BATTLE OF PETALBURG SIGN-UP

THE FIRST WAVE PRELUDE

OOC NAME: aloe[break]
CHARACTER: SCOUT WILDER [break]
FACTION: league[break]
SCENARIO: A[break]
PREFERRED PARTNERS, INCLUDING OPPONENTS IF PVP?: n/a plz pair me[break]
POKEMON PARTY (MAX 6)[break]

NOTES/COMMENTS: city preferred! i'd like scout to focus on evacuating civilians & organizing escapes via subterfuge / stealth as opposed to pokemon combat. i'd also like if he had opportunities to administer first aid / medical assistance on the way.

Airi makes her way towards him with her Mudkip in her arms. Scout's own Horsea is resting safely in its Pokéball; he figures it probably wouldn't enjoy doing the full, miles-long migratory swim with the school of Corsola, which seem to mostly enjoy floating along the waves and being propelled by the wind.

He takes a step back so as to maintain a comfortable distance. Quickly, in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, Scout glances at her when addressed, then returns his gaze to the sea. The waves are quiet so far, but that can change at any moment.

"About a year," he says, vague, and declines to return the question.

AIRI WATANABE

Shalin's hesitance to okay the Smokescreen doesn't go unnoticed. He knows it isn't ideal to try indoors, but considering the state of the cabin already... Lips pursed to the side, Scout tries to press a bit further on the idea.

"Sure, scratch the Rain Dance. I still think the Smokescreen will be effective. Our mission is to clear out the pests," he says. "So we might as well make sure this place is uninhabitable for Pokémon, at least until cleanup comes. Even if we chased them out with Gust, there's nothing stopping them from coming right back."

Scout points out the rotten wooden ceilings beams and dark spots in the corners that are looking suspiciously like mold with a few jerks of his chin. "And I don't think it matters at this point if we get a little messy."


Shalin Nariya

A Samurott appears in a blinding flash of light. Scout takes an instinctive step back as the bulk of the nearly two-hundred pound water type fills their cramped treehouse outpost. The Turtwig, too, seems to cower as it blinks up at the Samurott, intimidated — but that turns slowly to relief as it's watered.

He's the first to admit he normally misses social cues, but the other Ranger isn't exactly hiding his contempt over the fact that Scout... what... doesn't have a water Pokémon? He feels like he could probably just fill up a watering can at the tap and receive the same result from watering the Turtwig the old fashioned way. Show-off.

Impassively, he says, "I got it from here. Gonna keep it under observation for a few hours."


Josh Devlin

Some of branches of the Hoenn Rangers like to hold 24-hour walk-in clinics for civilians in their otherwise quiet metropolitan outreach offices. There's always going to be demand for Pokémedical services outside of regular working hours for those who can't afford emergency veterinary pricing — demand that, unfortunately, typically exceeds the ability of the League to staff fully credentialed, medically-trained first responders that are always busy with other higher priority wilderness calls. And sometimes it's a tough post to fill: not as exciting as mission expeditions, nor as glamorous as breakthrough conservation research.

But Scout's happy to help out. He's got a good amount of first aid training, though admittedly human-focused, and the clinics are a chill and relatively low-stakes way to pick up additional skills.

The woman on shift with him today isn't a Ranger, but from their initial brief (and somewhat awkward) small talk, he's learned that Brynn Erling is a Unovan engineer with some experience with medical tech and machinery. He wonders how she came to be affiliated with the Ranger-run clinics but doesn't ask.

The clinic tends to slow down at this time of morning as the city's veterinary offices resume their regular operations. Their most recent patient, an Eevee with a sprained ankle but thankfully no broken bones, is carried out by their owner after the discharge paperwork. Scout takes a moment to clean up the sheets and wipe down the surface of the X-ray machine. It's large, fragile, and most importantly expensive as hell, so his movements are careful and painstaking.


Brynnhildr Erling

Scout would be the first to admit he wasn't the most literarily gifted. There were plenty of good reasons why he had decided to join the rangers after graduating high school — and their strict diploma requirements, perhaps, could be credited for why he was allowed to walk at all. But really who could say.

To be clear: he was literate, in the loosest definition of the word.

A calligrapher, however, he was not.

So he figures that's all Mx. Adele wants to talk to him about when he gets the email asking for his prompt appearance at their desk in the internal affairs wing. Regarding the wild Pokémon rehabilitation and release candidacy report submitted this morning, the email had said. Please bring the original paperwork for review.

It's understandable. Though in his defense, Scout thinks it's also understandable to be in a bit of a rush going through all the describe condition of candidate Pokémon's coat, if applicable, including texture, luster, and thickness and describe candidate Pokémon's appetite and meal schedule in the past 48 hour cycle and describe candidate Pokémon's human or inter-species aggression and territorial behavior, if any and blah blah blah blah. It's crazy, how up to their ears in bureaucracy the Rangers are sometimes.

At the very least they're not... whatever the hell this department is, though. Scout doesn't envy the life of the 9-to-5 salaryman, with their desks all pushed together only separated by the flimsiest of plastic dividers like pet shop Pawmis. He keeps his head down.

Scout stops in front of Mx. Adele and gently taps on their cubicle wall adjacent to a neighboring empty desk. His arms are piled high with a Torterra tree's worth of paperwork.

"Ranger Wilder," he says, and waits politely to be asked to sit, or to go elsewhere, or to be acknowledged, or something.


adele veronesi

As Hoenn transitions week by sweltering week into another record-hot summer, so too do the schools of Corsola en route for their annual migrations towards the southern seas. They prefer to go during warmest part of the season, when the jetstream currents are the strongest from the thermal delta between the sunlight layer, seasonally warmed by the hot surface temperatures, and the deeper pelagic zone, that remains at a steady sub-nautical chill year-round.

The Corsola seem to begin their journey earlier each year. Scout is glad to have caught his first water-type Pokemon only a few weeks before, right in time to be allowed on one of the migration missions.

Along with the boat, they've been provided with diving equipment: two wet-suits, underwater headlamps, and four hours' capacity of oxygen tanks. It's a lot, for such a small dinghy. The elite ranger who had sent them off had said it was unlikely they'd need to get into the water much at all, but Scout thinks it's still nice to feel well-equipped. And while he knows it's not the purpose of their task at hand, he still packs his trusty fishing rod — just in case there's a slow moment.

The motor hums at a steady pace as Scout and Airi's vessel cruises along the beach cliffs, tracking the school of Corsola at a safe, non-disruptive distance. Slowly a few of them begin to bob further and further away from the shoreline.

"There they go," Scout says.


AIRI WATANABE

This might be a time where having a larger party on-hand would be useful. Though Scout isn't really the type to store lots of Pokémon in his PC, anyway — he feels bad for keeping them confined. As far as he's concerned, if your Pokémon aren't with you at all times, then you might as well just let them go free. So it didn't seem like he had any reason to go back to HQ.

He thinks on it. "I have a Horsea with Smokescreen and Rainy Day."

Smoke the pests out first, then clear the air with Rainy Day?

Shalin Nariya

Even through the dim early morning haze, the purple-haired stranger is conspicuous in the tall grass. Scout thinks vaguely about changing trajectory to avoid a dreaded Social Interaction and Possible Full Conversation (tm). But by then it's too late. He's being kindly and politely greeted.

He pauses at a comfortable distance within earshot. From here Scout notes the colored armband that marks the woman as a fellow Ranger; he sports a matching red one underneath the sleeve of his windbreaker. It puts him a bit more at ease, and he offers a smile-grimace-wince. "Yep," he says. "Air quality's crap today."

Scout drops his gaze to her Ranger badge and gives it a respectful nod of acknowledgment. "Wilder. Scout Wilder."


Elise Calcifet
btw, would you mind tagging me (@ scout) in the post next time as well? just a bit easier to keep track of compared to discord! ty

"Heard." Scout says. Though Hoenn beaches tend to offer good swimming at this time of year, Route 104's brackish coastal water transitions sharply to sea much sooner than most with no other landmasses besides the hectometers-far Decolore Islands to interrupt the tides. And every child of the island is raised on cautionary fables of the turbulent underwater eddies created by intersection of fresh and salt water that sweep away one or two unsuspecting tourists each year like clockwork.

Really it's his Shroomish he ought to be worried for. Maybe let's stay away from contact moves. "Stay back," he tells his Pokemon. The Shroomish doesn't have to be told twice. "Use Seed Bomb."

The Horsea shoots a few bubbles their way, but Scout pulls the neck of his poncho up and weathers the spray. It feels a bit like being hit with seafoam from breaking waves on a windy day. Refreshing, almost.

A few back and forth rounds with Shroomish having the type advantage, and the Horsea tuckers out quickly. Its movements settle. Scout waits until he has a clear shot to toss a Pokeball gently underhand and bop the Horsea on the forehead. It's pulled into the ball, which bounces back up to the trio into the dock; Scout leans over the edge of the dock and snatches the Pokeball out of the air before it drops into the water. It wiggles only a few times in his hand before growing still.

"Nice job," he tells his Shroomish, giving it a gentle scratch. Shroom shroom.

Happy with the catch and evidence of active waters, Scout returns his line to the waves. Out of the corner of his eye he prompts, curiously, "Lookin' for somethin', or,"


Fletcher Hyland