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POSTED ON Feb 4, 2021 23:29:54 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]her lips curl and she stays her hand. it is always pain that brings the most human essence from them. in this lavish office, with its decor of a man with an insatiable taste for pleasure, of a man who so desires to be above all, and one she enjoyed as the fantasy he'd spun for himself---here, he becomes lesser.

here, he becomes human.

her disgust, she swallows. it will pass, she thinks. later, when he is in control of his wits, when this glitch in his system is locked back in the secure vault that is his genius of a conscience, he will become again what she lusts for, what she has come to desire (to need).

his crazed yells have not answered her question forthright, but they have run out of time. she swears under her breath as brackish blood pours anew from the wound--a reflexive response as the alien tendon burrows its severed end back into his arm.

she drops another ball and her zorua emerges, fur fluffing at the tinge of blood in the air. "imprison him," she says tersely. "moscow, come." the fennekin drops its telepathic force as soon as her zorua takes up the mantel.

"you should have come to me, you fool," she mutters and holds out her #10. flames gather at her fennekin's mouth and it blows wisps over the metal; her face scrunches as the rest of the flat scalpel heats up, burning her fingers.

still, she handles it as though it were cool as before and presses it unceremoniously against the invasive flesh. it writhes and a nauseating smell stings her eyes. that's the best i can do for now.

she drops the scalpel and it plinks onto the ground. her burned hands continue to work, quickly now, expertly sowing the wound closed and staying the blood flow. when she is finished, she applies an ointment and wraps his arm in gauze.

the two fox pokemon release their hold and she sinks back onto her legs, back hurting from crouching on her knees. she wipes her brow with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her pale skin.

their prize sits, waiting, on the table.

"well, willingly or not, you've now become my newest experiment," she says, lips tilting.

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Feb 3, 2021 22:41:31 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]it is only because of nearly a decade of practice that her tools do not fall from her hands in surprise. she pauses in her prodding, gaze flickering up at his, and a decision flashes across her face. his porygon is still beside them, watching cautiously, no doubt waiting a command should anya try anything funny, but this is too important not to sacrifice vanity (as useful as his hand might be).

she takes her eyes off him for a moment to arch a brow at her fennekin; the pokemon's ears tremble and they redouble their efforts of holding him in place. though they are small in stature and a pair of delphox might make for a more intimidating duo, their strength is nothing to write off.

she will utilize every skill she has to make sure fernando comes away intact, but something as precious as this cannot come second to human hubris.

the hole, widened now from her pickings, an oozing crack of some otherworldly substance, exposes its treasure. grayish-blue tendons, not of his own, stretch from the tag; the flesh it clamps itself to is blood-red and puckered. her admiration is short-lived as fernando grunts against the psychic pressure of her party.

she frowns. though it managed to avoid most major muscles in his arm, part of the tag's web-like visage has suckered itself to a nerve. blood starts to dribble from his arm from her lacerations; she does not have time to query a decision.

she cuts at the tendon, as closely as she can to his nerve ending, knowing full well that some of this thing's fleshy constructions will remain, and gently, slowly, she withdraws it from his flesh; she holds it before him and then she sets it on the table.

her pokemon resume their psychic struggle with him as she gathers sutures and gauze. "the wound must be sealed--you've lost a fair bit of blood already. pieces of it remain inside of you. should i proceed with removal, you may lose the ability to use your hand."

she tilts her head. "it may not be dangerous, now that it's source has been removed. your call, my love, but decide quickly."

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Feb 3, 2021 2:18:33 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]oh.

all her playful pretenses fall as the reality of the situation settles in, and she chides herself for not noticing it sooner. she tucks her curls behind her ears and reaches for her bag. the poipole, as though anticipating her movements, tosses it to her from where she'd discarded it on his desk.

she withdraws a small black pouch and unzips the contents; gleaming medical tools and vials wink into view and she withdraws a few tools--a pick and a scalpel.

"must you ask that?" she says, a flicker of irritation in her voice. there are many things she can stound, but doubt at her prowess--at her life's accomplishments--is not one of them. she shrugs her pride aside for the moment, if only to scold him for it later.

she withdraws a couple of luxury balls from her bag as well and two fennekin burst out on either side of her. they sit warily, though she notes that their fur raises as they stare down fernando's arms.

"hold him still, my loves." moscow and oskva's eyes glitter and their ears twitch; a current of psychic power sweeps over the room and anya traipses to fernando's other side.

she examines the welt with a critical eye--a medical practitioner's, not an experimental scientist's--and after a couple of pokes and prods, manages to find the entry wound--or what's left of it.

the skin has already puckered and closed around it. she takes her pick and attempts to reopen the wound. her hands are steady, nerves calm as a placid lake.

"i'm assuming you wish me to salvage whatever it is that's in there? how delicate is it?" she says.

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Jan 26, 2021 23:55:29 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]she has had her head below ground (quite literally speaking) for quite some time, so she does not know the nature of fernando's well-being. theirs isn't a relationship where they discuss such trivialities when they're apart, but she knows when she steps through his foyer that something is amiss.

her lips peel back in contempt at the sight of his ditto. the pokemon's dna had a large part to play in her dissertation which earned her the medical license attached to an old, lost name.

not much repulses her, but the pokemon in human form leaves her with a discomfort she's unused to.

still, as she brushes her hair from her eyes and sets about shedding her winter overgarments, she notices the welt on the pokemon's arms. fernando still hasn't followed up on his call.

the poipole leads her to him and when she observes the scene before her, she scowls.

"what the hell is this?" she moves to the other side of the armchair; her fingers splay against his shoulder, as though she might comfort him. he winces and her fingers tighten.

"how long ago? and why wouldn't you come to me?" there isn't any hurt in her voice. she's incredulous. if he was attempting to keep the wound quiet, which she can only assume he is, considering he's not at a league-sanctioned hospital, he should have seen her immediately.

she sighs.

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Jan 13, 2021 19:35:36 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]as anya fowl, she is gone from the above world, sunk neck deep in her research. lilac circles under her eyes turn to dark bruises, but her shining blue gaze stays ever-sharp, above the limits of her body's capabilities.

she does not set herself to work on her newest addition. instead, she allows it to observe, to wander the lab of its own volition. her lions keep a muted, but watchful eye on the creature as it meanders in its investigations.

the first thing, she realizes, as she harvests the slowly decaying organs of her replanted cacturne, is that it has no discernible lack of empathy. it watches without making any moves towards her other experiments as they cry out in pain, in fear, in all manner conceivable as a plea for help.

several weeks pass without a breakthrough, as she focuses her studies on the shadow nidorina she had created. and then comes the ducklett. it's a quivering creature she'd managed to have delivered alongside a few other random shipments. the creature is of no use to her, with no special traits or abilities, so she lines it up as a treat for her pokemon.

the meal is scheduled for the following day, but other matters keep her occupied. anya fowl surfaces on the above world to cleanse a spot of grime from the undercity.

and when she returns, it's a bloodbath. mitka and her two fennekin, on guard while she'd been away with locke, quiver by the door as she unlocks it.

the room smells like copper. a cage is flung open; subject r02 is gone.

for the first time in a very long while, she is nervous.

her pokemon follow her dutifully. shiva and kain stalk ahead; locke stays by her side. the others pad ahead, leading them to a scene she doesn't quite understand--not at first, at least.

the nidorina, once a mindless monster of hate and malice, sits on its haunches, fur gathered at its teeth. the entomophage clicks its sharp teeth, turning as anya approaches. blood dribbles from its fangs.

her guards drop to their haunches. anya stays her hand, ready to call a strike, mind racing as she deduces a battle that would minimize casualties and damage to her already-delicate workspace.

and then the poipole is there, blood an iridescent sheen on its scales. it flicks its tail, makes a grumbling noise, and the nidorina relaxes. its dilated, purple-hued pupils flicker.

"pawns," she whispers.

she dons her gloves, and she gets back to work.

two more weeks pass since that fateful day and she has taken the first steps to furthering their understanding of this magnificent creature. the poipole, for reasons she still can't (and must) uncover, aims to aid her in her studies.

there is a knowing look that it carries with it, since that day--that she and her pokemon are but pawns in a game larger than they've seen before.

it offers her samples and she manages to draw a connection between a warping substance in its blood with the altering component in her shadow serum.

the poipole puts the pieces together and never demands anything in return, save for treats and fresh meat. occasionally, it requests to watch her paint.

and so on the surface, molly fouller dons her makeup, hiding the circles under her eyes, and she paints to music and the silent stream of captioned tv she keeps in the background.

"there are still no major updates to the hadley case. the league have declined to give a statement. the senior hadley faces criminal charges and further investigation to his connections are still under way."

her paintings are red and blue and leave her hands stained, and shaking.

when the call comes, she travels with the poipole at its request. it accepts the need to stay safely hidden in its ball, as much as it might dislike it.

she arrives at his condo in a petticoat, scarf around her neck, a beret over her ears, scarlet curls tucked away. she knocks thrice, and then enters. as soon as the door clicks shut behind her, she tugs off her hat and pulls off her wide-rimmed sunglasses.

"eliard," she calls. she tugs her scarf loose from her neck, but does not take it off. no, that pleasure can be his.

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Jan 9, 2021 3:20:49 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]it will take more than a few scones to win over the creature's trust. the task before her is daunting, and yet that's what makes it so delectably tantalizing. if she liked fernando any less, she would have pushed him out some time ago so that she might have proper alone time to study her new subject.

alas, she's come to enjoy his company. she'll admit this, quite willingly, though whether or not he'll believe it is a mystery to her. it doesn't bother her, though. this little game of cat and mouse they play makes things all the more interesting.

there is something in the way he moves, however, that leads her to believe there are words he doesn't know how to say. she cocks her head, parts her lips when he kisses her cheek, like some lovesick boyfriend, and then departs.

despite the words he leaves her with, she can't help the foolish smile that spreads over her lips. she raises her hand to her cheek as she locks the door behind him with her other. a chuckle escapes her.

the poipole floats over to her, eyes brimming with curiosity, and she laughs softly. "is he afraid? have i been too...unforthcoming?" she sighs. "i thought him above this, but i must remind myself i play these games too well."

she'll have to take care of his wounded ego before he's left to brood over it. the poipole follows a distance after her, peeking over her shoulder as she reaches for her phone. she flicks through her photo vault and finds something that will make up for her coy withholdings.

she texts,

don't keep me waiting too long, my darling.

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Jan 1, 2021 0:00:53 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]if she didn't know any better, one could have told her that the poipole fit neatly in a pokedex entry right beside a poliwag. the creature eats its meal with humor, nevermind vigor, and its behavior is reminiscent of all agreeable pokemon she's ever had the pleasure to study, or survey, in her world.

she reaches instantly for another treat and offers it to the creature. safety aside, her own hand goes to reach for the scaled curvature of its head.

and then she pauses, looks back up at fernando with a pout. "ah, so that means my play toy will be away for quite some time." her lips tilt. "and this time i'm talking about you."

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Dec 13, 2020 3:52:10 GMT

SPIRAL likes this

6 gachas please!

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molly

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POSTED ON Dec 13, 2020 3:47:12 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]she watches it with an intensity that's just a tad inhuman. if fernando were anyone else, he may have shuddered at the animalistic way she views the creature, how absorbed she is in its every movement. the tension quivers in the air, though if the ultra beast feels it, it doesn't react to it.

it lets out a squeal of excitement at the scone and she jots this down-- food, scones in particular, may be used as positive reinforcement in later tests.

"well, i must say--i appreciate the gift. i wasn't expecting such a treat." she taps the bottom of her pen against her cheeks, bites her lip.

silence lapses between them, though only for a few spare moments, because her mind is whirling and as much fun as their little game is, he's presented her with a much more pressing desire. she slides from her perch, kneeling beside the table, and holds out another scone to the creature, head cocked.

she'd rather it makes a motion of trusting her before fernando departs.

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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october 16

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POSTED ON Dec 11, 2020 2:49:14 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]is that disappointment in his utterance? is that what she sees behind those eyes of his? ah, well, that only makes her coy plan to leave him wanting all the more exciting. she's too old to be playing these silly games, but it's just so easy.

and besides, he's kept her entertained so far. she'll even admit that she likes his company, though never in earnest and with their clothes still on their bodies.

he leaves her with a half-answer. she can question after the amount he has, but he hasn't outright offered the information, and she's not too keen on an exchange right now, especially when she doesn't have many cards to her hand.

her research has only gone so far with the lack of resources she'd grown accustomed to.

she can't help the way her eyes hunger with curiosity as he exhales with otherworldly powers. her fingers twitch and the urge to get under his skin, to pick and pull at his chemical makeup, makes her itch.

she reaches for a scone off the platter and leans across the table to offer it to the giggling pokemon. her blue eyes are wide with earnest (ha) care and curiosity.

"it's quite fond of you," she says.

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Dec 7, 2020 23:10:17 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]she actually laughs at his misunderstanding. it takes her by surprise and she covers her mouth with her hand. the poipole stares, nonplussed by the sudden outburst.

"please. i know better than to take a king from his pawns. as much as i'd like to keep you to myself as war rages around us, we both know that's unrealistic."

she chuffs another laugh again and then takes a sip of her tea. "no, i was asking after the poipole. surely you wouldn't mind if i took it under my wing, so to speak."

one brow arches at his proclomation. "oh? have you others then?" and then her eyes narrow. does that mean there are others of...? she tilts her head, looking up at the computer screens that are playing the destruction of mossdeep and other hotspots on repeat.

FERNANDO SILPH

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molly

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POSTED ON Nov 16, 2020 21:21:19 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]there are scones and pastries propped on a marble display piece. they're of her own making, but fernando isn't privy to that information. could he guess? she still has no idea. there's still so much they don't know about each other, though the intimacy that binds them keeps those secrets coveted and attractive, rather than frightening.

she flips open her notebook and scrawls in her looping cursive as he talks. the being in question takes an interest in their conversation and her gaze flickers upward, meets its eyes.

she jots down, basic purview--intelligent enough to exhibit behavioral cues in conversation.

she meets its gaze, unflinching, pen tilting. fernando's neck muscles tighten as the creature sits, giving away (only slightly) his discomfort around it.

"then for now, we shall treat it as equals." the lie is a measure of precaution, should the creature actually possess a higher intelligence like that of some of the more sapient-esque pokemon. curious. they share such a likeness to our pokemon. could it be as different from the mossdeep beast as my pyroar are from an alakazam?

"what say you to staying with me for a while then?"

shiva and kain pad out from their quarters, sniffing the air. their fur is raised. tails lash and low hisses whistle through their bared fangs. anya snaps a finger and leans over her knees. the cats sit, though their flamelike manes still flare in warning.

she slides her gaze back to fernando, amused. "there will always be war. demanding or not, the body has its needs, and you do yourself a disservice by...abstaining." the punctuates the last word, winks, and takes a sip of her tea.

"have you used it in combat yet?"

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molly

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POSTED ON Nov 13, 2020 18:37:28 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]oh, she doesn't doubt that it's special. not in the slightest. but his hinting tells her that perhaps special is synonymous with dangerous. or, in regards to their situation, volatile.

he regards it with a wariness that frightens her, albeit only for a moment. she'll treat it with care out of his own wishes, yes, but because she values her life enough to not hasten its end by aggravating a creature whose power has already proven catastrophic.

"no harm will befall it. i'll treat it as though it were one of my cats." bloodthirsty nature aside, fernando's witnessed the doting she does for her lions. they lay on plush pillows at this very moment, lazily watching the happenings between the two masters.

the kettle begins to whistle and anya frowns. she's not some whore he can visit for a quickie. his schedule will need to accommodate her command, or he'll be left with nothing. she keeps the decisive thought to herself, turning with teacup in hand.

"underestimating me again?" she says with a raise of her brow. she hands him a cup and gestures to the cozier part of the room, away from the more sterile countertops. she settles into an armchair and gestures for him to sit across from her. a small coffee table nestles between them, as though she'd picked the set-up for just the two of them (she had).

"tell me of its nature. i need to know its tolerances before i start drawing samples." she crosses her ankles, knees tilting to the side.

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molly

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october 16

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POSTED ON Nov 13, 2020 16:52:18 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]this is as much her heart as anything else. this is fernando's looking glass, and yet she merely watches him with curiosity as he meanders around. she purses her lips as he eyes her caged beasts, misshapen and spitting with anger.

she scoffs at the impossible. it's not in her vocabulary. political suicide? life-threatening? those are substantial, with variables that she can weigh against. but it doesn't matter. with the problems he poses, the risks are too great.

she grinds her teeth in frustration.

of course. she brightens, remembering a fellow rocket member's alakazam that had turned because of a nihilego. how had she not considered that before?

suddenly fernando's antidote is a precious thing. she swipes it after he puts it down and stores it in a metal canister--safe, should the rest of her beauties decide to get a bit rowdy.

she looks up as he moves towards his belt and then every one of her muscles freezes. electricity fires along her synapses and her lips part and the fire is alight in her eyes. she breathes out, in, marveling.

"incredible," she whispers. "this changes everything."

she turns, makes her way to the far side of the room where more personal affectations are--a small fridge, a kettle, and a basket of teas. "whatever remains on your schedule for the next two hours--cancel it. i need information." she pauses, smile snaking, "and you'll need your reward for a job well done."

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molly

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october 16

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POSTED ON Nov 3, 2020 0:55:28 GMT

[attr="class","freypost"]mm, well that's not a surprise, but at least there's honesty between the two of them. not that lying would do him any good. she's as caught up to the world state as she could possibly be (without the network of spies to do her dirty work and peons to fetch her her materials, that is).

she misses the lap of luxury that comes with thousands of cleanly laundered bills poured into her research, of being important.

she sniffs petulantly and shuns away such fool-hardy thoughts. all those toys were a means to an end. she still has her greatest asset.

her nose wrinkles as he produces a cure. "i'm not interested in reversals." how bothersome, that they've already managed to undo so much of her work. and so much for honesty--she's lying through her teeth, as a child might after sneaking their hand in the cookie jar. she wants to play with it, bat it around, but that is not her task.

that is not what's giving her protection.

"their energies linger, especially in the wormholes that they come through." she touches her fingers to a screen and mossdeep's ultra beast attack sparks across it.

"if i could just study the composition, get readings while on the site, my tests might be more...effective." her hypotheses might become more than mere guesswork.