Har har har har har, har har-har har-har...

DAY 3
1x Salac to Grigori Sokolov

Day 12
1x Free Evolution to june sleigh

Day 14
1x Figy Berry to june sleigh

Well, this was the place. Grigori unmounted his bicycle and walked towards the back half of the Pokemart. A weird, yet fitting location to find Shred and howard slayte on this not-particularly-interesting day. Quite the place indeed, but perhaps now wasn’t the best time to be crouched behind a Pokemart. He donned his woolen mittens and pulled his new red coat over his shoulders more.

But why? Perhaps there was some news to be shared amongst themselves. That made the most sense, but why it needed to be relayed here was beyond the grunt. Old habits die hard, and for some, they could never really be killed.

Grigori knew all too well.

So, he rounded the corner and approached the other two, bike in tow. He leaned it against the wall and walked to the other two with hands deep in his pockets. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

Howard already got started on the smoking, it looked. His heart skipped a beat, but he did not let that stop him. Not every smoke needed to include heavy, awful topics.

“You both seem comfortable with this alleyway,” he said, voice muffled by his coat, “I’m surprised you don’t have a spruce up with decorations. It’s what everyone else is doing these days.”

---

Shred howard slayte

“While I would like to think of them as such,” Grigori started carefully, “I think they were very, very real.”

She… wasn’t serious, right? There’s no way someone held the belief that their time in that strange cave was little more than the product of a bad-night’s rest. What state of mind did you need to be in to suggest something among the lines of this? The grunt pushed that idea from his mind almost immediately-- that was a dangerous assumption. One that would kill any possibility of conversation if it rared its ugly head.

“I am friends with the man who still has the Bloodmoon-Ursaluna with the original ball,” Grigori’s mind flashed to howard slayte. “Furthermore, back at my apartment, I have several of the wanted posters that hung in the first room of that cave system, as well as a hammer that belonged to a corpse.”

His mind flashed to the dead Megalopolan, slumped in the chair with a bowl of mochi in hand. Immediately after, his mind flashed a grizzly image: that same hammer, collapsing into the skull of another Megalopolan. Awful times. He took a drink from his mug, as if that would wash the image from his mind.

“As much as I’d like to think of them as apparitions, they were very real. And they are in hiding somewhere,” he concluded. “Waiting for a time to strike. Like rats.”

Grigori wondered if they considered themselves rats within the walls, ready to come out at a moment's notice, or as cornered animals ready to kill anything and anyone that dared step one foot closer to where they clung for life.

---

Lulu Flint

Grigori, too, dodged to the side. Not out of fear of being hit by the hot flames, but because he didn’t want Shred to run into him instead. They’d fall to the ground and be easy prey to that thing’s powers. At that point, it’d be Howard alone that would have to clean the room, and the grunt knew that man’s definition of ‘neat and organized’.

It rivaled Wo-chiens.

Scizor rapidly changed positions as well, entirely out of fear. One lick of flame, and it’d be a complete goner. It waited a few moments for the other two Pokémon to charge ahead before it followed in pursuit, hopeful that the enemy would completely ignore it.

“I’m not sure it’s a God, but I’m sure we can take it out,” Grigori reassured Howard. However, he did spare a glance back at where its attack had landed. A massive black mark added to the wall, its smell almost as horrid as the bath themselves. “We don’t have a choice.”

While he stood back and waited to see how he and the other two would need to respond, the Scizor perched off to the side, claws clicking quietly while its two ‘companions’ attacked. If it couldn’t land a blow on that stupid ice cat in the cave, it’d sure as shit succeed this time around.

“Get ready to eat shit and die, you troglodyte!”

A buzz filled the room. Small wings flapped with all their might, and the Scizor rushed forward. This time, dangerous fangs in the form of a Bug Bite threatened to +2 252+ Atk Technician Scizor Bug Bite vs. 252 HP / 252+ Def Tablets of Ruin Wo-Chien: 700-828 (187.1 - 221.3%) -- guaranteed OHKO.

---

Shred howard slayte Elisabeth Fiorelli

Thank goodness, Grigori wasn’t alone on the ‘frustrating forgetfulness’ ride, as he thought he’d been. Lulu had definitely been there, alright. If he wasn’t mistaken she had done things like… uh… maybe it was just the face that seemed familiar. Rather than what she actually did, it was the appearance at all.

“If you insist,” Grigori nodded respectfully and pulled out the chair. He took a careful seat in it, as if he might leave at even the slightest notice. It felt awkward; someone had just left, and he now sat in their spot. What if she wanted to leave as well?

Silly thoughts. She had a glass still partially full of wine. The grunt relaxed, if only slightly, into the chair. “I appreciate it. Within all the other… events, that happened recently, I almost… no, It’s impossible to forget. Forgive me, for I nearly lied to your face.”

As if one could ‘forget’ it. Like one forgets manners, or basic decency– yet again, Team Rocket did strange things to one's conscious. “But, the people we saw down there– they try to make us forget. Hard to think, seeing all those things down there, the people, the horrors. And then, poof,” Grigori made an implosion-motion with his free hand, “Gone. Like they never existed to begin with.”

---

Lulu Flint

“... I think I must agree,” Grigori said. He looked down at the hot dog in his hands, and then back to Pumpkin. She looked awful, to put it nicely. Like it had just crawled through a chimney while the fire below was still lit. Embers smoldered on its armor as its eyes gazed to the sky.

“-ambit,” the Pokémon muttered. It reached up and snatched the hot dog from Grigori’s hands. It munched on the food while its trainer looked back to Shred. He had pulled out his phone and looked through it with fervor. At least he lit his cigarette finally? Ugh. No positives here, other than they themselves weren’t hurt. A trip to the Pokémon Center would fix their Pokémon’s wounds as well. But the car…

“Mr. Shred, I apologize fully for the damages,” he said as he walked up to the man. The grunt felt awful even glancing at the metal samurai still on the ground, ketchup smearing its lips. “I will repay you for the car in full, as well as the taxi. Please, I promise that this will never happen again!”

Something told him he wouldn’t live this down, even with the promise to replace the vehicle. The one that sat alone in the lot, a burning inferno of heat and gasoline and oil and everything else that smelled terrible in a car. He covered his mouth and nose with the lip of his shirt; that thick, black smoke looked hazardous to breathe.

One thing stood clear, though: Grigori would leave the driving to Shred and Howard. Himself? When they got back, the first-- no, second-- no, THIRD thing he'd do is investigate the price of a bus pass.

---

Shred

This awful feeling ate at Grigori for another whole minute. It built up and up and up until he couldn’t take it any longer: he would go over there and just ask her if they knew each other from somewhere. After all, she had started to stare back. Best to get it over with, in case it was just a sense of déjà vu.

He looked around the restaurant. No one gave them much attention, so he took his mug of root beer and stood up from his chair. Cautious yet determined steps took him to her table, where she watched behind a lone glass of wine. Up close, the feeling of familiarity only doubled. There was no doubt: he’d seen her before, and recently.

“Terribly sorry for bothering you,” he cut through the awkwardness with Lulu, “but… I can’t help but think I know you from somewhere. Very familiar.”

That… didn’t inspire confidence. Or even get the gears to turn. Not that they didn’t– but their activity produced no fruits of labor. A shot in the dark stood better chance than this. “Perhaps… this might be odd, but were you a part of that strange search party a while back? In the bog, during the blood moon?"

---

Lulu Flint

“AAAAAA, FUCK,” Pumpkin screamed out. Flames scorched her metal body, causing the edges of her ‘skin’ to blacken or even melt. All except for the thing that caused this problem: the forehead blade. That stuck around, yet it ate the brunt of the attack.

As the seats caught the wisps of flame and ignited, the Kingabmit cursed. “Fuck you, stupid creature of sand! You will fall beneath my blade, like the rest of those who call the yellow dirt their home!”

Thus, she raised her head and– hit the ceiling. Ugh. She couldn’t work under these conditions. Steel struck plastic again and again, until the roof of the car cracked underneath (overhead? Who knows) the force.

Grigori and Shred came out of the store, items in hand, as such an act occurred. They would watch the steel that gleamed stick straight up from the car, then collapse back down inside. Orange flickered behind the windows, and a strange smoke poured out. “Oh no…”

“PERISH, LIKE THE DOG YOU ARE!”

The blade came down with the force of a thousand hammers. Except, of course, for the fact that it missed its target by a wide berth. Steel cut straight through the cheap material like it was not even there. A powerful Kowtow Cleave dug into the car itself.

And unfortunately for both of them, it had also tried to go more forward. Thus, organic steel dug into the inorganic. Whatever’s behind the dash and even at the very edge of the engine block was sliced into two.

Ugly, thick liquid poured from underneath the car. “Mr. Shred, what do we do?!”

---

Shred

“Thank you, Mr. Shred…” Grigori groaned. Finally, this nightmare would be over. He could go back to living in the other, more abstract nightmare of being a member of Team Rocket instead. Driving would just be that thing he did once and never again.

So, he crawled out of the driver seat. The Kingambit tried to follow along, but Grigori stopped the massive metal monster with the flat of his hand against its long forehead blade. “Stay, please. I’ll go buy you something, but please… keep the Sandile company, aright? It might want some company.”

He really didn’t want it out and about in public. That could only end in disaster. So, he left the grumbling creature and followed Shred inside the gas station. It looked worn down but functional, for better or worse. An old man stood behind the cash register and didn’t give so much as a second glance.

“Mr. Shred, I think the lighters are in the back. If you need me, I need some caffeine and Pumpkin needs anything at all,” he told the man. He walked over to the side and poured steaming hot coffee into a foam cup. Afterwords, he added four packets of sugar and cream. Nice.

For Pumpkin, he threw a rolling hot dog into a bun, applied ketchup, and called it a day. That would keep her preoccupied for at least ten minutes.

With that out of the way, Grigori returned to the front counter. “Mr. Shred, are you good to go?”

–

Meanwhile, in the van, Pumpkin sulked in the back seat. Lame trainer. Grigori didn’t want her to have fun, and that was lame. “You, creature of the sand. Do you know any fancy words? Songs of the battlefield? Phrases that make your enemies blood curdle in their flesh?”

The long blade pointed directly at the Sandile, an unintentional consequence of anatomy: if she wanted to look at someone else, her head must move. Maybe this thing didn't care, or maybe it would be too terrified. She honed her eyes on the Sandile with razor sharp focus.

---

Shred

“Shred, this is the worst thing I’ve experienced in the last week,” Grigori said through clenched teeth. Slowly, they crawled up the ramp (thank goodness for this exit) and came to a halt at the light. Only then did the man finally slump in his chair. The first in the last few hours, the man deflated into a lump of stress-exhaustion.

“Driving is hard,” he repeated. “You have to be on constant alert, others seemingly go out of their way to make it harder, and I’ve been doing it for the last five hours.”

“And we aren’t even there.”

A honk got Grigori to bolt back upright. The light had turned green. They moved forward inch by inch, taking a right onto the street. A gas station sat right off the highway, open and with plenty of parking. “I need a break. Or a trade. Please.”

“Kingambit! Gamba gamba–”

“--hot dogs and slushies and pocket knives and chargers and gas and people and other Pokémon! First, I will stretch my legs, then I will find others to partake in poetry, and then I’ll attack them! In that order!”

“Pumpkin, please,” Grigori responded tiredly to the Pokémon’s excitement, “can it wait until we stop?”

Soon after, they finally arrived at their spot of brief respite. Grigori pulled up to the nearest open pump and engaged the brakes. He turned the car off and slumped into the wheel. “Mr. Shred, how the hell do you and Mr. Howard do this? This feels awful. Are you sure we couldn’t take a taxi? Or my bike?”

---

Shred

Well, it seemed that Elisabeth lied just as naturally as she breathed: the thing was hers, damn it. Why couldn’t she figure it out herself? Not like these baths were open to anyone but the highest of the high here. This would be the first, and likely last, time Grigori even entered.

Lest they made him a janitor proper.

Fortunately for Grigori, though, the grudges that came to the surface did not muddy his emotions much. He’d felt these before. He would not let them win out again. It did mean he was more annoyed with Shred easier. The man called him the wrong name on purpose, right? Had to.

But that did not make the place clean. Nor placate the snail, which hissed at the small group without discrimination. “This is the Pokémon under the control of one Elisabeth Fiorelli, Mr. Shred. The one who just left. And locked the door. Not sure what it is, but it’s a one of a kind, to say the least.”

The plan proposed by Shred seemed fine enough. He didn’t know how well their overseer would take the fainting of her Pokémon, but it felt almost necessary. Grigori nodded along, “For once, I can’t find anything to disagree with. Might as well give it a shot and see what happens.”

But which of his team did he send to tangle with the Ruinous Beast? Probably best to get Scizor on the job. It’d at least know what they were dealing with, if only a little. So, he sent out the red insect with a flash of light. It looked to its trainer, annoyed at the silly circumstances but otherwise ready to act.

“If you two can distract it, create an opening, Scizor here can put a dent in its shell,” he said. Scizor took that as a sign to get ready for a quick and simple fight: it started to do a little pre-victory jig. The clash of swords and metal echoed in the small room as it did a Swords Dance.

“What do you two have in terms of Pokémon?”

---

howard slayte Shred Elisabeth Fiorelli

"I will do my best, Mr. Howard," Grigori said. The worst that could happen is that he was effectively extorted for what he'd done. Not that he'd deny or even try to fight it, but he would certainly try to keep it as fair as possible. He wasn't made of money, and the actual door itself was still intact. Labor would be the most expensive thing, and he was willing to learn.

"But, truly, one last thing before I go, Mr. Howard," Grigori stopped moments before he returned the door to its frame, on the opposite side. He didn't think that far ahead, but surely the archeologist could put the door back after he left, if he could not manage.

"You're wrong about me not caring, Howard. I care too much. If I didn't care, things would've been a lot worse," he said.

With that, he tried to shimmy the door shut. He barely managed to get it to click. Heavy footsteps carried him away, towards wherever the hell the Landlord was.

---

howard slayte