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[attr="class","bisc"]His complaints drew a tight-lipped expression from the veteran. A blonde brow rose slightly, blue eyes sweeping across the frozen landscape. Few things irritated her quicker than petulant whining. Especially when it came accompanied by stupid assumptions. This man was like someone who ordered ice cream and proceeded to complain about it being cold.

“I am not sure what you expected.” The words are equal parts confused and disrespectful. Her breath escaped in frosty puffs, ruffling the stray threads of her dense scarf. “It is not an Alolan resort.” That was not to say that she was not cold. The porcelain doll cheeks were an uncomfortable red. Her bright lashes, meanwhile, were dotted with flecks of ice. But she tried her best not to show it. Such things were not the Magnusson way.

That mindset is likely what led to her creation, an irony Lydia did not recognize. She turns her head to the side, keeping an eye out for any threats. “If it will make you feel better, you can pretend I said 'boo'.” Even if his beliefs were incorrect, it made little difference to her. It was not as if she’d want to interact with this petulant little person in the future.

“No, it is not.” Lydia was not foreign to a mockery of her beliefs. Though she once fought for it like a rabid dog, she mostly restrained herself. Acting like a savage would not elevate her in the eyes of her lord and savior. But that last comment drew up a blonde brow. “These people?” The veteran scoffed as she turned away. “I could say the same.” This man reminded her of her brother. That was not a good thing.

His declaration received a stupefied blink in return. It was not an incorrect statement, but it did not get to the heart of her inquiry. Had they felt a loss of hope as they drudged through this wasteland? Did the love of a missing pup force them onward? Those things could not be captured by a thing such as cold.

Then, she heard it, a whimpering on the howling winds. Her lips pursed together as she wandered away from Kepler and his newly acquired fossil. She despised the Galarian jigsaws—they were true aberrations to her lord. As she walked, she missed a spot of red in the snow. Suddenly, she found herself face down in a heap of fur.

As she lifted herself up, she found herself staring into the empty eyes of a Beartic. It seemed to move as she scrambled back. A hand dropped to her gun. A shot went off, burying itself in the corpse's shoulder. “!?” Then, she saw it was not the deceased animal returning to life, but a cub cowering behind its head.

It moaned in terror, trying to hide behind the popsicle of its mother's corpse.

With a sad, forlorn smile, she crawled to push a ball against its head, ignoring the dampness of its tears. Only then did she turn to examine the Beartic properly. It’d been decimated. “What could have done this?”

NOTES
Catching Cubchoo

Skipping
kepler brueshaber

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[attr="class","bisc"]Lydia could vaguely recall a time she did not regard people with thinly veiled suspicion. Though it was long before the war—somewhere between eleven and thirteen. That’d been the time her brother tricked her into getting locked into the old well house. He told her an injured Psyduck had run inside, now cowering behind the cistern.

Before she realized she’d been tricked—only shadows lurking in that shack—the door slammed shut. She could hear him laughing as he levied a rock in front of it. To her credit, she did not rush at the door wailing. Even then, she knew that was what the bully wanted. When he called her a bastard or pulled her hair. He wanted to see her cry and beg. Because he blamed her for mother and father’s late night arguments. For the teasing they got in that tiny little town with its tinier minded people.

She cried herself to sleep in that well house. Silently. Alone. Night fell by the time father found her. The darkness a mess of imagined beasts and jeering faces. But her brother did not see her worries. No, he did not get satisfaction, just retribution.

Fortunately, Lydia could not reconcile this man with Mikhail. His skin was too warm and his smile too open. So, when he offers the hand, she takes it. The porcelain doll fingers a stark contrast to the young man’s larger one. The use of sir does not seem appropriate either, so that is dropped. They are peers after all. “I’m Lydia." She gestured ove her shoulder. "This is Minerva.” The wolf lowered her head in greeting.

“Most things are.” Though, she was not sure all of them were worth a bullet. “It’s hard to acquire knowledge without curiousity.” That or reading a placard some nice person erected. Unfortunately, there were none of those to be found here. The rocks were natural, if strange.

At the talk of Alola, Lydia nods. “I have never been to Alola. My father wished to go.” But they never got around to it. “I did serve a stint in Sinnoh and Kanto, however.” And, then, she sailed here. Only to have that hunt for connetion eded by bloodshed and violence. “Hoenn is…troubled. It lost its way long ago.”

It was strange how, in a place that seemed to need her the most, that she so aimlessly drifted.

“Yes, though there is supposedly a difference in sheen as well.” Staring at this stone made her wonder if peopel carved ffrom it. A shimmering crystal figurine would look nice beside her curio cabinet. “I believe grass is a safe assumption. Arceus seemed intent to color code things to suit our design.” No doubt, such things would be more difficult to comprehend if ice was red and fire pink.

A hand dropped to her holster. “Yes.” Minerva jumped in front of her trainer, a howl erupting from her muzzle—boosting the power of her teeth and claws. “Perhaps it is after the—” Before she could finish the sentence, the bush exploded in a cascade of green and glitter. Beyond it, a Pokemon with a crown of flowers became visible.

lam logan

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[attr="class","bisc"]The man’s melodrama scrunched up her nose—the gesture decisively rabbit-like. Blue eyes narrowed slightly. What point was there in this poorly disguised hostility? Unsheathe the blade or do not draw it. This in-between, passive-aggressive nonsense had always ruffled the albatross’s feathers. Perhaps because it reminded her so much of Mikhail.

“I did not jump out at you. We walked through a snow drift.” They had been walking, just as the scientist had. Beside her, Minerva shook herself free of snow. Thick fur absorbing all but the deepest seated cold. She did not seem to notice Kepler’s displeasure—a nonchalance Lydia did not share. “My mistake was announcing my presence.” If fools wished to walk through snowstorms, she would leave them to it.

What a blasphemous little shithead. Lydia thought to herself as the young man laughed. Her lip lifted slightly, s if accosted y something foul. “It's not a joke.”

The question was met with a sigh. She let her eyes drift across the landscape. With little need to impress Kepler, she let a more rugged beast flow through her. A hint of the monster she’d been in war. “I have always been called frigid.” The profanity feels almost strange—sinfull. “I thought I’d try it.” It was better than being a whiny little troll.

The smirk disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “I am working as well.” A young woman claimed to have left something important out here as she fled the gigawinter. A bag containing all of her Pokemon. These were sentenced to a frosty existence without intervention—something Lydia felt she could be provided.

She and the hound follow after him, if only because the woman’s last known location was known to be in this direction. Though she sees the Durant, she does not intervene, hoping the stumble will remind him why he’d been surprised in the first place. When he catches it, she cannot help but sigh. “I cannot imagine how these Pokemon felt.” Just how many more were trapped in this maelstrom? “From oasis to wasteland in a moment.”

And this man laughed at the gods.

In the distance, Lydia watches as a Mr. Rime tip-toes his way across the landscape. “At least some of them enjoy it."

Skipping
kepler brueshaber

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