Cheeks flush at Tam's exasperation, but is that fondness behind the verbal eye-roll of his name? It's something, something to which his overly analytical anxiety brain latches onto without hesitation.

"I didn't know you had a uniform." He's joking; of course he knows, but he rarely sees the Captain wearing it. "You sure it still fits ya?"

Thankfully their difference in height and proportions isn't so drastic as to make swapping clothes an impossibility, so he nods. "I'll stop by the dry cleaner's on the way to HQ." Then, because it's more uncomfortable to sit in a coffee-damp shirt than to let his boss, who has already seen him naked, see his bare chest, Orion strips off the shirt and lays it aside. Now he's gonna be all sticky, though. "Mind if I use your shower?"

"Damn."

A simple word, the only one he can find in response to @arashi's tale. He knows of the traps, has rescued a few people from their jaws in his time as a Ranger patrolling game trails and popular hunting grounds. It's a shame Arashi had no one to rescue him. Perhaps that's why there's a focus on partnership, in Hoenn.

"So why'd you start telling all the wild stories?" He assumes it's a certain sort of deflection, but, "You could just tell 'em to fuck off. That's what I do." He pauses, then admits, "Course, that's probably why I got the suspension, so maybe not the best idea after all." Swearing at people in the workplace is disrespectful, Orion, but he'd argue that it's equally disrespectful to ask someone about their trauma, or comment on shit they knew nothing about.

He likes Arashi, despite not knowing him very well, for the simple fact that the other man knows that rare kind of loss specific to amputees.

mission: sleepless in slateport

Telling Orion not to apologise is like suggesting that he shouldn't breathe; it's almost a natural reflex at this point. But he understands Tam's sentiment, and inclines his head in acceptance.

"I will be. Thanks."

He finally begins to eat, some of his nerves soothed by their conversation. Tam's a pretty good cook. Orion doesn't have a lot of one night stands on account of his crippling anxiety. He finds himself wondering if they're all this sweet afterwards, or if he's just hit the jackpot.

The alarm on Orion's phone goes off, and he flinches hard enough to spill coffee on his arm. Unfortunately, not the metal one.

"Work alarm," he groans, shutting it off. "Forgot. You got paper towels?" He'd also unfortunately got some of the coffee on the table. Good going, Orion.

Though he wants to express proper thanks for the alcohol, Orion can't quite find the words. So he says nothing, because that's how anxiety is sometimes. He follows @arashi to the booth.

"You told me you were juggling chainsaws for charity," Orion remarks, dry, "but something tells me that was bullshit." He hadn't pressed the issue, though, because he understood more than most the trauma that could accompany such a loaded question.

Of course, he is still curious...

"Deal. I'll even go first."

It was information that could be gleaned if you asked the right people, less secretive than Arashi's own tale, and so it only seemed fair for Orion to lead the charge.

"Rocket. THEO BECKETT, one of the ones that was on the news? Anyway, they were gonna carry out an attack on civilians if I didn't cooperate and I didn't want that shit on my conscience." Had he known what would result from his cooperation, he may well have taken the risk. "Some sick fuck locked me up in his basement and tortured me for a while. I don't even think he was looking for intel." His expression darkens and withers with disgust. "Had some chip on his shoulder about the League and was taking it out on someone who couldn't fuckin' fight back. He, uh," and Orion could simply say that Chu-e Choi had amputated the arm, but with a sip of whiskey, he admits, "fed it to my fucking Silvally. Can't eat meat after that." He looks a little queasy even mentioning it.

He downs the rest of the glass, desperate to feel numb to it.

"So. You?"

mission: sleepless in slateport

Chansey's interruption distracts them both from whatever serious conversation they'd been about to have.

"Is it, uh, hatching, or just broken?"

Tam seems smug as he points out he'd saved that one last egg; Orion doesn't want to rain on his parade, so it's with a more playful sarcasm that he says, "You should name whatever it hatches into Lucky, because you're lucky to be alive."

He nudges Tam gently, as if to push home that it's not meant to be taken seriously.

"Nah, I finally managed to grasp that one after years of struggle." He might be exaggerating a little for the humour. It had taken a while, though. The offer sinks in, and he tentatively adds, "Wouldn't mind learning some other stuff from you, though. Would be nice to be able to mix all the fresh shit I get from the neighbours into something nice..."

He liked his neighbours. He got Combee honey and fresh vegetables from them, fresh milk from his Gogoat, and a sense of community on the little Verdanturf ranch. It was nice, despite the anxiety.

He shrugs when Tam mentions avoiding vegetables.

"No judgement," he assures. "Just... not my thing."

Arceus, does he ever blush harder when Tam teases him about the misconception. He wants to fade into another dimension to escape the weight of those sky-blue eyes, but blessedly Tam turns away to continue to the dining room. After a few beats, Orion follows.

"Sorry." This was so embarrassing. You weren't supposed to make it weird. "I'm, uh, fine about that too. Feeling better." Definitely because we fucked. "Sorry, again, about the jail thing."

Tam stops arguing, and Orion's not sure if he's finally broken through to the captain or if Tam's just sick of the back and forth. It's impossible to tell. But, with the knowledge that he'd just yelled at and cursed out his boss, Orion holds back from beating a dead horse. He's lucky Tam suggests a partnership rather than another suspension.

You're a fuckin' menace. Orion might've been hurt if this had been a different conversation, but instead he just laughs. "Guilty," he admits, smirking.

"Happy? No. I'd be happy if you took your safety seriously." But this time, he's not snarling. It sounds more like teasing. "But I won't miss the chance to help you kick some ass, so."

Military wouldn't be terribly off-base; he had fought in a war for Hoenn's future, after all. But she doesn't ask, and he doesn't tell.

"Ah, brace yourself," he offers drily, of Slateport's squad. Yet there's a fondness there, as well, when he says, "We're an odd bunch."

Caleb Harcourt with his alcoholism and poor work ethic, Calliope Marks with the shadow of Kanto hanging over her, @arashi with his ever-changing stories about how he'd lost the arm. They were a bunch of misfits, with Tam Fawley holding them together with duct tape and dreams.

Altair nudges his head against Talia Celes's palm, a silent but affable introduction for the Disaster Pokémon. Orion lifts his hand to wave at Lyra, in turn.

"I specialized in Search-and-Rescue out of Fortree." That had been before Rocket had kidnapped him. Before he'd lost the arm. "Amazing how many people don't read trail-signs."

Skies begin to darken as they sail, a light rain shedding from the clouds.

mission: a deadly job
valor: search and rescue

"Do you know how easy it is to fuck up just eggs? For me, anyway." He laughs it off. "You can ask, you know. I'm not allergic to questions." Not when you're asking.

Is he teasing? There's a glimmer in his green gaze.

"Anything that isn't meat, as an answer."

He used to like that, too, but...

He steps toward Tam Fawley to follow him to the dining room he briefly remembers sighting in a lust-induced haze, then halts when the captain pauses in the doorway. He misconstrues the question, because it's Orion, and at this point what does anyone expect?

Oh no.

"I'm, uh," blushing furiously, "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" He's so cool. He's absolutely not floundering. "How are you feeling?" He sounds nervous, because he is.

Orion looks cautiously over at Lily as the Tyranitar grumbles, his own Absol narrowing its eyes in preparation for a quick response. None is needed, for Tam soothes his Pokémon — the admission that Orion is right does nothing to soothe him, especially when Tam continues.

"I feel like you're missing my point." He lowers his voice, but sounds no less frustrated. "We don't want you in danger, either, Tam. We're a team. You're the one always stressing that."

Orion had rolled his eyes in the beginning, insistent that he worked best in solitude, but Tam's insistence on pairing a lot of the Rangers up for jobs to spot for each other in case someone got hurt had saved him a few times, now. He'd grown to respect his main partner in Calliope Marks, had bonded with Caleb Harcourt over drinks, had found a home in Slateport's Squad. But what was a home without its heart?

"We'll all be in less danger if we take on bigger threats together." Perhaps to take the sting out of his earlier anger, he almost smiles. "Plus, I don't want you denying me my chance to beat the shit out of any Rocket who gets in your way."

Yes. Orion was, in fact, an idiot.

But so is Tam. Orion feels justified in rolling his eyes when Tam insists against a need for back up.

"He's. An. Avatar," Orion seethes, getting worked up by the captain's refusal to take the experience as seriously as he should. "The League has an entire fucking initiative designed to tackle them. I'd know; I've been to the damn meetings." He didn't get invited anymore, not after ditching the Council and coldly cutting ties to the League in the aftermath of the incident, but he doesn't imagine there's much difference between then and now. "If you underestimate them, they can kill you, and it looks like this one damn near did!"

He brings his metal hand down on the table to punctuate the words, and Altair snarls as the sharp sound startles him.

"... Sorry," Orion mutters — to his Pokémon, not to Tam. His emerald gaze cuts hard as diamond as he glowers at his captain. "Part of doing better is not being too proud to ask for help, you fucking idiot."

It's pretty obvious why Orion got suspended the first time.

Raziel Beckett would probably roll his eyes if he could hear Orion now. Pot, kettle. He's oblivious to the irony of it all.

Orion shouldn't expect Tam Fawley to have magically acquired more clothing in the short journey from bedroom to kitchen, yet somehow the fact that the captain is still clad only in undergarments manages to catch him off guard.

Orion watches as Tam busies himself with the stove, noting scars he'd missed in last night's whirlwind. Tam pushed himself harder than he pushed the rest of them; he was a good captain, regardless of whether he'd coveted the role. Jobs like those are always better done by people who hate them. He'd been right about that.

"Hah. Cute mug."

He wraps his hands around the P.O.G Bank mug, feeling comforted by the sensation of heat beneath titanium fingers.

"Didn't know you could cook."

A catch, really. Arceus only knew why Tam had been interested in Orion; the self-conscious ranger chalks it up to stress and alcohol.

Orion's taking a nap in the breakroom when his phone pings too close to his ear, causing him to flinch awake and nearly fall off the couch. There were dorms in Slateport's Ranger HQ, but he'd not meant to pass out in the middle of the day. An early start to the morning hadn't suited him, and he's still not yet caught up on his sleep.

He checks the group chat with apathetic intent, seeing the heart at the end of the message and immediately assuming it was nothing important.

Altair clasps his jaws around Orion's metal arm, light but insistent, and the sleep-deprived ranger shoots his partner a reproachful look. "All right, all right, I'll check again."

Fire. Who ends a serious message with a heart?!

omw

Tianyi TELEPORTS him to a ranger outpost near the woods, and immediately the heat is apparent. What must've started as a small blaze has quickly burned out of control. Orion sends out his Swampert, who immediately fires off a HYDRO PUMP. Altair, the Absol who'd dutifully sensed disaster behind Jackson's intent, dashes into the trees to search for civilians.

"Jax?"