“I’ve been once or twice, a while ago,” Grigori visibly deflated underneath the hot sun. Looked like he’d not only be wet, but the laughingstock of his peers. Like a fish out of water– no pun intended. Was his joke too obvious, or the person he sought a chuckle from too… oblivious?

He’d never know. To ask as much would be to look like a bully at best. At worst, a fight would start and they'd both receive a stern warning from their bosses. Instead, he settled for the awkward play into her seriousness and pushed on through the sand. It clung to his boots and left wet clumps in his path.

“When the stars are out, it rivals the beauty of the earth we inhabit,” Grigori said. The stars resembled flowers, and space an infinitely long and deep bed for them to flourish. Other planets were visible as well, hints of what could be within their reach if they so desired.

If they didn’t fight a war for table scraps.

“And if I’m not mistaken… Naomi Sato ? Would likely agree.”

They wouldn’t burn it down. But it would very much be left in a worse state than the found it in. That was for certain. Grigori led the way.

---

parker jones

While the Zoroark sent wispy flames to burn Brick, he charged forth regardless. His trainer had chosen his path, so he must follow. That was the strength of their relationship: Scizor brutally attacked like a Rocket and left no survivors. Pumpkin slew foes with the conviction of a leader.

Brick simply followed the path of Grigori. They were much alike in philosophy of the soul, rather than age or faction affiliation. That’s why he aimed to fling away the foe with a sweep of his Dragon’s Tail. Off into the far wall, to create distance for the true battle to happen.

A physical one, as well as the philosophical one.

Did all deserve mercy and forgiveness?

Grigori’s hammer met blade, and the head struck doorway. Caleb was faster, and this was true. He ducked beneath his arm and the grunt’s elbow struck the whip of air behind his enemy. Yet he was not slow enough to earn a significant reprieve. He did not even let the man monologue for free, as another flurry of blows went his way.

Grigori tapped his own earpiece as his weapon still didn't find purchase, “THEY KNOW– PLEASE ADVISE!”

They were too deep for anyone else to know or even hear. A massive behemoth of a creature threatened to drown an entire city, and tension kept them occupied. They were meant to stop the sea god one way or another, not fight with League. That was not their purpose, and one Caleb didn’t know.

His sole message was all his bosses knew.

Caleb would hear another. “I fight with nothing but conviction. And there is no choice to make. I’ve slain dozens upon dozens of souls, innocent or otherwise. I’ve stolen, destroyed, ruined, all in the name of Rocket’s glory. Even if I no longer desire to do so, such is the path I’ve chosen.”

Grigori pushed the man away, finally offering a slight lull in the combat. His own eyes held fury, in the opposite direction. He beheld the sight of a hypocrite. And how did he know?

“Tell me, with your heart: to say redemption lies within me is to say all above me deserve the same. If I were Elisabeth Fiorelli , or Cillian Quinn , would you say the same as you do now? If you were…”

Something clicked. This poor soul's face looked too familiar. From Kanto. From Hoenn. From Zev Harcourt .

His face of fury transformed. Shifted to empathy, but not pity. Never. Once more, his weapon stayed still. Raised, ready to swing, but stayed its course by an invisible force.

“Would you forgive him?”

“Mr. Harcourt?”

They both knew he did not mean the avatar of Necrozma, destroyer of worlds and devourer of light.

---

Caleb Harcourt

10 MP for Prelude Post
50 MP for having your character's Pokemon symbolize or represent in some way, the condition of your character (Brick and Greg are similar philisophically and share that trait as opposed to the Scizor's loyalty to Rocket and Kingambits trait of leadership (grigori is kinda like a leader for the grunts, I think))
250 MP Total

“Understood,” Grigori said. Moments later, a soft click cut through the gentle hum of the neon sign. He recalled the Mimikyu before he gently pulled the door open. Soft lights lit the way forward into the building, which he took after grabbing the second canister.

The back was clean at least, dirt obfuscated in the shadows and corners of the hall. Bulletin boards clung to the walls, notices and alerts and rights hung in neat, organized lines. Steps for care, rights as an employee. He gave them second glances as he tiptoed around the area.

Not the doors on the right, aptly labeled what Zev described. He took the left.

And immediately flung himself to the other side of a cracked door. That was the break room, alright. And inside were two of the three described nurses.

‘I need to find another fuckin’ job’

‘Oh come on, it ain’t bad here.’

‘It’s boring, though. Doesn’t help that Gus gave me three overnights in a row. Three! What’d I do to piss him off?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Say, you remember that page in the office someone left behind? Something about a–’

‘Yea, yea, I get it already! Shit, you do one prank and everyone thinks you’re an asshole…’

‘Well…’

Thank Arceus, they didn’t notice him. Grigori took extra precautions to ensure his payload did not make any unwanted noise. Even better, when he left the small bridge between the break room and the overnight kennels, no one was to be seen. It left one unaccounted for, but if he was lucky, then it wouldn’t matter.

But unluckily, the records room had the light on, and he could hear the clacks of a keyboard. Someone was typing up a storm, furiously jamming their fingers into the keys.

“Mr. Harcourt, two nurses in the break room. One in the records room. Permission to deploy your Chandelure to distract the last nurse and any Pokémon in the kennels?”

He spared a glance towards the wall of cages. Most of them looked empty, but a few had clipboards that dangled beneath the ones with closed doors. And thanks to the pitch-black light, it was nearly impossible to see what they had in store-- but one looked distrubed by his mere existence, rustling inside the cage the more the seconds passed...

---

Zev Harcourt

Finally, the spy caved. From Grigori’s show of force and Shred’s insistent and ever-present hidden threat factor, they took the paper offered and began to scribble information on it. The corners touched the blood left from his attack, but the ink remained intact. Silence cut by the scribble of a pen filled the quaint room.

Until they finished. Once the pen was set down, Grigori snatched it off the table. Next was the paper. “Thank you for your cooperation. Apologies for the rough force.”

He hoped Shred would uphold his end of the ‘bargain’. But if he didn’t, he wouldn’t do anything about it. Mostly because he couldn’t– he outranked the grunt squarely. But some part of him wanted to. They’d gotten what they wanted, so why kill the man? Better to leave him with the threat.

“Then we are done here for now, Mr. Dread,” Grigori returned to the side of Shred. If he needed or wanted it, an outstretched hand hovered to help him rise from the chair. “We can give this to the relevant persons and call it a day."

---

Shred

His weapon was not a choice of best fit, but one of practicality. If he did not choose the shield, then he would be trading blow for blow. Jayden was swift, dangerously so. He’d be lucky to find his mark more than a few spare times. Furthermore, a sword or spear could be knocked out of his hands. Taken from him

And he did not want to walk out with cuts or holes in his body. Thus, when the carts settled, so too did Grigori with a shield. Its front was steel, chilled from the A/C that furiously pumped cool air in. But the strap and grip were leather. At least he would not have to contend with frostbite.

“I expect nothing less from a man of your position, Mr. Cross,” Grigori agreed. Their enemy would not, so why should Jayden? A hard reality, but free from actual consequences, was the best place to see the truth of such a fact. “Likewise, if it matters any.”

It would likely not. They were not men of an equal realm, unfortunately. Before Jayden’s ascension to avatarship? Very likely. Now?

Never. He took the shield and held it in front of his torso. It was easy to strap to his arm, to better ensure a grip. His eyes peered from above its rim carefully, cautiously. How best to approach this?

He approaches slowly at first. Distance closed and he kept his guard up. But as he reached the halfway point, his position changed. With a wide stance, he rushed forward with surprising speed for such an old grunt. The shield whipped one way, while his free arm went the other.

He tried to slam them together against Jayden’s skull, a single attack to render the man defenseless. To make his skull and brain clatter around.

---

jayden cross

SHIELD

Claiming a Toxic Chain for my Lileep from BOTL, pecha berry is from PP

Mag signed me up, and I am claiming a Lileep for our reward

His muscles would be very sore tomorrow. “Then we fight.”

Jayden led the way further inside the facility. Down halls and corridors, each one more confusing than the last. Eventually, they arrived to their destination. A training room, with just enough space to make a circle around a small floor but not enough to feel fresh air.

Yet it wasn’t warm air, either. Despite the small crowd they gathered by merely having both an Avatar and a well-respected and known name like Grigori Sokolov. He heard fractured sentences being muttered, passed along like a classroom sticky note. From what he could tell they all said good things about him.

But it was Jayden Cross opposite of him. A grunt couldn’t hope to beat him. Grigori mentally agreed.

“How would you like to proceed, Mr. Cross?”

---

jayden cross

Weapon Training with Jayden (kill me)

Grigori did not want to do any of the ‘heavy lifting’. But times called for it, and thus, he did. Such was the loyalty and dedication of a grunt, whose sole purpose sometimes was to do the thing no one else wanted. Especially if they were higher rank. Then, their rule was absolute.

That’s why Grigori walked carefully around the table. His shoes clicked against the concrete, and he kept his eyes firmly locked anywhere but the prisoner. As they fidgeted, he positioned himself behind them. Like a monster in the closet who’d disappear after the parent looked inside. ‘Nothing there, see?’

Except he was. His hand shot forward, and the prisoner's head slammed into the metal table. Droplets of blood spilled out from their mouth, and they started to breath heavy.

The grunt did not betray any feelings, but instead kept the pressure on. “I would fix that within the next thirty seconds.”

Then, he let go. But he kept to the side opposite of Shred. It was not him that would directly report to officials, after all. That was not the place of the grunt.

---

Shred

Brick Glared directly at the Hisuian Zoroark, his eyes imposing on the creature. To think it can get in the way of the trainer, as if to be the one to attack Grigori? Foolish. Reckless. It would be crumpled into a ball before it ever got the chance.

“Like the rest of the supposed defectors,” Grigori muttered. Something snapped. His posture shifted to a straighter back and hollow eyes. Shoulders rose and fell mightier, greater than before. His hammer finally fell to the wayside, but not for lack of desire to use it.

“I am worth nothing,” he spat out. A fire ignited in his pupils, and a snarl formed on his lips. “You understand? I am one of the the men they send after those who leave. If I go, they will send their best after me– and they will not fail.”

Zev Harcourt had only grown more powerful since their last defector mission all those months ago. It would be trivial for the pseudo-divine man to smite Grigori down. He’d be lucky to have the ability to recognize his death before he croaked. Safety did not exist in the League– in the far-fetched land that it was even an option on his mind.

“If you think me worthy of your pathetic hope,” his hammer trembled as his deepest, most internalized emotions threatened to claw their way to the surface, cement himself for what he truly was. “Then you spit on the mountain of graves left in my wake. The skeletons in my closet. The souls stuck in Kanto.”

“I chose to do what I did in Kanto,” finally, the hammer rose once more. Rage bubbled, threatened to explode. “And the only place I deserve is the darkest pit of hell.”

Grigori surged forth, more monstrous, brutal killing machine than man. He aimed to cave in the skull of the only one who ever gave him hope, for that was not what he deserved.

Gabriel rolled in his grave, and june sleigh suffered by his hand. Mercy was a luxury he was not allowed to have.

---

Caleb Harcourt

10 MP for Prelude Post

50 MP having your character experience great fear, hatred, envy, or have a grudge worsen (Hatred/Anger)

190 Total

“If there is anything but that, then please do tell me,” Grigori set the weapon down on the table. Good. There was still fight in the admin– the one who continued to make life hard for himself. “Unfortunately, I’ve yet to discover one myself.”

It was the last thing Grigori wanted. It was the last thing her father would want. Perhaps her mother, if he had to wager a reasonable guess (who wanted their child to be part-terrorist?) But each solution either wasn’t possible due to Howard or June themselves or would only work until Rocket discovered her secret.

Such was the hand they were dealt.

“If you recruit her exclusively for your smuggling, then she’ll avoid the front lines,” he said carefully. Meticulously thought out and with zero hesitation. “You can control where she goes. What she does. Much like you with me right now.”

How many jobs had Howard sent him on? A number that closely resembled the amount of jobs he had yet to enjoy performing. Smuggling was much bloodier than he anticipated. But it didn’t have to be.

“She is not interested in the glory or fortunes this job provides,” he whispered. “Once she’s settled her… situation. Then…”

The imagination could fill in the blanks. It made his skin crawl and all his Rocket senses light up in disgust. Yet another one spoke much louder. Gabriel had a way to be loud when he wanted to. The grunt scratched his left arm as the black strip hidden beneath his shirt ached.

“Regardless, it is your call,” he finally rose. There wasn’t going to be much training done today. This kind of training wasn’t the type Grigori needed more in any way. “You have until the problem blows up in our faces to think of a better solution. But remember, Mr. Fox.”

“We share fault in this scenario, but our shares are not equal.”

“Rest well, Mr. Fox.”

Grigori turned his back to the baffled admin and left. He could only hope Howard conjured a better answer from the newfound heart of his golem.

---

howard slayte