Numerous calculations ran through the Sonny’s head, from his many years of watching Tavish do them. After all, he’d been the first one to join his crew, the one around the longest. Thicker than thieves. The initial point of impact, the velocity, the angle he’d need to… yes, it was possible.

But it’d be threading the needle.

So, at the very last possible moment, Sonny let go of the unicellular organism. The arm of goo hit him good, but not enough to take him out of the fight. It did send him straight into the air, the world a distorted mess while he flipped several dozen times.

But, his body, the way he positioned himself, the angle, the whole shape, how his outer teeth clasped together and angled– by Arceus, the fucker was turning into a damned boomerang! By all the laws of physics, it should be impossible to do such a thing. Defying everything everyone knew.

Yet it worked perfectly. The needle was threaded, and the green and black mass came back with a vengeance. Dark energies surrounded its entire body, and its velocity changed in midair. Despite having limbs that were better suited for pancake-flipping, its left balled up tight and guided his strike. This Sucker Punch, even if hindered by the Reflect, would certainly strike true.

“Sonny, ya beautiful bloody–”

Something stabbed into his side. Pain shot up through his body. He’d been injected by a doctor and given a taste of his own medicine. “... bastard.”

But this was fine. A tit for a tat, as Tavish roughly aimed his knife straight towards Rhys’ opposite side. They could look like mirror reflections of one another. “Yer a damned awful doctor fer that, y'know?”

---

Rhys Collins

“Oh ho, a hero, eh? Galar was never in short supply of those folks,” the man said with a glint in his eye. From the stars above, since he had returned once more during the cover of night. The four Pokémon had accompanied him as well, excited to hear the next story they’d already heard a dozen times over.

“Well– I have a great idea,” he looked to the other Pokémon gathered, “what do you all think? With so many options, I feel like it should be one we all agree on.”

The Obstagoon quickly signed something with gusto, but Tavish gave her a deadpan stare. “Obstagoon, come on. That one’s been done to hell and back. We can’t just give The King the most basic story there is. We need something heroic, something grand. Something that truly stands out.”

“Farfetch’d!”

The Obstagoon signed again, must less passionate this time. “That one’s a bit more... vengeance-ye, yea? Not what we’re lookin’ for. Maybe another time.”

It was the Stunfisk-Galar’s turn to sound off, and once again Obstagoon signed off for the man. He shook his head tiredly, which caused the living bear-trap to get snippy. The furry creature groaned and replied. This started a cascade of responses and furious hand movements that all four of the original Galarian homebodies took part in. None of them could possibly agree on what regal, grandiose, heartfelt story to tell their King.

Until the Toxicroak chimed in. His hand movements were much clunkier than the Obstagoons, much less refined. He had been learning sign language at a pace that rivaled molasses, but his hands were able to get a vague message across: “Woah there, who the hell is King Kenneth?”

The rest of the faces (sans Calyrex, who was probably just as clueless) gave him a shocked expression. “You… you don’t know King Kenneth?”

Once again, Bloke tried to sign his response. “Course not. Never been in Galar.”

“But King Kenneth… is the best one! His style, his elegance, his grand tales! Everyone knows him! He’s the biggest one!”

The other three spoke relatively similar things, about how he was the most important one to know just because of how cool he was. How he saved a kingdom from the hands of raiders, how he solved stalemates in seconds flat. Sir spoke the loudest of them all, about how he had solved the Devils’ riddle when no one else could.

“Devil’s riddle? What, he want your soul but only for a few dollars?”

“No, of course– okay, we need to talk about this, yea?”

They all agreed with a nod. The man quickly flipped the pages, desperate to see if he could remember the exact page that was on. It wasn’t a long one, but it was around the three hundreds– ah, seventy-eight, not sixty-eight. He smoothed out the page and quickly gave it a once over to make sure it was just how he remembered.

Of course it was. Hell, he could probably tell it by heart. But for the sake of posterity, he cleared his throat and looked down at the page. Then, he began to read:

“Once upon a time, King Kenneth was in his castle. All his retainers, family, and blessed Pokemon were seated for supper, enjoying the bountiful harvest of their fields. Yet something was amiss— only the King himself could tell. The rest of the people were unable to notice, for they did not have the sixth sense the King did. This food was good, but tasted strange. As if someone had sneaked in a strange herb.”

“Sure enough, the rest of those in attendance for the grand feast soon fell ill. All but the King, who could only watch as they soon fell into a stupor. Strange. Odd. He knew there was a foul presence behind this. ‘Show yourself, you foul being of the night!’ he shouted. How furious he was!”

“And the Devil showed himself– dressed in all black, with horns that curled into infinite circles and hooves that left hellfire as he crossed the grand hall. Despite the bright sun, the sky soon turned to despair and became clouded with sin. Eventually, the stood face to face.”

“‘Why do you act as you are, Devil? Undo your foul trick!’”

“‘Ah, but for I to do that, it would endanger these merry fellows. For you see, I’ve granted them a deep dream. They do not know what is happening, but they are in bliss. Their wildest dreams, come to life. And to wake them is to kill them. I wish to rule over a people of peace and calm, and if you wish, I can send you off into a deep sleep. One free from problem or hardship.'”

“Of course, the King did not want this. Instead, he drew his sword and pointed it straight at the creature. ‘You fiend! I shall end your terrible existence in but a moment, if you don’t unhand my people! For their lives must be filled with hardship, as that is what makes it worth living!’”

“‘Then I shall grant you instead a question. A riddle, if you will. Answer it correctly and truthfully, and I shall grant you your desire and let your people go free. However, answer it wrong or without your full heart, and I shall damn you all to my domain. This kingdom and mine will be intertwined, and you all sent to a hellscape beyond your worst nightmare.’”

“Of course, the King did not falter in the face of a trial or tribulation. ‘Then lay your silly question onto me, so I may send you back to the land from whence ye came, o’ devious creature of the night.’”

“‘Very well, then. Riddle me this, Wise King Kenneth: I’m always coming, yet never show. People look to me, yet never see me. When I arrive, I’m back at the start. What am I?’”

“The Great King too much time pondering the question. He returned to his throne and put his head into his hands. For seven days and six nights, the King thought without break. All the while, the Devil waited as well. Yet while Kenneth never broke a sweat, the Devil grew impatient. This lasted until he could stand it no longer, and stomped a hoove into the granite floor. ‘I grow impatient, Kenneth. Answer, or I shall take what is rightfully mine!’”

“‘But you said I have to answer your question wrong for that to happen, and without my full heart behind it. A heart is not a thing to rush.’”

“‘I grow tired, Kenneth. If you do not have an answer, that is as good as being wrong.’”

“‘Incorrect, you foul creature. For a King must never rush to a conclusion when it comes to his people. That would be to put your own interest at heart, for tomorrow is but a day away from damnation.’”

“The Devil paused, clearly flabbergasted by Kenneth’s response. ‘How could you possibly know the answer to my riddle? It was quite a difficult one! No one has ever surmised its answer correctly.’”

“‘I did not, devious Devil. You gave it to me yourself.’”

“He realized that he had, in fact, confirmed the answer without the King ever speaking of it. He’d been fooled by his own question. In a huff, he undid the spell on the people and stormed out of the castle. The flames of the night were quenched, and day finally returned to the land. The people came to, and were clueless as to what occurred. King Kenneth spoke what happened, and they all rejoiced at the clever thinking of their King. Instead of the harvest, the celebrated their wondrous and smart ruler, for his thinking had saved the people without even so much as a worry of his success.”

“And they all lived happily. Ever. After,” the man finished his story with a tear in his eye. He quickly wiped it away and looked at Bloke. “Rather inspiring, right? Makes me tear up every time.”

“... That was stupid, ain’t it? Hell, I figured it out in a moment or two. Not too many things can ‘come’ yet never arrive.”

“Yea, right! That was rather hard. If it weren’t for the tale, I’d never get that answer.”

“Ya can’t be serious, right? What else do people look towards yet never see? Infinity, maybe? The future? Just think about it. Not hard, not one bit.”

“Oh, shut up! Liar.”

“Who you callin’ a liar, huh? Just cause you’re too caught up in the details– that’s where the devil is, I hear.”

“Oh for the love of–”

Their bickering came back, but the King watched with joy. Their tale, even if simple and easy to see the end of, had been a tale nonetheless. It was rather heroic to goad an enemy into giving you the answer to a problem. Especially if it held many a life at stake. After all, it takes a lot of courage to act in the face of hardship. And if that isn’t heroic, then what was the meaning of the word anyway?

Tavish stumbled from the sweep, but did not fall to the ground. Damn this Reflect– this was going to cause many a problem for his efforts. But certainly would not stop him; the goal was to stop them from harming the Pokémon. If this meant even a few were able to eat their fill and go on their merry way, then that would have to be fine.

“Let’s see how y’fair against this,” Tavish caught himself and whipped out a knife from his belt. It glowed in the same light that encased his entire body, but it was still razor sharp. A butter knife did damage, with enough pressure. He swung wildly for Rhys’ chest, careful not to over-extend himself.

At least he fared better than his companion. Bloke looked up at the semi-circle of strange energy that floated above his head and let out a single anxious croak. “Whoa whoa, hold on, we can–”

The light flew forward and surged into its body. “AUGHGHHHGHGHGHGHHGHG–”

He let out a horrific cry as 0 SpA Reuniclus Psyshock vs. 0 HP / 0 Def Toxicroak: 592-700 (192.8 - 228%) -- guaranteed OHKO. He fell to the ground with an arm draped across his back, down for the count. Tavish gave the poisonous frog a glance. “Hrmph. No matter.”

Bloke was returned to his ball– the one of two in his crew comfortable being bound by one. The second one, which emerged in a second flash of white light in front of the Reuniclus as a flat disc, was more out of necessity than desire. The massive cell’s next foe was a Stunfisk-Galar. Sonny looked at his foe with squinted eyes.

“STUNNNNNNNNN!” Somehow, someway, he flapped his body against the ground and launched himself with a surprising amount of speed. Straight for the green blob. Those razor-sharp teeth tried to bite into the Reuniclus for a terrifying Snap Trap.

---

Rhys Collins

To: howard slayte
From: tavish rose

Addressed from 'Sir', this would show up in Howard's mailbox of his normal home address.

Tavish pulled the hood over his head closer as he entered the Galarian offices. His actions could not be approved by all of Hoenn, and the less barriers in his way, the better. Even if they hadn’t amounted to anything more than petty theft, disturbing the peace, and beating the sin out of some Rocket Grunts.

Nobody gave him problems right away. He managed to get past the immediate security with few problems, thanks to the crest granted to him by the Queen. That useless bitch of a figurehead knew that for him to use it would be to mean he needed help. A blow to his pride and ego, as it were.

Thank goodness it was a one-sided conflict. Otherwise, there might be some hesitation as he whipped it around. Anyone who recognized him was stopped by the wax, as well as anyone that looked at him funny.

And it worked right up to the front desk. Once he got there, though, that’s when it stopped working as well. He set the blood-red wax seal on the laminated wood and simply stared at the person behind the computer.

“Hello to you too,” they said with tired, unamused eyes. “What do you want?”

“I need to speak with… someone. Important.”

“Yea, and I need to find a guy that doesn’t cheat. Get in line.”

“It is of the utmost importance. Please, just get me to an ambassador, or whoever’s here.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Damn. That sucks. Make one and come back in a month.”

“I don’t have a month. This needs t’happen now. And so help me, I will–”

“Get tossed out on your ass by security– yea I know,” they reached over to take the seal, but stopped once they gave it a proper look. Realization dawned, and they rolled their eyes. “Oh, for the love of- I don't get paid enough for this…”

“Glad we're on the same page," he said. "I just want t'talk."

---

Elise Calcifet

After everyone had gone to sleep, when the stars dared emerge from the vastness of the night sky, when the Pokemon that fought for the delicious, sweet fruit had all given up for the day and vowed for tomorrow, and when the Moon blessed the fertile earth beneath the Dyna-Tree.

That’s when one man and his four companions emerged from the black of night. He held a book in his arms and a rare hope in his eye. Not filled with the fires of vengeance or justice, but of childlike wonder. How nice it felt. How different it was.

As soon as they all reached the King, the man bowed. So too did Obstagoon, and Sir did the best he could with the lack of knees. Bloke hesitated at first, but shrugged and eventually followed suit with the rest. Sonny closed his eyes and folded in on himself. Together, they all paid their initial respects.

“O wonderful King,” the man said softly, “I ask for forgiveness, for disturbing you at such a late time. On such a beautiful night… it was for the best.”

The League might not know who he is. If they did, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t attack. He could not lose the one thing that kept him from pure home-sickness. The old leather-bound book in his hands, weathered and as old as the being they bowed for. Its cornered bent in on themselves, and the pages were yellow with oxidation.

“But… I knew I must meet you. If not for your sake, then for mine,” he fell to the side and crossed his legs as he set the book in his lap. “If I’m not mistaken, I’ve heard rumors that you wish to hear tales. To regain your power. And as a proud Galarian myself, it would be the utmost honor to help you in whatever way I physically can.”

“Because if the tales of the past are true, and what I’ve heard is true… then you were the one that gave us all we had.”

The rest of the Pokémon unfurled themselves and joined the man on the ground. All but Bloke focused their attention solely on the King and the Storyteller– his gaze fell on the stars that twinkled high above. He had only slight interest in this, as Galar was not his home. But an easy night was never a bad thing.

“So, I thought it best to begin with a simple tale,” the man opened the book and carefully turned the first few pages. Each one handled like a newborn until his finger landed on the very first one in the book. “One to help you remember our home.”

“Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms that bordered one another. To the North, a kingdom that lived in the clouds. The people were happy, hopeful, and without a single worry in their hearts. Every morning, the sun greeted them and began a new wondrous day. Life was simple, peaceful. Perfect, even.”

“But things never changed. They never grew, and the world was a daze. Day in, day out, all they could do was the things set before them in a never-ending cycle. The things they hoped for was always destined for tomorrow, yet it was always a day away.”

“And in the South, a Kingdom of chaos. Nothing was ever guaranteed– nothing but the ground beneath their feet and the sky above their heads. They understood the world, yet that meant little for the problems of the then. They labored against the world, mother nature– existence itself. Every battle a struggle, and with no hopes.”

“Yet they grew. Changed. Little by little, they furthered their knowledge of the land. If they must struggle, they would become one with it. They conquered goal after goal, until their kingdom was just as large as the one in the North. Even if they felt as empty as the halls they inhabited, they had become just as large as their opponents.”

“How they hated one another. Those in the North could never understand their hardships, their reality. Inside their lofty castles were lofty ideals, always dreamed of but never accomplished. And those in the South, how empty their hearts. Even if they became as strong as them, there was no passion behind it. Empty husks with no reason for existence.”

“They waged war, and fought on the battlefield. That idealistic kingdom without a single true accomplishment against the truthful kingdom built with cold, emotionless motion. Neither side ever beat another in a way that mattered. Land was won, then lost the next day. It was long. It was bloody. And nobody won.”

“After ten years, both sides were in ruins. The people were tired. Neither could ever hope to beat the other, and both had to face the reality of the situation. They had to join one another, or both perish to the struggles of the world. Reluctantly, they merged into one whole kingdom.”

“The people of the North finally could put their dreams into reality. Even if slowly, their tomorrow had finally come. And if it didn’t, then that was perfectly fine. It just meant things were different, and that was okay. From the South, passion entered their hearts. They could finally feel purpose for the things they did, and the knowledge they had let them finally see tomorrow. There was now a reason to their motions; a thing to hope for.”

“And they lived happily. Ever. After,” the Man slowly closed the book. Its echo filled the air, and silence soon after. He smiled– a rarity in these last few months. Struggle after struggle, towards a future that always seemed to be in tomorrow. But steeped in the reality, and acceptance that it wasn’t certain.

But to struggle was to hope, and to hope was to struggle. Ideals without Truth were little more than a distant thought, and Truth without ideals was a cold, merciless land of medals with no meaning. Only together could they ever hope to give purpose to life.

Even as the King offered a heartfelt cry to the story, the four would remain silent and simply enjoy the presence of the thing they never knew existed until recently. Bathing in its glorious radiance for as long as they could. For this one night, they could be hopeful. They could be at ease with themselves and the situation.

Tavish did not draw his eye away from the target for a single moment. Rhys was correct to assume that this would only end in a fight as he got closer and closer. The Toxicroak arrived first, a few seconds ahead of the trainer. It looked to both targets before focusing on the Reuniclus.

Hesitation. It didn’t know exactly what to do. Its previously confident strides were replaced by strict internal confliction.

And then Tavish arrived. He had no such doubts– he ran straight to Rhys, straight through the Reflect set up by his Pokémon. As he stepped through, the strange field of light followed him with and immersed the man in a strange glow.

“Ya think that’ll stop me?” He asked as he pulled back and sent his fist straight towards the other’s face. Even if it hit, it would hurt less. Reflect made it so. But it wouldn’t stop the force behind the blow. If one was hit by a sledgehammer, they’d buckle from the force even if it felt like a tickle to the nerves.

While this happened, the Toxicroak rushed forward. It was subjected to this same phenomenon, but it was more about the surprise factor. The previously indecisive Pokémon now closed the distance between it and the Reuniclus and delivered a nasty Feint Attack to its chest. “Oi, you scared, mate? Plenty more where that came from."

---

Rhys Collins

Sootopolis. The last place Tavish expected to find himself, truth be told. The people of Hoenn had told him it strictly lay in Team Rocket Control. Here, he would find nothing but danger and death. But luckily, there was one other thing to be found in this awful, wretched place.

“Toxicroak…”

“Aye. Feels like home,” he said. It was still hard to believe, but there it was. A Dyna Tree. Sprouted right in the heart of enemy territory. Numerous Pokémon flocked for the fruits back home, and here wasn’t any different. If it weren’t for the circumstances, he’d be content to watch the various creatures scurry and gorge themselves on its fruit.

Alas, fate had other ideas. It took the shape of trainers that fought the Pokémon off. It hurt his chest until he couldn’t take it any longer. All he needed were a few recollections of trainers fighting the creatures off to ignite a fire in his chest.

He’d fight off the trainers that attacked the Pokémon relentlessly. They’d rue the day they fought Arceus’ noble creations. “Well, ya see anyone out and about, Bloke?”

The Toxicroak croaked and scanned the environment. Nothing, nothing, nothing– there. The frog tapped his shoulder and pointed straight toward Rhys Collins .

“Good eye. Remember: I’ll take the trainer, you handle anything they throw at us,” he said to the frog. He nodded vigorously, a glean in his eye and an itch in his fists. If the trainer died in the fight, then they died. Probably Rocket scum that deserved a lesser fate.

Tavish held up three fingers, then two. The second all his digits folded into his palm, the two rushed forward. Eager to stop the one that dared stop the innocent creatures from eating. Let them eat if they so desired!

Neither of them even bothered to confirm the trainer did the crimes they accused them of. Instead, they planned to hit fast and hard. And if they were at all paying attention, they’d see someone in combat fatigues and a Toxicroak bolt straight for them…

---

Rhys Collins

• player/ooc name: Rysa
• character tags: june sleigh , tavish rose , @maoja , Grigori Sokolov
• dropped characters' tags (if applicable): N/A
• ic posts for characters: 
   - Grigori (I like this post the most but the entire thread was started after Jan. 9th)
   - June (Also a pog post but with a very pog person)
   - Maoja (I got nothing here)
   - Tavish (just kidding Magnetic is EVIL)
• are characters in directories?: Y
• any notes/comments: If anyone catches or kills Regieleki before I can have my moment with it I'm leaving the site /s

Tavish ignored the the wail of the distant siren, the Larvitar that dragged his trainer out the bar by himself, and even the pain that still wracked his body. Damn it all. He could NOT lose one of his few teammates this early on. They’d only been here for almost half a year, yet it felt like much more.

Eventually, Tavish reached the place where Sir was ‘buried’. Bits of mortar coated those once proud feathers, which he brushed off gently. Tears streamed down his face at the realization that there was still life, if faint, inside this bird’s broken body. He grabbed and tore one brick, then another, and one last bit of the wall. Then, with the gentlest of grabs, the kind reserved for a firstborn, the chemist pulled out his companion.

“Sir…” Farfetch’d-Galar tried to utter a word, but Tavish shushed him softly. “Save your strength, soldier. They might have won this battle…”

His other arm tugged at the leek. It slid out on the second pull, and sent even more debris to the ground. The bar looked like a battlefield, and its victors long gone. A flame of passion burned behind his eye patch. Fury flooded his senses. A fellow eye patch owner did this, and didn’t even have the decency to help out a wounded person.

“But that bloody-fuckin-coward will rue this day. They won't live the war.”

They hobbled past the defunct jukebox, which sparked dangerous flickers of energy into the air. There were almost zero remaining, intact tables or chairs. All of the booze behind the bar remained in relatively good shape. The bottom shelf stuff had shattered somewhere along the way, but the expensive stuff escaped. As Tavish stepped over the broken furniture, he hoped the counter and took the fullest one. Disinfectant.

As he approached the stainless steel door to the kitchen, he properly examined the bar. In all honesty... it could've been much worse. Hoenn probably considered this a terrorist attack. A ploy to distract all the participants in the Vital City Tournament for malicious reasons. Or perhaps an argument gone wrong. A fighting of ideals, a robbery, a cover up-- the determination would rest with those who spoke up and how the news writers spun it.

Tuesday night in Galar, though.

---

howard slayte

LOSS

The chicken breast thudded against Tavish’s forehead once again. This time, however, he looked entirely unphased. He wasn’t even paying attention to Howard anymore, a forgotten relic of the past. Instead, his gaze went towards Sir and Serizawa. Towards the power that gathered inside the little green creature.

Sir looked to be on death row. The way he balanced his entire weight on the leek that the Larvitar held. This was quite the foe, he realized. Perhaps too late, as the combination of his one attack, the Hyper Beam, and now this… this raw power that accumulated. A closed system building pressure had less potential energy than this. The world listened to the call to gather.

And all he could do was watch. He tried to pull his leek out of the Larvitar’s hand, but to no avail. The best Sir could hope for was a complete miss from his opponent. Tavish tried to scurry off of Howard, but he knew he'd never make it. He tried regardless, as he scrambled over a sideways stool and the painful splinters of a shattered table. "Sir! Retreat!"

But Sir never backed down from a challenge.

He pushed his leek forward, in the faint hope it'd throw the fist that swung his way off its final destination...

---

LWQrVjas

---

But some things are out of anyone's control. The fist that rivaled a nuclear explosion rocked Sir's world. Immediate black out, and he flew into the wall at record speeds. Despite being made of brick, he punched through with surprisingly minimal destruction. A neat, near perfect hole detonated, and debris shot out like a grenade.

"Sir!"

No response. Sir's orange webbed feet dangled from the very edge of the hole, his leek stuck straight through the wall by his side.

A loss.

---

howard slayte
0/3 (No gimmick)