It's fortunate that Chu-e stays out of range; Orion's first, spiteful thought is in fact to spit at him. He scowls, instead, eyes burning dark.

His thoughts are already firmly entrenched within a hatred for Rocket, so the name is met with instant recognition.

"You're the monster who took Cinnabar."

It should be fear that he's feeling, but as with Beckett he feels only righteous indignation.

"Feeling's not mutual. What the hell do you want?"

Hazel eyes blink blearily, unfocused, as Orion comes to.

He's quick to shake off grogginess as he realizes several things at once: he's somewhere unfamiliar, there's someone else in the room, and he can't move. Thick leather restraints bind him to — a chair, he thinks.

Irrelevant. He doesn't care.

His attention zeroes in on his captor. It's not THEO BECKETT, who'd taken him in, but someone else. He doesn't recognize them.

His lips pull back in a snarl.

"What the fuck is this?"

He knows what it looks like: a fucking torture chamber.

"And here I thought your people wanted peace," he scathes, dripping sarcastic venom.

Should he be scared? There is only anger, muted by his desire to ensure the Blacephalon stayed in whatever pokeball had managed to contain it. There's a hard glint in his eyes but he refrains from any action that would draw attention to them.

Slow, deliberate, he finishes his coffee before standing up.

After a moment's consideration, he decides against reaching for the phone. If Beckett wasn't going to take it, then let it be a clue.

"Am I going to survive this 'walk'?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone. Not fear, but mockery.

He remembers the Rocket of before, cruelty and bloodshed. Burning cities, slaughtered families. He doesn't buy their propaganda of peace for a second — especially not when this monster out of Kanto threatened the lives of twenty-six people like it was nothing.

KING WAYLAND

THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM MAYBE I ACTUALLY FINISH THIS TIME

MEANT TO POST AS Cillian Quinn OOPS

Shit.

Of all the answers Theo could have given, Blacephalon was the one thing short of a legendary that could shake the councilman's confidence.

It shows immediately, shock in the dark of his eyes.

Because he's not sure if it's true, but he's certain it's possible.

There'd been multiple Guzzlord at Mauville, multiple Buzzwole in Lilycove. Hoenn had been absolutely teeming with Poipole and Naganadel during the three-day war. Who was to say that the Blacephalon owned by Katherine Fairburne was the same one that had terrorized Slateport and Littleroot?

He remembers the explosions. The deaths.

He closes his eyes for a moment, inhales. Nods.

"I suppose you'll be wanting my phone, then."

Theo had just told him to put it down. He does, now, and slides it across the table. He laces his fingers and keeps his hands where Theo can see them; it's clear that he's taking him seriously, now. He keeps his chin up, defiant.

"What now?"

"You've done your research. How cute."

He's sneering, now.

"I've got more than that. Did you know I do ghosts, as well?" He leans forward. "Some of them I don't even keep in pokeballs. Are you really willing to risk your own life to figure out how many?"

His heart is pounding. In truth, it's only his Gengar, and he did keep it in its pokeball when he entered public spaces. A lot of people were afraid of ghosts and didn't take kindly to one suddenly popping out of the furniture.

His other ghosts lack the ability to shift in and out of corporeal form.

"Better be something real strong in that pokeball. What is it, then?"

"Yeah, I bet I could."

He'd been worried they'd somehow managed to rig the place with explosives or something. His confidence grows as a more concrete threat isn't laid out.

He's bluffing, he's got to be.

But Orion doesn't want to be responsible for even one life lost.

"Did you know I specialize in psychic-types, Theo?" His smile is dead. "They excel at evacuation, at controlling a battle. Do you really think you'll be able to stop them?"

If he can just delay long enough for someone else to recognize him...

"Really."

It's flat with disbelief, almost scathing.

He doesn't put his phone down.

"And how exactly do you plan to take out twenty-six people before I take you down?"

He's not much for fighting but he'd participated in the 3-day war, had defended Slateport's night market during the New Years Incident. He could take down one washed-up Kanto veteran, surely.

Orion narrows his eyes.

"This isn't Kanto, Theo."

There's not a single beat of fear when his own life is threatened; Rocket's not seemed like much of a threat since Blackwell's fall. They'd come out with their little propaganda piece but the League wouldn't bend to them.

"Your people don't have the same pull here."

But he still doesn't make any calls.

Orion laughs, more shock than humour.

"Excuse me?"

It clicks with a drop in his stomach. He doesn't know this man, not personally, but he knows his face. His name.

From the headlines.

"THEO BECKETT."

His soft tone has shifted cold. There's a fire in his eyes.

"You've got some nerve. Give me one reason not to arrest you right now."

He's still holding his phone but doesn't interact with it; it's clear in the hesitation that he's not willing to gamble twenty-six lives on calling Beckett's bluff.

The man confirms knowing him but doesn't offer a name. Annoying.

It's not irritation but confusion that presents in the furrow of his brow, his deep brown gaze shifting to follow the sweep of the room.

"Sorry?"

People would be the obvious answer, given he'd canvassed the room, but what did that have to do with anything?

There's a reason Orion's favourite booth is tucked away in a quiet corner, away from the windows. His job, his life is spent dealing with people — these quiet retreats are an excuse to be alone.

He won't be, for long. He's waiting on @cyril to arrive.

So when someone slides into the booth across from him, Orion looks up from his phone with a shy smile that falters immediately.

Not Cyril.

"Um." He's less composed when he's off work. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He looks familiar, for some reason.

He's relieved when @gina seems to understand, shoots her a quiet smile.

Naturally, the conversation drifts to their accomplishments. He ducks his head sheepishly at mention of his own, and doesn't elaborate. It never feels as if he's doing enough, hands tied trying to keep peace between Hoenn and its council.

He focuses on his sushi to avoid conversation, cracking open the tough crust of a Magikarp.

kim cole-essam FERNANDO SILPH