Steven was not a fighter.

He was many things: poor, a student, an asshole, a good poker player, but battling? That was something better suited for the others. Those looking to escape grunt hell and make a name for themselves. Unlike Steven, who preferred living a meager life filing paper. This was a side gig, anyways. A means to education, not a straightshot to hell.

Unfortunately, his previous winnings had done just enough damage to force Mr campbell into the spotlight. Grappled by his own pounding heart, the secretary inched across the field, taking his place not too far from BARNABY FINCH . Of course, like the others, he was in disguise, though his appeared far more cheaply made than the rest. Just a simple black beanie with slits cut out for eyes and lips. His clothes matched the theme, maintaining an all black theme, tying the outfit all together.

"Is there anything I should be doing?"

The question was mainly directed to his boss, BARNABY FINCH , but anyone else would do.

Until a response made its way, he'd have to make do, pushing his delphox in line with the others.

"Use Fire Blast!"

The table becomes a warzone in seconds. Enemies flank their rear, coming in scandalous pairs, and what was once a possible victory had become a more likely defeat. 

Most conversation was ignored - Steven preferred his games quick and quiet. It made stoicism an easier mask to bear, though, given his time under BARNABY FINCH, experience also made a backup. 

Only after the initial seconds fluttered by would the young secretary look toward his acquired friend, face still straightened, tone sprinkled with genuine warmth. 

"Would if I could."

The admin's coy smile said it all - there was no escaping this table, or him for that matter. Even if he did somehow manage to slip away, there was now this dog man attached to his hip. A shackle meant to keep him down.

Swallowing down a look of defeat, Steven looked to match BARNABY FINCH 's smile, meeting his class-A pleasantry with some of his own.

"You're too kind, but if you say so."

It took only a second for a replacement waiter to be sent out, and additional one for Steven to find his seat at the table. By the time he returned, the cards were already in movement, and with them, their fate.

"A bit of everything," He doesn't even glance at Hitoshi Inoue when answering, eyes too busied with looking at his hand. "Metallica, System of the down, and Avenged Sevenfold are favorites, though."

Years worth of boys' nights spent at home had trained him thoroughly in the art of poker. Maybe not enough to scam the most technical players out of their money, but he could definitely hold his own. The only question was...should he?

"Is Lady Luck still favoring you tonight, Admin Bee?"

The assistant and witness of many women fawning over his boss didn't even need to look up to know it was another hot woman draping herself all over BARNABY FINCH. It didn't matter who it was or how she looked like -- all that mattered was she helped solidify his decision.

Tonight, Steven Campbell plays to win.

Eyes flickered back onto the wolfish man, who was barking for attention. If this had been anywhere else, preferably somewhere without rankings and threats of death looming over their heads, Steven's response might've been colder. More 'what the fuck are you saying' than the current pleasantries he was forced to regurgitate.

"School, mostly," he answered again, forcing a warm smile. If someone didn't know any better, they'd see two happy dogs yapping to each other, not a tired man being held against his will. "But I'm also in a band, so I guess I put some money into that, too."

When his gaze traveled to the poker table, so did Steven's, and what he saw could only be described as one shitty coincidence. Of course BARNABY FINCH was here. And of course this random guy, who was hellbent on dragging him away, was taking him straight to the admin.

"Hello, sir. Hope luck has been on your side," he nodded toward the poker table, "It's okay, I'm happy serving the rest of my shift here. I mean, who else will keep everyone from growing parch."

If nothing else, these months under Rocket's thumb taught him one thing: how to play his role effectively.

Time passes and more guest stop by to swipe their own drink from his arrangement of options. Some, like Troy MacQueen and jayden cross , were kind enough to pluck their own pickings from the plate. While others -- particularly the creepy fucker sitting near him (howard slayte ) -- thought it fine to bark orders at him, as if the word 'drink' was enough to spur some sense of action within him.

"It does make sense," Steven tried to nod thoughtfully, but his expression fell a tad flat, airing out the bitterness between his teeth. If this seemed like a lot, Makoto Kurumi should see the chore list BARNABY FINCH tacts onto him. The money these people like to spend is beyond insane. "Given starlight's reputation."

He eyed them curiously while passing howard slayte his random drink. "Why? Do you not enjoy parities."

By the time the glass left his fingers, a new figure joined his peripheral (Hitoshi Inoue ). One that didn't seek gifts, but rather, company. A new experience for someone like him.

Glancing at the guy, the newly recruited grunt weighed his options. To a question like that, there were only two choices to choose from. Either he: A, enjoyed his time at rocket, or B, hated it.

"The pay is good," He decided, "Couldn't ask for anything more, really." The sweet nature of being on duty still sugarcoated his words -- you can never be too safe in a room full of psychos. And, speaking of psychos, another challenger appeared: this one, an alcoholic.

"Take as many as you please."

The woman looked familiar. Almost as if he was warned of her somehow...

Cautious, he tipped the still filled plate of glasses toward parker jones , offering its limited selection.  Not much has changed in the last few seocnds.

"Just try not to spill too much. (because then I'll have to clean it up)"

People come and go, grabbing drinks as they pleased, keeping conversation minimal. Parts of him appreciated it - he'd rather keep conversations minimal, especially with the more tipsy folk - but parts of him felt more of a coat hanger than man. A prop to add on display.

These thoughts were instantly settled the moment a certain beast swept by. Tall, dark, and without a lick of warmth, Zev Harcourt looked like one of those guys who wouldn't hesitate to slit your throat off of one wrong look.

Yeah, no thank you there. Someone else could keep that psycho company.

"Huh?"

Turning, a feminine voice snatched back his attention. He gave them a quick look before responding, a charismatic smile naturally slamming on display.

"The silver glasses are nonalcoholic, the gold glasses are alcoholic."

He gestured toward the plate in his hands with his eyes, noting each of the two colors and the secrets they held. Not even their ninetails could disrupt his concentration.

"Here our options are a sparkling red grape cocktail, or prosecco."

Switching the weight onto one hand, he slipped the other down to his side, giving the sociable ice type a quick pet.

This sucked.

Friday night, and instead of playing with his band or going out, Steven was here, at this casino, stuck watching his coworkers get flat out wasted at the open bar. WITHOUT paid overtime, mind you.

Dressed in a neat tux, white gloves and all, the lowly grunt was given the glamorous role of wait staff! What does that entail? Well, there's the important job of holding a giant plant of drinks. And lets not forget having to go around and serve them, all while avoiding accidental collisions. 

A great way to spend a Friday night, right?

"Drink?"

He asked a random man. No response.

"Would you like a drink ma'am?"

Again, no response.

Early conclusion: no one wants a drink.

The sudden crack siphoned out more than a sudden jump of fear. Annoyance ran its fingers down Steven's face, tilting his brows and lips downward.

If those mightyenas came back just to fuck with them....

"Got any suggestions on what to do?"

If she hadn't noticed, the guy wasn't a fighter. Far from it, actually. Unless this beast was another guy or a cuddly little pokemon, neither Steven nor his team of baby Pokémon would be able to do shit against it.

"well, steven, it looks like we're heading the same way."

If she weren't pretty, those words would've been hell on earth. They still are, in a way.

Swiping away the grimace that threatened to crawl up his face, Steven directed his attention forward, out toward the winding path and arching branches. Even if he didn't want to admit it, having a ranger stuck onto him had some benefits. Namely, all dangers were reduced like crazy, allowing him to feel more confident with his pursuits. Less I'm-going-to-die and more I-might-not-die.

"Shit, disappearances?"

He feigned a look of brief shock, then sought out his belt.

"Uh, I don't think so?"

His fingers lightly tapped at the pokeballs fastened to his hip. For each one, he silently mouthed out the count.

"Nope, still got 'em here."

His lips cracked into a smile.

He could only imagine how this dude looked back then - probably smothered up in white and black face paint, like that kid from psych 101. A bold choice, especially back then.

"Just call me Steven," He turned back toward the files, allowing the music to become the puppeteer of tonight's showing. With one tug his arm would move toward a file, and with another tug, it'd be lifted and put into a whole new place. "And the song's Sweet Amber."

An underrated classic.

"So what are you doing around here anyways?"

The shuffling of files is paused just long enough for the kid to look over his shoulder, eyes glimmering beneath the fluorescent lighting.

Most of what she said was lost to him.

Yada yada don't go into the woods. Yada yada it's dangerous, especially with only a group of baby pokemon as your roster.

He's heard it all before.

"Steven."

Wielding his index and middle fingers like knives, he offered the ranger a silent salute. Much else had been lost to the lecture she gave him.

"Nah, I'm good. No need to waste your time on me."

He looks back towards the path he'd been taking. The same path the alleged poke thief was at. 

"Well, uh, thanks again for the save. See ya around."

And then, without warning, he twisted his body and made way toward that same damned path. The path she would be taking, if it hasn't been for the mightyena.

Suddenly, without any warning, the audience of snapping jaws and howling wolves dissipated. It happened so fast, it didn't even feel real. Like it was some trick the dogs were playing in order to get him to come down.

"You sure?"

A random voice - a woman, in the middle of the woods(?) - solidified the safety awaiting his descent. But could he trust her? Again, what if it was some trick? Some evil scheme set forth by his pals back at Slateport. Fuckers are probably laughing their asses off, if its them.

"Goddammit."

Rolling his head backward, Steven squeezed his eyes close and gave out a long sigh.

"I'm fine, just give me a sec."

It took no more than a few seconds for him to get off his ass and shimmy down the trunk. Years worth sports made shit like that easy, as long as there weren't any hordes of Pokemon ready to bite his ass on the way down.

"Thanks for the save."

Dim brown eyes rose upward to meet his newfound savior.

"Didn't know what I was gonna do back there."

Sometimes Steven missed the old days. 

Back when phones didn't constantly nag you, buzzing on and on, all the while notifications flock to your screen whenever you look away for the slightest sliver of a second. Of course, back then he was like 10, and the only thing that really nagged him was his little sister, but still. Life was simpler.

Hoodie stretched over his head, fingers clamped around an enormous tree trunk, the listless buzzing of his phone was the last thing on his mind. 

With every additional second he balanced on the tree branch, another mightyena would join the pack below, fangs barred and eyes a piercing red. 

"What the hell did I do to you guys," he whispered, exasperated. One second he was running down the trail, looking for that damned skitty, and the next, he was up on this tree, hiding away from a pack of wolves. "Go away! Shoo!"