"--Not one for the formalities? Oh, dear. What are they teaching you children, nowadays?"

She won't be so arrogant as to dismiss her battling capabilities for her lack of a proper education, but it is disappointing. She expects this curtness from the dregs that make up most of Rocket, of course, but she had perhaps foolishly hoped that a League trainer would be more to her standards as a battle partner. But, she supposes that her foe is thinking of this as a war first and foremost, and there's no place for pleasantries in war.

--A foolish notion. A battle is a dance before anything else. They are partners before they are enemies.

"Hm."

Golurk's movements become jerky, the animating light that runs through it like blood flashing erratically as its artificial thought processes are momentarily scrambled by the opposing move. Confusion is a reasonable tactic when facing a hard-hitting Pokémon like Golurk, and using a flying type even moreso. But, that's fine. She needn't rely on any complicated technique with a Pokémon like this.

"Golurk, use Heavy Slam."

In an instant, the Golem Pokémon's legs retract and propulsive force erupts from its newly-opened bottom half as it launches itself directly at the Mandibuzz, putting all of its massive weight into an attack that's as simple as just throwing its body at the opponent. Golurk should be heavy enough to shatter a tree easily without seriously injuring itself even if it smashes into it in its confusion, whereas the solid ground might be more of a threat.

"--Did you know? Bird Pokémon tend to be on the lighter side. Their bones are hollow, you see, to make flying easier. How unfortunate."

MAISIE MAUDLIN

☉

"...Hm. Is that so? Well, the ideals of Pokémon are not the ideals of humanity. It's only to be expected that they choose their allies by their own logic." 

--How easily he talks of myth made real, as if it's commonplace here, an everyday thing rather than a live-altering event. She supposes it must be, if half the stories she's heard are true. That sets a strange feeling in her stomach, but it isn't necessarily something she disagrees with. The Pokemon of myth should be revered, yes, but if they choose to walk freely amongst the people of this region, then she cannot fault them for accepting that companionship as a fact of life. 

A human can only understand what's in front of it. To a Pokémon that lives on more than one axis of reality, that must seem a quaint thing, like the affection that a trainer possesses for a Pokémon of a short-lived species. The beauty of something that fades away is how brightly it burns beforehand. 

--Hah. Of course he chooses the Pokémon she's entirely unfamiliar with, and once again she regrets not having secured a Pokédex at some point in her journey here. She should've expected that when she complemented it, she supposes. But, she doesn't mind. She's curious to see how this creature dances, and if its trainer can follow along with the motions. 

"Very well. I accept your challenge." 

She raises her hand to issue the command, and Typhlosion takes up position in front of her. Dragonair stays wrapped around her, primarily to deter any grunts from getting  any big ideas about trying to attack her directly whilst she's focused on this battle. She won't be distracted from something so interesting.

It's curious. Even something like this Pokémon dances in a way that's familiar to her. Its movements are graceful and yet esoteric, as if it's a single note out of tune with reality, and yet there are steps that she recognizes all the same. She thinks she understands what it will try to do in battle, now. 

"--Typhlosion, Smokescreen." 

The Ghost Flame Pokémon's purplish flames flare up for less than half a second in response to the command, as if thrumming with barely contained power, before a eruption of black smoke bursts forth from her mane like a grenade going off. It takes only a moment for the cloud to consume both trainer and Pokémon entirely, the thick fumes impenetrable enough that even the light of Typhlosion's fire is hidden from the world.

--Small means fast, and precise. Whatever blade it might bring to bear, its size will limit how wide an area it can strike in a single attack. Typhlosion isn't slow by any means, but she wouldn't bet on it outmaneuvering a Pokémon like that. So, she minimizes the chances of it landing that attack, and prepares her attack for when it's committed.   

Hitoshi Inoue

☉

--Quietly, she takes stock. One of the armour-clad Pokemon she saw at Mount Pyre, ablaze with soul-stained fire just as Typhlosion is. The blades remind her of a Scyther-- one of the nastier specimens that'd send some overeager bug catcher into an early retirement if they got too close, maybe. Natural weaponry means a physical powerhouse more often than not, and armour like that is an obvious sign of stellar defence. It also means extra weight, though-- it's hard to tell with Ghost-types, but she's confident Typhlosion can outmaneuver it if it comes down to it.

Some people think of Pikachu as a fad Pokemon, its battling prowess imagined by those overly enamored by its social charms, but she has seen it excel in serious competition before, taking out Pokemon that something of its size has no business matching blow for blow. It's not to be underestimated, though she expects Dragonair could deal with it well enough. She's not seen one with this colouration before, though. Interesting.

The smaller one is very strange, though, strange enough that she actually tilts her head to look at it, ignoring the man's questions words at first.

"...That's an interesting Pokemon. So many curious new species I'm unfamiliar with. Like origami... If you mean to threaten me with it, I suppose its size belies its true power, no?"

A pause, a small smile. A sword is a sword, after all.

"Yes, I can tell. That's a Pokemon that's keen to dance."

So is she, a little. But, if the man's team is a cut above the rest, then that's a positive sign that he's exactly what she needs out of this rabble. Though, his words do sour the victory of it a little. She realizes how he knows her, now, and the memories he drudges up so carelessly with his casual reminiscing are not pleasant ones.

"...Umbreon. But, I'm no longer in possession of that Pokemon. You're from Johto, then? Good. Maybe that means there's a brain somewhere in there."

She recalls Eevee so that she can stand up, Dragonair hissing viciously at the assembled Rockets as she does so, still coiled around her protectively, the serpent's ordinarily gentle face twisted in a vindictive snarl. He knows they are not pure of heart, she supposes, whilst for her, that's a conversation they've already had a long time ago.

--A pause, before she lowers herself into a small, careful bow. Dragonair's eyes do not once leave the other trainer's.

"My name is Yotsukura Yotsugami. I was educated in battling at the Ecruteak Theater. If my home is your home, then you are aware of what that means. I have come here to join Team Rocket. "


If not, then I can send you running for the next up the chain, she doesn't say. She imagines her meaning is taken well enough. Even surrounded as she is, confidence oozes from her like a curse. The surety of someone with little left to lose.

She lifts a hand to her mouth to cover a gentle chuckle, her eyes sly with amusement. If she's threatened by the array of swords he's displayed for her, she does not show it.

"I had hoped that If i beat enough of these graveyard stuffers, someone who would be able to help me with that would show up sooner or later. Lo and behold."

She inclines her head a little, inviting him to make the next move, accept or aggrieve. A dog faces a choice.

"Shall we?"

She leaves it to him to decide what exactly she means.

Hitoshi Inoue

☉

What is the cost of a legend, really? The despair of a myth unfulfilled, perhaps, a king still slumbering beneath the mountains, or the disappointment of growing up, of letting go of those kind delusions of a world where everyone has a happy ending. Those are not so cruel a price to pay, she thinks. Not when the possibility of seeing that legend realized is so tantalizing. A gamble to place your faith in such a ephemeral belief, of course, but so are most real choices in life.

"--Hm. is that not a blessing? If the Aurora Pokémon chose to oppose you, then it acknowledged that you are strong."

More devoted supplicants expend a lifetime for less. Once again, she wonders if the people of this region realise the era they're living through. Though, she supposes she's being unkind. To become a character in legend unending is certainly a testing thing. She suspects her new friend is more than capable of rising to the challenge, though.

--After all, he had faced the Aurora Pokémon, and had not been found wanting. That's enough to afford him a sliver of her trust. Or something like it, at least.

"I suppose you must expect me to condemn the idea of opposing one of the Sacred Beasts. I might've, when I was your age. When I was young, and optimistic. But, that was a different me. I will not forget the person I was, but she was weak. And, after all--"

Her smile turns cruel, and the fathomless deep of her eyes burns cold. If the Aurora Pokemon still finds cause to flee, then it has not truly found a worthy partner.

"--It is as you said. It is only a Pokémon, in the end, and a Pokémon may come to know more than one trainer in its lifetime. And, a pure heart is not as hard as you might think for people like us to attain. Even the clearest water, if deep enough, can drown."

howard slayte

☉

"You need not apologize. It is a wrong that will be righted, in time."

Whose wrong, and how will it be put right? Her face betrays no answers, only an absolute certainty in her words. It is not a possibility for her, but merely a place that she has yet to reach. The fan snaps shut abruptly, and the pipe returns to her lips. Inhale. Exhale. A ritual in microcosm, as old as humanity itself. Such a simple thing, and yet there isn't a single person in this building who is not in its thrall.

--His next words make her tilt her head. It was the correct choice to come here, it seems. Myth and legend congeal like tar in the lungs of this land, just as the stories say. She wonders if any of them truly understand the deluge of miracles they're witnessing.

"That must've been a great honor, to stand before them. When I was a child, I once thought I caught a glimpse of the Aurora Pokémon, gliding across the surface of the Lake of Rage as if it were solid ground. But, it was just a mirage. An illusion. I fear such a meeting better suits a person like me. Though... if we're talking about fakes and originals, if the quality is of the same caliber then the distinction becomes little more than semantics. If I had trained these girls, they would be Kimono Girls. The Pokémon I saw on that lake might just be an illusion, and yet it moved me. If a imitation exceeds the original, it is no longer an imitation."


She thinks of her first partner Pokémon, before she was a Kimono Girl, before she was much of anything. Her mother took her to New Bark Town specially to receive him, rather than enlist the Gym Leader's help in catching whatever Sentret or Oddish happened to be wandering the outskirts of the city. That little Cyndaquil is gone now, and yet the first Pokémon she met when came here bore a face so similar to his.

--She won't think of them as originals and imitations. Pokémon are just Pokémon. She supposes she makes for a poor terrorist, to be so sentimental. But, a woman of her age is allowed a few indulgences, no?

She listens to his next words carefully, and this time her lips curl upwards, into a smile that's almost coquettish. They're treading in dangerous territory, now.

"My. A more suspicious woman might fear you're testing my loyalty, by speaking so poorly of our illustrious comrades. Hoping to catch me in some treasonous statement, perhaps. No matter. I will speak my mind either way. I find myself lacking in patience for platitudes, nowadays. Pretending a problem doesn't exist will only make it worse, after all."

A pause. She sets her pipe down, still wearing that small smile, and lays her hands flat on the table. Slit my wrists if I speak untruly. It's like something out of a movie.

"The Kanto Rockets are little better than dogs. Houndour without a alpha. they'll happily burn this place down to ash if they're not brought to heel."

The building, the city or the region? She does not elaborate. She thinks only of the shape of that tower, smoldering in the morning rain. It isn't so far from his cigarette, really.

"I doubt I would have been so lucky as to be here had they succeeded in their invasion. More importantly, that myth would have been lost. But, they failed, and it has not yet disappeared. Where you say they 'excised' our myth, I say they helped to make it real. that our deities are just Pokémon is nothing to be disappointed in. Rather, it is providence that a Pokémon could hold that power."

She shrugs a little, and withdraws her hands, as if embarassed by the strength of her own convictions.

"That's my view, at least. I understand if you disagree. After all, I have not stood before them, as you have."

howard slayte

☉

Oh, dear.

The thin line of her lips curls upwards into something approaching a sneer as she studies the younger woman, her own hands claspedw together serenely within the folds of her kimono. She isn't one for overt displays of passion, and this one drips with it, expels her anger through each exhale, each twitch of her muscles. A righteous sort of anger, she would expect. That's entirely reasonable, after all.

--There's no place on this earth for a group like Team Rocket, after all.

She's heard of their brutality, too, of course, and seen it now firsthand with her arrival at Petalburg. And yet, it doesn't bother her, not particularly. That's just how she is, she supposes. If something still has use to her, she can look past its flaws. It's very high-minded, when she puts like that. Very utilitarian.

Call it the wisdom of a life lost, or simple amorality. She doesn't much care, either way. Still, there are practices that must be observed.

"...Very well, then. I'll withhold my name, but I accept your challenge. I was trained in battle at the Ecruteak Theater, and I am carrying six battle-capable Pokemon. I am honored to be your opponent today."

She bows in a way that might be mistaken for reverence, were it not for the way her eyes did not change an inch in the course of introduciton. Always fixated on her foe, as any warrior must. Then, she draws herself up, and her eyes finally narrow, just a little.

--Who is the hunter, and who is the prey? The answer is lost in the silence of the battlefield.


"...Golurk, I choose you."

The Poke Ball is tossed with a cold sort of grace from her sleeve, and a moment later the silence is broken by a shudder that shakes the earth as the giant of stone and shadow falls upon it.

MAISIE MAUDLIN

☉

"It may do. Or it may simply... move on. We cannot know how it perceives life or death, nor can we know the rules and limitations of its blessing. A divine mystery should remain a mystery, no? Perhaps that is against the ethos of Team Rocket, but it is not a mere kimono girl's place to understand why the Rainbow Pokémon heeds the call of the bell-- she need only dance to its song."

Perhaps it's a blessing that only Pokémon are worthy of, she doesn't say. To admit that possibility is to admit the impossibility of her own dream, and that is one line that she will not cross. Everything is within her reach, if only she might find the strength to grasp it.


She would sympathize with that ideal image he conjures behind his eyelids for a moment, of course. Perhaps it's in search of someplace like that again that she's here now. All roads eventually lead to home, even if you think you've forgotten the way. Even if you must build your home anew.

--The conversation turns again, this time to a place she doesn't much like. The eye that isn't hidden by the rainbow's glare hardens, and her lips draw into a tight line.

"...Traditionally, yes. Each part of the Eevee line is as a shard of that refracted light, filtered through stone or sky or smile to find a form that suits the Pokémon best. Some even believe that the Sacred Beasts were of the line, before their rebirth... though I don't personally subscribe to that view."

There are rumors to be investigated and pursued, of beasts that wear a familiar face but take a more atavistic shape. Besides, if once the light of that rainbow shined upon the members of that clade, the rain has long since stopped, and the sun long since set. Now, like any other species, Pokémon of the Eevee line just die.

"...I am no longer in possession of my partner, if that's what you're asking."

howard slayte

☉

It all seems a bit ostentatious to her, really. Sure, she supposes she can see the practical applications of a submarine, if she really puts her mind to it. Or, well, she can see them if she also imagines that there isn't a single half-decent Water-type specialist amongst the League's higher echelons. It can't be too likely, can it? It isn't as if half the region is open sea, or anything.

Bah. It is what it is. There's no point in complaining privately. It's a decision born and made before she was even a part of this organisation. Or, in other words--

--Not her monkeys, not her circus. She shrugs to herself as she keys the open button to the lab door. They can throw away all the money they like, really. It isn't any of her business.

Her first impression of Team Rocket has not been of an incredibly practical organisation. Downright sloppy, if the scenes in Petalberg are anything to go by. But, it also doesn't really matter. So long as they're effective when it matters, she can grit her teeth, pinch her nose and deal with all the idiosyncrasies that come with a particularly overgrown terrorist group like this. What she needs from them is more important than her personal tastes.

She peeks her head into the room, her expression not wavering even a little as her eyes slide over its contents. She isn't interested in most of it. She just needs one thing.


"I hope there's someone at least mildly competent in here. It's a very simple request, really."

Alba Evovae

☉

"...Yes. I lived that life. But, that was a long time ago. I'm nobody of any note anymore."

Her reticence does not match the manner in which she announced herself to Team Rocket. But, that's to be expected. It isn't in her nature to make more of a scene than she needs to. An image is an important thing to maintain, after all.

"Once. Foreign royalty you don't have a hold over anymore isn't incredibly impressive, if we're speaking truthfully. Unless this has been Galar all along, and I accidentally purchased the wrong ticket. That would've be foolish of me."

--And even these words don't match her last. No one of note, and yet she scoffs at royalty. Is it arrogance, or simple apathy? The answer is in the way her foot taps in time to the music, the wooden click of her geta lost to the beat.

Ah, and here's the turn in the conversation. He has her attention, at least. It's for this reason that she's here, after all. Of ghosts and rainbows, at least, she is qualified to speak. Even if she's discarded her past, or tried to, there are some parts of her that can't be so easily excised.

"...Hm. Maybe. Pokémon like that exist on a timescale that us mortal beings can't even imagine. Ancient when we were young... It would be as easy as it blinking, and missing the flickering out of a candle in the moment its eyes were closed. But, still. It seems unlikely to me."

A brief pause. Another drag from the pipe, and her other hand emerges with a fan that she snaps open in a single movement, the paper blooming like a flower in its first and last spring to cover half her face, each section a different colour of the rainbow of which they speak. But, it's curious. Kimono Girls match their accessories to their Pokémon, as is tradition, but this fan of seven shades does not suit her mourning black.

"My reasoning is quite simple, really. You're familiar with the legend, yes? The Rainbow Pokémon gives life. Why should it suffer its ally to die? if it follows a ghost, it is because it has not yet understood that they have passed."

She does not use the word 'fealty', like he does. She knows that such a creature does not serve.

Yotsukura Yotsugami

☉

--And all he receives in response is a derisive snort.

"I can't imagine why the Rainbow Pokemon has declined to show itself to them."



If a fake can truly surpass the original, then there's no point in calling it a fake anymore. There's not any difference between the two. That's why this gaudy display can only be called a fake. Painted harlots and braying cattle, competing to see who can make the louder racket. As if to mitigate her disgust, she brings a well-loved kiseru pipe to her lips, the fine tobacco offering a richer, earthier aroma than anything that can be managed by anything that already comes rolled up in a packet. Once she'd secured her position, getting something better than the cheap crap they had to hand around her had been her first priority.

--It's a filthy habit, but she never claimed to be perfect. Small vices are one of the few things she has left. 

"Can the dancers even battle? I might forgive them for playing to their audience if they could at least hold their own. Half the artistry in it is in the battling, you see." 

She's entirely serious. The battles weaved into each performance might only be for show, but the emotion and the passion, they are entirely real. They are the sparks by which the sacred fires might be ignited once again. A dance without a battle is only vanity, and not worth considering as anything more than autoeroticism. She can't even say she's insulted-- are you insulted when an fish doesn't know how to walk on two legs? It's simply beyond their capabilities.

"I hope you aren't going to ask me to train them properly. You know what they say about horses  and water. Besides, I'd need a year or two just to find the right candidates."


She leans back a little and crosses her arms, her free hand disappearing into the sleeve of her kimono. Inside them, she runs a hand over Eevee's Poke Ball. She won't bring her out in a filthy place like this, but she misses the weight of her all the same.

"I'm curious what it is you do want to ask of me. I wasn't expecting an organisation like Rocket to have much use for someone like me, but, then again, it does seem that you're in dire needs of people who actually know what they're doing." 

She looks down the length of her pipe at him, her eyes empty of anything but idle  curiosity.  What brings a man like that to a point in his life like this?

--though, she supposes he could ask the same of her. Hah. The irony tastes of bitter almonds.

Yotsukura Yotsugami

☉

--How could someone so small be such a problem?

The woman sits cross-legged in the entranceway, eyes closed as if lost in some distant dream. Perhaps it's something like the inferno the hound saw. Perhaps it's something different, or something worse. That's okay. It's only natural for dogs to fear fire. It's the one foe a loyal beast cannot protect his master from-- it can only cringe away from the heat, or crumble to ash alongside them. 

There's a plate of mochi and a cup of cooling tea in front of her, and a cigarette in her hand. Strawberry, mango and blueberry. They do come up with some curious things out here in Hoenn, don't they? They're bland and plasticky, like most mochi that isn't made by hand, but they still remind her of home, just a little, and nostalgia is a easy foe to let past your guard.

--more immediately relevant to anyone looking to challenge her are the Pokémon. A Dragonair curls around her body like poison ivy, choking out all else that might think to touch her, slick scales still shimmering with the remnants of draconic energy freshly channeled. She thinks of when she first met him. She sat just like this, in the the somber shrine nestled in the depths of that dismal cave, and spoke with the elders long into the night. How did they judge her? It doesn't matter to her. All that matters is that Dragonair accepted her. She has no need of anything else.

A Typhlosion of unusual character stands beside her, the flames escaping her back a sickly shade of purple, as if polluted by the ephemeral animus that gives shape to ghost Pokémon. The scorchmarks and patches of necrotized matter that surround the entrance suggest that her affliction does not particular impede her battling capabilities.

And finally, a Eevee, sleeping peacefully atop her knees, her trainer's free hand idly stroking through the creature's fur. She dreams of gentler things, of blue skies and happy memories. She knows nothing of fire, and for that Yotsukura Yotsugami is quietly thankful.

--Oh? A dog is barking.

"Hm. I don't think you've the right to call me that, whelp. Are you anyone of any note, or must I send a few more dead-enders packing?"

Her voice is soft and measured but clear, like the ringing of some distant bell. Whatever he recognizes in her is not something she recognizes in him.

Yotsukura Yotsugami

☉

This will do, she supposes. It's been a long time since she's had to make these considerations, but she does find some degree of satisfaction. If battle is a dance, your team is your troupe. She can only really call herself a subpar performer, but she's always thought she's had an eye for talent. 


"--Alright, then. Dragonair, Thunder Wave."

Her second Pokémon erupts from his ball already crackling with electricity, the wave of energy coruscating across the cephalopod Pokémon's slick form like a great earthquake, sending spasms through the creature's muscles with each attempt to move. Once it's toppled to the floor, twitching at random, she takes a moment to breathe in before standing up, a empty Poké Ball slipping from the sleeve of her kimono into her hand. 

"Thank you for this opportunity. I won't waste you." 


She turns to face the creature and inclines her head a little in respect before tossing out the Ball, her still features bathed in crimson for a moment before the now-filled sphere falls to the ground with a thunk.

Shake. Shake. Her expression does not change.

--She thinks she did miss this. Just a little.

Yotsukura Yotsugami

☉