It was not the answer he sought, but it was the answer he got. The regard of both William and her husband in the past tense was enough for Grigori. Further cemented them as kindred souls, isolated yet connected in their own burdens. Their faults. And even then, her cause was far nobler than his.

Far more just. Even if its consequences were horrible.

“I’m… sorry,” Grigori said. The bag was sent gently against the ground, and he joined her once more by the dumpster. “Love of that sort is something I’ve never experienced. I fail you, in that regard.”

All he’d ever known was the distant, sporadic love from his mother when she wasn’t escaping from reality herself. And whatever he had called the bond between himself and Gabe. Love of a brotherly sort. The romantic kind was never his. But whether that fueled his lack of desire or his lack of desire made it so was impossible to know or determine.

“But… if I may posit a theory,” Grigori cupped his hands gently around hers, “I think your assessment is incorrect. There is no being good or bad at love, for it is not something we can control. As the logic of our mind, our hearts possess emotion. Our brains think, yet our hearts feel. And feelings are as uncontrollable as the sun, or the stars.”

“There is no good or bad at loving. Only the act of it. Do your tears not fall as we speak? Or your heart ache? You are as capable of loving or having love given to you, as everyone else. And even if you are broken, and there is no putting you back to your original form as you insist…”

“There exists a world where you are rebuilt, with kind, gentle hands, into another form altogether. One where you are whole.”

Damaged, but not broken. To be damaged was to be fragile, yet that was hardly a negative. Everyone was fragile, in their own unique ways. Points that wouldn't break them no matter the pressure, and others that'd scatter their remains all across the floor. 

---

Absinthe Blackwood

The concept of the ultra wilds was far from alien to the grunt. He’d been there enough times, with Shred and howard slayte . But the lush, green wilds that greeted them with a scene straight from any popular media was new. The Power Plant held lifeless and static electricity. This one held life and–

The desire to keep the tranquil peace through any means. Fair enough, he supposed. While Hitoshi explained the two routes, Grigori released a Pokémon that fit their environment almost perfectly.

“Kingambit! Gamba-Gamba–”

“-- none shall give us the cuts of paper they so desire, for my blade is much more fierce and capable than their puny, insignificant, worthless–”

“We will help with combat of the Tapu Bulu,” he said to the small group. There wasn’t much time, though, before the swarm of deadly origami descended upon them. Yet, unfortunately, none were ready for the violence that Pumpkin was capable of.

A single slice of a Kowtow Cleave cut as many as five in a single swoop, he counted. An offense that perfectly matched the defensive might that MAKI YUKIMURA provided. A blade to pair with the bulwark, and an almost unstoppable combination. It was only natural that he fell nearly in step with her.

“Your Metagross is quite impressive, miss,” he said. They made progress, but it sent a feeling of dread down his spine. They weren’t going fast enough. Time was of the essence, and a defense only so powerful. “A remarkable display, if I may observe.”

They’d get there eventually, but he could only hope their near impenetrable shield would not be worn down in the trip. There were much bigger threats to protect against. Much less merciful as well.

---

Tl;dr
 - Chooses Katana Squad because VIOLENCE MURDER MAIM KILL TAPU BULU MY BELOVED
 - Kingambit KILLS many Kartana, it is very sick and epic and awesome (and also vaguely fights alongside Metagross if permitted)
 - Comments to MAKI YUKIMURA about her very poggers Metagross (because it is poggers)
 - but also PLEASE WE NEED TO GO FASTER OUR SPEEDRUN IS DYING!!!!!!!!!!!!

All Fezandipiti had to do what Roost once more. A simple pruning of feathers left it better off than before. Grigori gulped. Even as the Pupitar finally found its mark, it wasn’t without sacrifice. Shirley fell far to the wayside. Shred missed by a wide margin. Gouging Fire flew.

He had already failed two Pokémon, and a third if his paradoxical beast took any more blows. Yet another Moonblast would grace them shortly. They needed a miracle, yet the obvious ones were too far away.

Except…

Except…

Oh no.

But what other choice was there? All they could do was hope it worked. As Gholdengo chanted in its impossibly obtuse language (that of all Pokémon), Grigori did what he did best: engage. Only now did it pose an actual benefit. But was also comedically risky. Desperate times, and such.

“Raging Bolt, follow me! To Mr. Shred!”

Together, they galloped forward and onward. Straight to the Fezandipiti. As a pink moon threatened to bowl them over, they put themselves directly between the bird and the dog. “Fight me! Come on!”

Group them up and let the golden statue do the heavy lifting. To further emphasize this, Raging Bolt called forth one more dizzying surge of electricity, and Thunder struck the Okidogi. Hopefully that would get its attention. The bigger they were, the harder they’d fall.

---

Shred howard slayte 

“I see you are unmoved.”

Grigori emerged once again, with a large brown bag in hand. He had finished and disposed of his coffee earlier, its sweet taste still fresh on his tongue. It masked the bitter disappointment quite well: the idea that he wanted her to be better than he had been, the knowledge that it was an impossible standard.

But that wasn’t truly relevant to the problem at hand. Grigori walked over calmly, back to the lost woman, and offered the bag.

“I’m afraid I didn’t know your sizes, so I had to over-estimate,” he said. It was likely too large. But that was far from the worst thing. Her eyes…

Grigori felt the ever-presented head of guilt reared its ugly head. His heart twitched as the truth presented itself. How could he have been so blind? He knew those eyes. How hollow they were. How still she was. This was a massive assumption, as the lack of light could have told him whatever he wanted to see.

But there was no desire for life inside.

“Who were they?" He pushed for the truth once more, but even he knew this was well into personal territory. Would she put up the walls, or would they crumble just this once?

---

Absinthe Blackwood

DARK SIDE OF THE MOON SIGN-UP

STRIKE FORCE!

CHARACTER: Grigori Sokolov [break]
PKMN TEAM (6 MAX): [break]
HOW MANY TIMES HAS YOUR CHARACTER BEEN TO THE ULTRA CRATER?: Nada

Also I am not fixing my ugly ass formating you will have to stare at it for as long as you are on this page

Unfortunately for Shred, his Pokemon would be down one ally as the Fezandipiti capitalized on the conjured Blood Moon. Its crimson red hue adopted a more lighter shade, transforming into a dazzling pink. The Moon's Blast went straight for the Ursaluna and sent it reeling.

And it gave one final heave as it lay still on the grass. Oh no. Fezandipiti gave him a dangerous glare, and he once more stepped back. He was now a stone's toss away from Shred, who had sent out a dangerous beast.

And perhaps that was the right idea. Grigori grabbed his poke ball and clicked it open. White and red emerged to conjure up yet another paradoxical being. One from the past, with a hilariously tall neck that let it nearly rival the heights of their foes.

Raging Bolt, tall and mighty. But it would still likely not be enough against the fairy-wielding bird.

“If either of you two have an ace up your sleeves, now would be a perfectly good time to show it!” Grigori called over the rising voltage. Thunder rained down straight atop the Fezandipiti, a powerful yet still nonlethal blow.

What would save them?

---

Shred howard slayte

Once more, Grigori shrugged. It was the difference of age that made the mundanity of cement differ greatly. Unfortunately for him, he no longer possessed the twinkle in the eye for such simple things. Try as he might, he had to find beauty in other things– like company, or the act of not committing violent acts.

“Not for me personally, Ms. Clover,” he answered. “but for one person who helps rebuild, there must be another to help protect the land claimed. If you are content with your defense work, I will be content with the hard physical labor. As long as we both do our best, then I would recommend against the feeling of inadequacy.”

Besides, his side was the type he deserved. Backbreaking, hard, but rewarding in numerous ways. What it represented in the opportunity to repair instead of destroy, as well as the opportunity cost of being out of the field. It kept his foes safe, for better or worse. A chance of mercy was better than none at all.

But it wasn’t as relevant. Not when the humming grew louder the further they walked. Nor when Clover looked like her own bat out of hell. One that wanted to fly far away.

“There is no guessing about it, but fret not. Whatever it might be, there are good odds it is more afraid of you than vice versa,” Grigori said. He’d learned from june sleigh that sometimes fears were irrational. One could not fight them, but rather had to confront them head on.

Thus, Grigori finally pulled back on the stalks of yellow corn. And there it was: “Ah, a Noivern. Mr. Clover, did you bring any Ice Type Pokemon?”

---

clover matamata

“Do not worry, Ms. Absinthe,” Grigori said. Her slanted eyebrows did little to phase him, as he saw straight through it. Pride goeth before the fall, as some would say. Himself included. “The funds will not be much, I presume. Nor the clothes quality– but they will be clean.”

It wasn’t a standard shopping trip, and she’d likely never wear whatever he bought again. Safe, in case eyewitnesses were particularly observant. They’d be as cheap as they came without falling apart in his hands.

“I will try my best to be quick, but I would consider alternative outlets of escape if something goes amiss,” he warned. Anything was possible. Carefully, Grigori stepped over and past any blood smears that stained the filthy concrete. “I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes, if there are no problems.”

A lot could happen in that time frame. They both knew that perfectly well –the last few minutes had been perfectly demonstrative.

---

Absinthe Blackwood

Despite being the Avatar of death personified, Grigori attempted to glare the avatar back into it anyway. “You remind me of another Avatar, and not in a good way. And yes, they will start swarming us immediately. Unless you possess an army of your own hive to attempt diplomacy or to block their entire swarm.”

Thankfully, he did not suspect they would be able to or have to squash this nest immediately. They were only two people; even the divine must have their limits. Without waiting for Temp’s approval or offer to lead the way, the grunt crouched down and pushed into the hole.

And… yes, this was the nest alright. Somehow, the Combee had taken up more real estate in a different part of the building. But there were plenty in the basement regardless. None of the hexagonal Pokémon saw him, and he quickly dove into the safety of cover.

A few dozen Combee buzzed the wall opposite of them, next to yet another entrance. The thick smell of honey choked Grigori, and he shoved his nose under his shirt. Even he had his sweet limit.

“We will be incapable of neutralizing the threat without collapsing the building… likely a hundred or so Combee elsewhere… What do you recommend, Mr. Quinn?”

Whether Absinthe had come to her senses, or Arceus decreed it so, it ultimately did not matter what else they did here– they would be thrown in jail if they stayed. Even if Grigori desired more, it was best to stay his hand. Greed was a dangerous beast, one not to be tempted.

“You should,” he agreed. For hopefully the second-to-last time tonight, he rose back up again. His drink was still intoxicatingly sweet, but with a new hint of history and dark pasts. “Yet I suppose you lack a fresh set.”

What to do, what to do… she couldn’t enter any stores or even leave here. Time was wholly against them, and he could only offer so many articles of his own clothing before it became unreasonable. Perhaps… perhaps…

“As I see it, there might be a few other options: if you possess a Pokemon with Teleport, that might work. Otherwise, Digging of Flying away is obvious, but if no one sees your face and you possess an alibi, you will likely escape. Otherwise, I can attempt you purchase some, or fly to your humble abode and procure them. But blood isn’t something many people forget the smell of. Nor ignore in such large quantities.”

It was Absinthe's call to make, but he'd do his best to ensure her safe escape. Whatever it might be.

---

Absinthe Blackwood

Grigori stepped back quickly, out of the fear that such a man wielded a literal, live, potent spinning circle of death on his wrist. This violated at least several OSHA guidelines and rules. He wasn’t sure which ones, but there had to be a couple.

“Please do not eviscerate the wood,” was all he could muster. “The foreman will be very upset if he has to give us extra.”

All because the man wanted to show off. But, perhaps, he wasn’t a man any longer. No, this was an Avatar. A being of raw power, with near magic-esque powers at the palm of his hand. Like out of a fiction book, yet there was nothing fictitious about this. Shred had been one of two to receive the blessings of Paradoxical beings.

And he’d beaten the other black and blue in the process. But he kept his tongue– Zev Harcourt ’s conflict kept it so. Besides, june sleigh seemed more than happy to not proudly proclaim to the world what happened.

“If I may ask, what else do your newfound abilities allow you to do, Mr. Shred? This seems… unwieldy, to say the least.”

June hadn’t told him, and it felt relevant to know as he started to dig into the board. Shred should really be wearing safety goggles.

---

Shred

All Grigori could respond with was a tragic, sorrowful, yet honest stare. Of course he killed him. Grigori was a man molded by violence. It was all he knew. His hands had been replaced with hammers, and all his problems with nails. Even as he sawed them off, stubs proved more than capable of a similar effect.

But her hand feels warm. Comforting. Right. It shouldn’t be, yet it is. Dangerously so, and he soaked up as much of the greedy show as he could. This was the last thing he deserved– but a perfect respite from the hell he found himself in.

“... Mine have yet to fade, nearly three years later,” he answered softly. A stark contrast to the woman next to him, harsh and dissonant. “But time heals all wounds. An enigma that holds no promise in either direction.”

A mere step above ‘no and yes’. It would be more kind to be blunt with the answer. Yet…

Maybe they could escape it, somehow. Sleep at night. Even if they did not deserve it, there was plenty of time in hell to punish their sins. A few nights of sleep was nothing in comparison to that.

“But I do not wish to escape mine,” he said. Even if he desired reprieve, he must not be allowed the comfort. “It serves as an important reminder to myself: that there is always more to be done. More to make up for. More good to be done, to counteract the bad. Yet I speak personally– for it is imperative to reach your own conclusion, however that may appear to you.”

---

Absinthe Blackwood

Grigori shrugged. They might be a crop circle deviant. It was also possible he had more experience in the psychic, or otherwise otherworldly. Youth were up to far more interesting things in this day an age than when Grigori was young. Times change, and so did hobbies. Nothing wrong with it.

And there existed far, far worse things to be interested in. The grunt would know personally.

“What is there to desire about cement?” Grigori took the first few steps into the strange maze. Almost immediately a wave of dangerous-feeling energy washed over him. He did his best to ignore it. “You add different aggregates to it, which depend on your project, then some water, and you have your product. Unfortunately, there is little of interest to be had. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Cement was more interesting in terms of what could be done with it, rather than the material itself. “So far, I’ve deduced that the lawn-ornament molds are as creative as we’ve found.”

“Speaking of, have you had to participate in reconstruction efforts thus far, Mr. Clover?” Grigori regarded the first fork in the path with little curiosity. Instead, he immediately chose the left path and continued onward. “I would hope not. It is rather troublesome work. Not good for those who desire longevity in their lives.”

---

clover matamata