Grimmsnarl wiped the sand from his eyes with a snarl, yet it quickly turned to a grumble as the small pink creature appeared in the wake of the Pangoro. Its giant hammer looked menacing, and it had the smile of a serial killer. All signs pointed to a swift defeat, and the writing was in the sand.

So, it didn’t try. It turned tail and ran straight for Grigori. The motion distracted the grunt, but he assessed the situation carefully. Quickly. One leg rose up and his knee slammed into Beau. The reversal of roles was discarded, and he recalled Imp before it could get crushed beneath the hammer.

Or himself. Another ball was clicked, and the flash bang morphed into a second Pokémon. Now, a blade arched high into the sky. Attached to the forehead of an honorable yet viscous Kingambit. Pumpkin had come out to play, and she played to win.

“Kneel before your master, whelp! Or face my furious– er, fury!”

Of course, she also knew Tinkaton wouldn’t. Thus, she wasted no time and waved the blade around in several circles. It glowed beneath the moonlight, and the light transferred throughout her whole body. Whatever was to happen next, her Swords Dance ensured that her foe would surely be worse off than her.

Unfortunately, all it did was ensure he was still locked into the same game as before. They were too equal, strength of the same caliber. One young and full of desperate energy, yet the other with thirty years of experience and hardened muscle. Ground never shifted far from the center.

In the end, it’d likely come down to whomever’s Pokémon claimed the upper hand. Or could join in on their impromptu wrestling match. Either way, it’d be a quick and decisive victory.

---

Beau Fontaine

“Then by all means,” Grigori clutched the shell of an archeologist close to his side as they hobbled into the armory. As soon as they entered, the faint aroma of gunpowder invaded his nostrils. Gunshots echoed out faintly from a nearby shooting range, as well as the clang of blades.

But in the condition he was in… could Howard even lift a knife? Likely not. If not physically, then certainly not mentally. Dewford weighed heavy in his mind– he knew the look from the mirror.

“Is that so?” Grigori pushed them toward the distant pops. “If it’s any consolation, I do not foresee a threat like that being present in the upcoming war– if we’re lucky.”

Something as big as the Registeel sat with them in the stuffy, well stocked room. A sudden tension filled the space, and Grigori looked dead ahead. Howard was in view, but not the focus. His own gaze pierced the walls, the island, all the way back to Mauville City. He could still remember the night he learned, word for word.

Suddenly, they stopped. Then shimmied off the main path, into the nearest aisle.

“She told me, Mr. Fox.”

“What do we do?”

---

howard slayte

It had been quite some time since Grigori had been a part of arson. Back in Kanto, one of two things kept him out of it: the pyromaniacs took the job in the hope for a quick fix, or it was just something that happened. The former their early days, and the latter when they finally started taking over.

But he knew how they worked generally. Lots of gas, a dark night, a getaway vehicle, and a simple spark. His signature disguise felt stiff and hot once the air conditioning died out, and his many lures on his fishing hat jangled against each other. It felt silly. Out of place and character.

Especially since Zev Harcourt was on his left. Zev Harcourt. That one. The very important one. Why was he doing such a simple job, and why had he invited one of the worst people for it? Old age made him not as nimble or light, and the dark hurt his eyes. He strained to see anything but the dimly lit street ahead.

But it mattered not now. They were here, and they waited patiently for the signal. Nothing to be done but accept the fact and move on.

“Understood,” Grigori whispered back. Curt. Brief. But the silence hurt his soul. “Any security we must worry about? Overnight staff? I’m afraid I know little about this specific building.”

Last time, he had ample time to prep and scope out the place. Now, he was blind in every sense of the term– and a mistake would only spell doom for his life, let alone career.

---

Zev Harcourt

“Mr. Cross.”

Strange to see Jayden here, of all people. Being a major part of the training schedule should’ve left him well out of the fray. Especially since he was already so capable in combat. The fact that he was here meant that today would be a rigorous one. That, or he wanted to watch up close and personal.

Unfortunately, he had found the perfect man to shadow. Grigori kept his eyes from glazing over as he called him out for the missed meeting. “Apologies, Mr. Cross. It was my full intention to participate. I had the dates mixed up. It will not happen again.”

Not a lie. It’d been marked a week after the fact in his personal calendar. Even if the avatar was amused, the grunt wasn’t. He did not like to miss such important dates, even if they involved some of the worst people possible.

“I am personally picking Mr. Frost,” Grigori nodded. For very much personal reasons. If Jayden was interested, it’d be in his file as the most recent mark against him. “So it would seem we will be working together.”

“Do whatever you think is best, Mr. Cross.”

---

jayden cross

Mint

BATTLE OF PETALBURG SIGN-UP

THE FIRST WAVE PRELUDE

OOC NAME:Rysa[break]

CHARACTER: Grigori Sokolov [break]

FACTION: Rocket[break]

SCENARIO: B[break]

PREFERRED PARTNERS, INCLUDING OPPONENTS IF PVP?: Caleb Harcourt [break]

POKEMON PARTY (MAX 6) select six pokemon and include information about their movesets here; you do not need to lock-in pokemon and

movesets until your first post; these pokemon will also follow you to the main moderated event.

  

Scizor, Kingambit, and Druddigon all can tera, specifically into Fire, Fighting, and Dragon respectively. Furthermore, Scizor has a Mega Stone. [break]

NOTES/COMMENTS: As sort of stated in Caleb's sign up post, narrative beats will revolve around the concept of defection, whether one has a right to, if one can after so long, etcetera. On Grigori's side, even if the idea of defection was one he seriously considered, he sees himself as irredeemable based on his long list of crimes and murder. Despite appearing as an average grunt, he has done numerous abhorrent acts that'd make even Caleb doubtful of his success in the amnesty program.

Outside of that, the idea of defending instead of attacking is an important one for Grigori. He's always been the type to be utilized for an offensive, but he no longer wants to fill that spot. Being a defender, even if still unideal, is better than the alternative and he will do his best to defend Sootopolis as best he can despite being an ordinary grunt.

There was only one real option for the grunt, as groups were paired off and locations for conflict were decided amongst themselves. As he entered his own small rag-tag group, he was the first to speak his mind for what they should do. The other grunts saw him slightly raise a hand and gave him looks of respect or annoyance.

"I vote we hit Mossdeep," Grigori said. It was simple: he now lived in Mauville. Knew too many people in Mauville. It was mighty undesirable to be caught by one of them and punch a hole into his existence. He wasn't ready for it. "They contain numerous resources and can provide a strategic advantage over Mauville."

Not a lie. However, there was one vaguely familiar face amongst the rest of them that gave him pause. This was... a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend? Howard mentioned Naomi Sato from time to time, and he knew that Nomi had a partner. A rather rambunctious, jump the gun, 'pick your nose in public' partner.

"Ms. Parker," he nodded to her, "what do you think?"

Nepotism was a hell of a thing, and it would likely be her call that lead them wherever she wanted to go between the options.

---

parker jones

Mossdeep

Surprisingly, Grigori wasn't sure how to proceed with the prediciment in front of them. Violence was his 'knack', so to speak, but not of this kind. More often than not, he dominated his foe through sheer force or with quick wits. Not with knives and threats or promises or what not. It's why he crossed his arms and just stared through the one way glass.

But, perhaps, this would still work in their favor. After all, Shred was here. This seemed his forte. His threats were genuine, his visage terrifying, and he knew how to get onto peoples nerves. Arceus knew that last part.

"Should we persuade them? Might be worth it if you ask," Grigori coined. "Give them one last chance to come clean."

They probably wouldn't. If they gave up the info, then the League would likely consider them a lost cause. Prison breaks were not done for those who had spilled their guts. It might not even matter-- their guts could end up on the floor at the end of the interrogation anyway. Rocket wasn't known to leave loose ends as was.

"I think it could work."

---

Shred

Persuade

The genie’s bottle had been opened, and there wasn’t a way to shove it back inside. Alison didn’t miss a beat and challenged his fumble in earnest. All he could do now is deal with the aftermath. His lips parted, and he thought of what to say.

But what could he say? How did he explain to one who wanted to get back at the perpetrator of her own agony… that he was the cause of pain, misery, and a lifetimes worth of suffering himself? That he was on the same level as them? The truth was necessary. One day, the bandaid would have to come off the wound that bled like a river.

But not today. Not with her. With a flushed face, he suddenly pushed away from the table and rose.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. A few poke dollars flew onto the table, and he chugged the rest of his lukewarm coffee. It was placed atop the bills. The chair slammed into the table. “But I can’t tell you.”

“Do what you think is best, Ms. Alison, even if it might be wrong. In time, perhaps you’ll learn. But never forgive for what they took from you,” he said. “Accept they are sorry, if they even are. But do not accept their forgiveness. I-they don’t deserve it.”

With that, he nodded his head. “Until next time.”

He walked way and did not look back. It was impossible to hide the red underneath his eyes, or the wetness that threatened to cascade down his face, but he rubbed it away and walked. He didn’t know where, and it did not matter.

It just had to be away from here.

---

Alison Everly

"Mr. Fox."


Action was all around them. Forces mobilized, equipment moved around the space, and the air reeked of oil and sweat. But war did not wait for the weather, and the weather would not show them mercy. He pulled at his button-up collar and turned to his boss. It'd been a while since they last talked.

And even now, it would be hard to broach any subject. They were on a mission. Project Tower required them to be ready for the tribulations that lie ahead. For Grigori, it was a lot more official than the last time. Sure, Kanto had been well organized. Had to be, to take over an entire region. But this held quite a different air about it.

More tense. Official. All for one or two measly cities. Or whatever their goals were.

"I propose the Armory, Mr. Fox," he said. "While I may be well versed in various arms, I think it is important for you to be as well. Wars are fought with man alongside Pokemon."

"And your armor is a well-placed strike away from being little more than paper mache."

---

howard slayte

Weapons