“You’d think I’d have the upper hand, what with being from Laverre.”

Ah, Kalos. The land of his ancestors. His homeland. Whose food he fucking loathed. Everything was so convoluted and ended up swimming in butter. And everything took so goddamn long-- what was he going to make in the allotted time?!

He mixed buckwheat flour with milk, eggs, and butter, and handed it to Striga to whisk. While that happened, he shaved an orange and dropped sugar and water into a pan. He painstakingly curled the orange zest pieces into spirals and dropped them in the candying pan so they coated and hardened into beautiful spirals.

As his fruit peels candied, he put out his crepe pan, and ladled the batter into thin layers and watched until the surface bubbled, which is when he flipped them off and folded the crepes into triangles. He topped them with candied orange peel and orange-maple syrup.

“Voila, as the kids say.”

IZRV0jgK + 87

round 3 dish: crepes
i loathe the french

☉

Because of the Pokemon they’re looking for, Bash and Metz actually got to skip the muddy, marshy bit all together. Which made all his extra planning look rather silly. And sweaty, he realized.

skip
3/3

☉

Bash was thankful for the mask. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud, and his face went ruddy under the bone-white covering.

“My hair doesn’t take color well,” he said, slightly self-conscious, running a hand through his dark curls. He was eager to shift the focus off of himself, so he picks at the mundane thread of conversation.

“Does it last as long, though? The Berry dye?”

@haoyu

☉

He was back-- and this time, he wore a rain jacket and hiking boots. And he’d brought a spare change of clothes in his backpack.

“Your move, mud!” he yelled at the ground.

Barometz made a face at him.

standard safari zone
3/3

☉

Bash fancied himself as someone who, whilst not, perhaps, on the cusp of fashion development, cleaned up nice. With his dark skin and striking blue eyes, he’d been told many a time that he was handsome-- beautiful, even.

His biggest weakness was being too goddamn short.

Still, by some strike of providence-- or by virtue of a mailing list, who’s to say?-- he ends up on the invite list to a polite charity event. With so few opportunities to doll up in this day and age, he can’t resist.

His starch-white Dartrix mask really makes his eyes pop.

Striga hones in on the snack table. Bash accompanies her, if only to stop her from causing chaos.

He’s feeding her rolled-up charcuterie selections when he notices @haoyu.

“Your hair color would have been perfect for my ensemble,” he says, hint of longing in his voice.

@haoyu

☉

The Gible launched out of the mud at them, flinging smelly goop all over Bash’s front. He sat there, eyes squeezed shut, breathing in and out, trying to keep his cool.

Barometz used confuse ray to spin the Gible around and had to physically guide Bash’s hand to a Safari Ball.

“That’s it! We’re done! I’m going home!”

catch attempt gible
1/3

☉

He didn’t notice the Qwilfish until it poked its pursed lips above the water and fired off a barb barrage. Thankfully, Barometz was paying attention; less provident was the way she gut tackled him to safety. His ass hit the plastic plank and sank in the mud, while Barometz zapped the Qwilfish with thunder.

Bash exhaled evenly as he fished for a Safari Ball to throw, standing up quickly to getting muddy water in his underwear.

“We need to build our team,” he repeated, like a mantra, “we need to build our team.”

catch attempt h!qwilfish
2/3

☉

The Dhelmise rose above the surface of the water like Nimue lifting her magic sword. Light reflected off the dripping steel, flashing a beacon of gold; Bash was about to comment on the beauty of it when Barometz dropped a thunder on the thing, leaving it twitching and smoking.

Bash heaved a sigh and tossed a Pokeball.

“Philistine.”

catch attempt dhelmise

☉

The fun thing about Wimpod is that they hadn’t changed in thousands of years. They still looked the same, acted the same, and, for all intents and purposes, were the same as their ancient counterparts.

It still really, really sucked when you stubbed your toe on one. “You motherf-- ugh!”

Bash hopped around on one foot along the dock as the Wimpod slid back into the water. This seemed to cause a ripple effect, as the floor of the shoreline sea rippled with layers and layers of Wimpod. People seemed to recognize this, because swimmers and waders began to squeal and shriek, peeling out of the water onto the beach as though a big, neon, exit sign had just lit up. Even the dock was shaking from the amount of Wimpod scurrying around beneath it.

Something big and dark clambered up over the side of the dock. Bash staggered back from the Golisopod, yeeting a Pokeball at it from his fanny pack as a defensive, knee-jerk reaction.

EAdMfJAg

gowisopod swawm

☉

Sometimes the Safari Zone sectioned off particular areas and directed traffic to others, to allow for Pokemon populations to strengthen, or to draw attention to other species. This month, there was a lot of water on the Safari Route.

The air was hot and muggy, and Bash’s shirt clung to his skin. He was walking on some floating plastic pieces designed to look like fake wood which crossed over marshland. He kept looking towards the center of the water feature, where the color of the lake darkened, signifying greater depths.

“That’s kind of scary,” he said, though Barometz didn’t seem to share his feelings as she walked ahead of him.

safari zone spawn 1

☉

Bash was not expecting small talk, and his head whips round, blue eyes blinking owlishly, like he could not believe what he was hearing. But they have more important things to be doing.

He tries his best to set the good doctor down without dropping him, angling himself and bending at the knees to lower him, whilst also trying to stay out of his way enough to let him do his job. And, he had to admit, the guy was good; he was gentle, but insistent, and his Pokemon team came forward to help fill in the blanks, smoothing the way for him to do his job.

There was an art to it, Bash realized. This kind of softness. It wasn’t as simple as it seemed. He was so engrossed in the act of healing and the cadence of the man’s voice that he almost physically jumped when he was addressed next, turning that slight start into a swift nod.

He releases his Dartrix and Flaaffy. “Striga, Baro, search the area. Help anyone else you see get to safety.”

Bash stood, taking Fragarach in hand.

“It’s a mythological sword,” he said, unprompted and, quite honestly, wondering where the words were coming from, “Fragarach. It means ‘the answerer’, because with it at your throat, you can’t tell a lie.” Why was he saying this? It didn’t matter. “We’ll stay and run interference.”

benji sawyer

☉

Bash resists the urge to snort, thinking that laughing at the guy with the gun trained on him might not be the best idea.

“The mother is a friend of mine,” he says, amazed at the emotion in his voice, how real it sounds, “and she’s very distraught. Have you made any headway? Otherwise, I think the footprint trail might be our best bet.”

His knees are getting wet from the mud. He would like to stand up now. He would like to help this guy-- or have this guy help him, either way-- find the missing child. He could not believe there was something more important than that end goal.

Fletcher Hyland

☉