a non-existent crown. “Wow. Does that mean I should bow or something?” Nikita, on the other hand, seemed less affected. Snnk! Another bit of rope fell to the ground. “I was under the impression a hive died without its queen.” His heart had.

The bucket was gently dumped over the dolphin, washing away some of the dirt.

Though tempted to frolic with the giant bug, Samuel couldn’t ignore. the water type’s distress. Instead, he scooped up the bucket again. “Wanna help me get more water, Miss Zing?” The scarred Alolan Vulpix turned to follow him, but the addition of Letheia made him pause. His ears—well, ear--pressed against his skull. With his tails down, the cub crept towards the Ninetales.

Shame filled its normally merry blue eyes.

The ex-cop spared the Vulpix a pitying glance. This ended when he turned to the other ice type. “Thank you, Letheia.” Though the sudden pressure shift seemed unwelcome, the Finizen’s restraints made handling it much easier. The Finizen keened softly. “Hush, little one. I am trying to help you.” A wet hand was wiped on his swim trunks as Nikita resumed his sawing.

“What made you decide to become a ranger.” The old man asked as he grabbed a dorsal fin and laid the blade sideways against the skin. The rope there had rubbed the skin raw.