“Good.”

Allergies wouldn’t have been a dealbreaker, but it surely would’ve put a damper in his spirits. Now, he feels liberated to bake as he pleased. Even better if his hopeful roommates ate most of what he couldn’t– one couldn’t be in peak physical condition off of cakes and sweets alone.

Just as described, the room sat right next to the bathroom. As the light came to life, he gazed into the room over Annalise’s shoulder. Then, he muttered a 'Pardon me,' as he entered. There wasn't any way to truly get a feel for a room without getting a foot in the door. Sure enough, it felt a little smaller on the inside than outside.

But not nearly small enough. Slowly, he eyed the edges of the walls and considered all of his meager belongings. Fortunately, each box and bookshelf had a perfect place to be put, and anything that didn't fit looked to have a home inside the honestly sized closet. With a slow nod, he closed the door to it and turned to Annalise.

"What a quaint little place you have here," he commented. "Comfortable. Homely. I'm content with everything I've been shown and told, and I have little reason to believe there are any oddities being hidden."

Thus, he returned to Annalise and held out his hand, "So, if you are content with me also, then I'd like to move in-- with your say, of course."

---

annalise henderson Rory Faust marilee beaufort

His eyes stayed shut. A dream within a dream? Unlikely. But he kept his hands gripped into that possibility for a moment longer.

“Mr… Howard.”

Grievances could await in the world of the living and reality. Here, the truth could be momentarily ignored. Not for forever, but long enough for a single proper conversation. “You’re here.”

"Pardon me,” he yawned big and wide, “but… I would ask how you’ve been, yet I feel I know the answer all too well.”

The prison. The dream. Doug. “That was him, right? On the projection, that first day? My condolences.”

The truth also hurt, and neither of them needed the sting it provided when they had a dozen other wounds to nurse. His eyes blinked slowly, and he was looking toward the sky. As much as he wanted to, the desire to meet Howard’s own gaze had to be ignored. Even if they were friends, he was still above him in Team Rocket.

He could tell the others of his shame, if he saw it in the grunt’s eyes. “If you need a shoulder, then let it be mine.”

---

howard slayte Shred

Grigori knew Howard wasn’t weak. Weak men did not make it to positions such as his. Team Rocket had a way of weeding out the undesirables, the rejects that wouldn’t amount to anything no matter the circumstances. They did not get granted the title of Admin: they were discarded or sacrificed.

Unfortunately, what he thought meant little if the Admin could not see it for himself. Even worse, the grunt wasn’t sure he wanted to see a Howard with self-confidence. The mere thought sent a shiver throughout his body.

“If you think for even a moment, that your command will save my soul, then please save yourself the breath,” he whispered. Kanto did not give him nightmares like it did others. It kept him awake into the mere hours of dawn. But when he fell asleep, its events did not invade the privacy of dreams.

Gabriel managed that perfectly fine. “I know, Mr. Fox, that you are technically my boss. Or however the relationship has worked out. But do not think for a moment that I may disobey a command from the likes of jayden cross , Elisabeth Fiorelli , or even Cillian Quinn . If they tell me to do something, I will still do it.”

Even if it made his bones ache and his mind dissociate.

“If you think it necessary to raid Dewford, then people will die.”

Much like Howard’s admittance of failure, Grigori’s own acceptance of this fact hung just as well. “But… if you think it will also prevent another cataclysm like Meteno, then… who am I to disagree or judge?”

“Perhaps, in the future, the golem could save those you care about,” he faced Howard proper. His eyes held a twinkle of hope which cut through the darkness of the topic. “Even those you think will never forgive you. Or those you don’t want to forgive you.”

It always came back to her.

---

howard slayte

“Mr. Sl– Howard,” Grigori sputtered out. Through the commotion, pain, realizations, awful poisons, and everything in between, the grunt found the admin. His mask stayed fixed to his face, and the toxic chain covered his torso like a towel. As if it tried to hide the massive man, and it failed as one would expect.

The lack of honorific also drove him up the elevator, but there could be absolutely no connection between him and this man. Even if neither were suspected Rockets, the thought terrified him. It pushed past every other feeling present and somehow dominated his mind space. “You’re safe. Alive.”

Both of them, and even that one Laurence Whateley from all that time ago. He’d need to be blind to not notice the doctor. “... So, what happens–”

Several sounds behind him draw his ragged attention. Then, his eyes widened. They were back at the mochi pit. Where he was pushed around, abused, and fought the green creature trapped alongside them. Except now, they were bathed in a mask of flame and smoke and ash. Several Nihilego joined them, and chaos once again threatened to erupt.

“Howard… I will ensure that stays so,” he called behind his shoulder. As everyone surged from the lift, Grigori did the same. Not for himself, but for those who couldn’t hope to fight back. There was a gurgle in his throat, a snarl. Even with the poison that surged through his veins, he pressed on. Forward, toward the Ogerpon–

Except, of course, for jayden cross . His eyes filled with tears from the uncomfortable heat, and he blinked. When his eyes opened, he was back in the garage. Only a few dim lights shone from above, and the grunts of a pained man sounded out.

Instinctively, he looked down. ■■■■ wasn’t there. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the side. Across the shop, there were two figures. Another copy of him, and a figure that lie on the ground. ■■■■. ■■■■!

“Stop, stop, DON’T!”

He rushed forward, and raised his hands. His fingers interlocked, and he brought both hands sideways. Even if it took all his strength, all his energy, there could not be a repeat of the past. This nightmare would end a different way, with ■■■■ still alive. “I WON'T–”

The lights flickered. Reality and fiction juxtaposed horrifically. First, it was Ogerpon and Andrea Vaneau . Then, annalise henderson and jayden cross . Then back to himself and ■■■■. Annalise and Andrea. Grigori and Jayden. Ogerpon and ■■■■. Was he about to make as horrific a mistake, or absolve his karmic debt in full? It was impossible to tell, when not even the real world wanted to humor him with the gift of certainty.

Yet his arms swung with all his weight, into whomever stood over the other. A hammer was he, and his sole purpose to hit the nail. He could know no other fate, for it would render him worthless.

Rocket did not allow those deemed worthless. Neither did the universe, in all her karmic justice.

---

Tl;dr

 - Hello Mr. Howard, there seems to be a problem in the prison

 - When he sees the dangers that stand in front of the group, goes forward to help fight the good fight

 - Except that one jayden cross guy makes him experience his worst nightmare

 - Goes to stop 'himself', but when he gets close reality goes all wonky and he doesn't know who he is trying to hit anymore

 - Hits them anyway, like a boss (evil, despicaple man)

 - Goodbye Annalise

 - Main Action: Something Else (Attacking ANNALISE GRRR BARK BARK BARK)

TOXIC CHAIN ABILITY: GO-GO GADGET DEFENSE HAND

- Acts like, well, a hand
- Protects, but does not attack. Parries, deflects, prevents, the whole nine defensive yards

SurZBAqG
Also Badly Poisoned (Oof ouch owie my blood vessels)

“Then anything we could ever imagine to do to Dewford will look like child’s play, compared to it,” he responded. Grigori knew the idea all too well: damn the few to save the many. What was a thousand dead people compared to a million? In all honesty, the choice was a painfully easy one. One he’d choose as well.

But then again, he wasn’t the one that had to suffer the consequences. He and Howard held the position of power over Dewford, and he loathed every moment of its absolute truth.

“What about them? They’ve been running smooth as they could be, given circumstances,” he responded. His head tilted until one eye met Howard’s own. “And given that you bring it up…”

“Is… is that what it’s been for? Your golem?”

He’d never pieced it together until now, and a wave of guilt crashed over him. Of course. The Regieleki in the alien world had been the foreshadowing to this Brothers Grimm, and this was the rising action. Recreate what it had, but within something they could ever hope to control.

If only it would be enough. “Unfortunately, if this god is what you make it out to be, I fail to see how even it, massive as that ball of sparks in the Wilds, could ever hope to put a dent in it.”

What they’d damn a few thousand souls to even attempt. Not do, attempt. They could still very much lose. It’d be for nothing. More blood for a fairy tale that’d yet to run its course, and one drenched in treason and lies. Although the alternative offered a worse outcome, this one would make him a perpetrator. Again.

---

howard slayte

Grigori did not rise immediately. Not at first, when the chaos began. His eyes were fixed ignorantly to the floor. Rebellion? Against those who promised him such a bright future? Absurd. Unthinkable. Rocket had molded him into the perfect, obedient grunt, and the similarities betwixt this hell and the other one were too numerous to count.

It made him uncomfortable. Perhaps he deserved to die on the cold floor, on his knees, hands gripped on two polished tera shards. Grunts did not fight back. Especially those that apparently fantasized about their organization crumbling to dust, and all his bosses systematically eliminated. At least here, he could pretend to die with dignity.

But fate always had second plans. It got him through his younger years, it brought him to Hoenn. It led to the death of June’s father. And now, it manifested in the chain that promised salvation. Literally.

The chain manifested a hand. Then, the hand pushed off the ground. Grigori was on his feet. A nearby Megalopolan attempted to expose his brains to the world, but the chain swatted the opposing toxic chain away. It did not stop the assault, however. On the second go, it blocked the hands once more.

Again, and again, and again. It didn’t give him a second chance; it bought him more time until his inevitable demise. If he wanted to truly live, then he'd have to make it happen himself. “Fine, then. I will do this for June, and June alone.”

On the next parry, Grigori surged forth and plunged the tera crystals into the fleshy bits of the guard’s stomach. As they writhed on the ground, he ran for the lift. His chain prevented attacks for fellow ward members, and he tried to avoid as many of his superiors as possible. They could not know his folly.

---

Tl;dr
 - Ugly Ward
 - Grigori is a good noodle and doesn't RISE UP at first
 - Toxic chain has other plans, and grows a hand
 - Lifts him up, and prevents him from dying immediately
 - Ultimately decides to not be an idiot, stab the guard, and runs for the lift
 - Still avoids his bosses though, they are scawy
TOXIC CHAIN ABILITY: GO-GO GADGET DEFENSE HAND
 - Acts like, well, a hand
 - Protects, but does not attack. Parries, deflects, prevents, the whole nine defensive yards
1SKjmO1l

The soul was a resilient thing.

It took abuse, pain, agony, toils, and very single relevent adjective without so much as a flinch. It had to; they’d been molded by evolution. To have a weak soul was to have someone unwilling to reproduce. They’d be eliminated from the population within a single generation. It wasn’t an infectious condition either.

But they all had a limit. They did not break, but they tore. Scratches, scrapes, tears into the otherwise tough material was all too common. Suffering was the secret third guarantee of life, and it usually proved to strengthen the soul after the incident occured.

Grigori wondered if this was such a moment, after several grueling days of monotony. Of abuse, of terror, of pain and agony and exhaustion. Maybe that’s why, when subjected to the trial of the feeding pit, he threw down his meager handfuls of mochi mush and growled.

“Oi, what’s–”

Grigori extended his arm, only able to pinpoint their location based on their voice, and slammed them into the ground. They cursed and struggled, but it soon didn’t matter. A green mass came forward and barreled straight into the broken grunt.

They fell together into a mass of yelps and grunts, with Grigori on the bottom. Weak, desperate hands clawed at the face, the back, the toxic chain. “Let me tear it off! Give me a chance, I’ll end your suffering!”

“Pon, pon!” Even in its weakened state, it was more than capable of tossing Grigori to the side. He rolled across the slop like a sack of potatoes, hitting fellow prisoner limbs on the way. And when he came to a stop, his bones protesting and his muscles on fire, he let himself lay with closed eyes for a few seconds.

Only a few. Then, he went on the hunt. After the creature that assaulted them in a blind rage. He would help the creature by trying to remove its toxic chain. If that didn’t work, then he’d be the punching bag while the rest of them hurried to clean the grounds of purple waste.

Either way, they would be done with their cleaning, he would die, or the green demon would stop its assault. No matter the cost, no matter the pain. Such was the burden of a grunt, of a soul. How much more could his take?

---

Tl;dr
 - To be, or not to be. That is the question
 - After some inner turmoil, Grigori slams a fellow prisoner NPC into the mochi mush to save them from an Ogerpon attack
 - He gets into a small tussle with the weakened Ogerpon (this happens further into the week), and he gets thrown away
 - He comes to a stop in lots of pain, gives himself a moment, and then starts to chase after the Ogerpon
 - No matter what, this will come to an end for someone. Hopefully, him or the Ogerpon

Lpo6vXHy
TRIPLE DISADVANTAGE LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOO

The grunt barely got to the ground, as the Dragon Pulse slammed into the wall. Chunks of debris scattered in the wake of impact, and pelted Grigori. He could feel his skin split, and blood trickled out from a few of the cuts.

“Freddy, use Earth Power!”

The bear growled, and the ground below the Naganadel shook. Combined with the Thunder wave, it couldn’t move out of the way in time. Like a mortar shell, the ground once more erupted. It all went straight into the underbelly of the beast, which roared in pain.

But did not relent. Instead, its stinger flashed a viscous purple. Then, it charged straight for Grigori. The grunt barely managed to roll out of the way before it slammed into the far wall, where the toxic sludge had been. That, combined with the paralysis and sticky, venomous gunk, kept it in place as it angrily tried to escape.

“Mr. Laurence, quickly!” The grunt vice-gripped the doctor's arm and dragged him toward the entrance of the cavern. “We’ll block it in. Collapse the entrance.”

Freddy had that in mind from the start, as the already dark space got even dimmer. A twinge of red emerged from the darkness, and painted the bear in a terrifying light. He hobbled faster, knowing what would come next. If they did not exit in time, they would be trapped in there regardless of his command. Such was the destructive, uncontrollable force of a Bloodmoon-Ursaluna.

“If your Shinx can try to stop it in its tracks, now would be the perfect time,” he said. Every little bit helped.

---

Laurence Whateley

It felt incredibly uncomfortable, to have his face smooshed and pressed around by the toxic chain. Grigori was still not entirely awake, and his stomach grumbled from hunger. His mind was clouded from the experiences of yesterday too. His back ached from his terrible sleeping spot, his neck sore from an awkward.

All of this, to say, that he wasn't sure what the point of this was. THe people laughed at him, laughed their pretty little faces off. It stung, surely, yet he couldn't trust their reactions as genuine. Especially when the figure he recognized as jayden cross laughed alongside the rest of the crowd. Why would they laugh at him for such a silly face? Isn't that the point of them anyway?

But it did hurt. It rocked his already precarious position of self-doubt and loathing, and he barely managed to cling to the ledge. "Alright, alright... you can all stop it now..."

Except they didn't. Couldn't? Didn't want to? All his bosses laughed, and laughed, and the chant started in earnest. Their eyes all focused on him and the other two enchanted to perform. Did they all need to focus on him? Their eyes, the ones that could see right through him, all intently squared on his body. His face.

Fear built up in the mind and replaced and shame or self-degredations. "Stop it... please, look away..."

THey must not know. Could not know. If any of them found out what he'd seen in the mask...

He closed his eyes, and hoped they all laughed for his looks rather than what lie beneath the surface.

---

Tl;dr
 - Not much here, Greg will NOT join the suffering builds character arc of howard slayte and Shred.
 - Doesn't like the act, but doesn't think much of it
 - Until he realizes all his bosses are staring at him, and he remembers his vision from the chamber of desires
 - Is then afraid and scared and needs mom to come pick him up

Grigori sat on the bench, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. How long had it been, since he'd been brought to the prison? Anyone's guess, really. Longer than he desired, and longer than he could nearly stand. With the contests, the punishment, the promises, the exhaustion. Not even his dreams could hope to stifle the pangs in his heart. He came here, every night. A blessing and a curse.

The curse was how he never felt like he slept. Dark rings clung to the bottom of his eyes, a parasite that dared not leave him. His mind clouded by the knowledge that the real world held strange, taboo desires. The dream world held a different cloud, one of realization and tiredness that made him feel twice as old as he was.

Even if he closed his eyes in here, he'd never get a proper sleep. But he could at least try. Try and wait for the blessing to appear, in the form of two work colleagues who'd help him in these trying times. After all, he did plant himself right in front of what one could consider a 'store'. They used to frequent a Poke Mart, right? Basically the same thing.

And if they didn't show... then he'd at least try to get some sleep.

---

Shred howard slayte

Grigori sighed. This wasn’t a surprise. The young spirit wanted to be free. That included every factor of his life, even revenge. He’d been much the same, when he was younger.

And look how that turned out.

“Then I will,” he rose from the chair and pushed Cream, with her sleepy, tired eyes, further into his vest. “And we will.”

“But just know,” Grigori stared at Shred Zeppelin, in his sad, sad state as he walked back the way he came, “that I do understand your struggles. Not of the physical variety, but the mental.”

And before he could get another word in, he shut his mouth and opened the door. It was best to be supportive, not antagonistic. Anything further, and he’d likely give the man an aneurysm from the rage inside his chest. This might have to be a lesson the beast learned the hard way.

Or die trying.

---

Shred

He considered this answer for another few long, agonizing seconds. And then, he sat back into the chair. The pen slid across the paper, and the sound of its journey filled the room. He pursed his lips, and then nodded once to himself.

Likely lying. About what? Who knew. But what he did know is that it wouldn’t be anything too great, too grand, or too humiliating. And that, for him, was good enough. Looked like this situation would likely work out afterall.

“Sounds perfectly reasonable,” he finally said. “And I think I would like to see that room, alongside one final question.”

He snapped the small notebook shut suddenly and unclicked the pen. Then, he pushed himself off the chair. “Two, rather: what is the situation with the kitchen appliances, and does anyone here have an allergy regarding baked goods?”

His facial expression did not budge an inch as he spoke. “I enjoy baking a great degree, whenever I have the time. I also enjoy not sending people to the hospital.”

---

annalise henderson Rory Faust  marilee beaufort

As the grunt was shaken around, Grigori put his hands on Jayden’s arms. He didn’t attempt to remove the man. More like steadied himself against the storm. The tides that suddenly threatened to drown him whole.

“I did, Cross,” he countered. “I said what I saw– was told! Some stranger told me the news, I know little more than that.”

Air was sucked into his lungs, and shoved out of his mouth in a rhythmic, panicked manner. “I don’t. Know.”

“You think I wanted to see that, what to know that? I’m confused, dazed, lost about it– and I need someone. Anyone.”

For what? He couldn’t know. Maybe to tell him it was a lie, that it meant nothing. Or it was everything, and it was some deep-seated secret hidden within his heart. Anything at all, just that it was going to be alright. As he did to others, someone would do to him. Not his fault he stumbled upon one of the arguably worse people to share this vision with.

---

jayden cross