dominic's mouth thins into a taut smile, as if thinking of an inside joke (which is, perhaps, an adequate way to describe the management of rocket in its own right).

"you haven't met them?" he echoes, though with little surprise. there's so much he could say, but won't, if only because he's not sure he could stop himself if he got started. "merlino is competent. i don't know. he's a scientist, i don't get his type." that, dominic decided, was sufficiently diplomatic.

following his last capture, his gengar had wandered off and was tormenting some poor geodude. dominic watches them for a moment, thoughtful, and then tosses out another empty capsule; the pokemon reminded him of him, it was nice.

"hey, you want to get more involved? i can arrange that." his voice positively drips with sarcasm; dominic already knows the answer to the question.

Samuel Boothe
capturing geodude for raz LMAO

he tenses for a moment because he thinks there's a face watching him from the trees, but he's quick to recognise it as the back of a spinarak. cute, but he already has one of those. dominic eyes it fondly for a moment but keeps walking deeper into the safari zone.

skipping

dominic has half a mind to shove the castform in marcel's direction; so he can deal with the pokemon, its odd cooing noises, and the blank, searching stares it periodically affixes on him. the worst thing, he decides, has to be its toothless smile.

there's a beat before dominic replies, uncertain how he feels about the smirk marcel sent his way. "marcel," he says flatly. "this is barely sentient gelatine."

marcel maeda

dominic actually halts for half a step, his head snapping to look at marcel. his lips part to counter with a response that he hadn't quite formulated, and he almost manages to hold his tongue.

"that's perceptive of you," dominic says plainly, no irony present in his voice. the castform seems blissfully unaware of the man's resentment as it floats along at dominic's shoulder, its gelatinous body bobbing slightly. "i don't like how it moves."

marcel maeda

lyre's endeavours

SPOILER: Click to show

✖ capture or defeat a poison-type pokemon in a wild, safari, gacha (no trades/gifts).

✖ participate in a toxic takeover swarm.

✖ participate in a poison patrol event thread.

✖ reference the circumstances of the "war of the worlds" warfront event in a post.

✖ complete a toxic takeover mission.

✖ complete 3 toxic takeover missions.
(1, 2, 3)

✖ complete a solo/duo wild or safari thread.

✖ cure a pokemon/human of its poisoned status condition or poison a pokemon/human in a post.

✖ reference one of the following pokemon abilities in a post: stench, liquid ooze, or corrosion.

✖ use a gif that features a poison-type pokemon in your post.

✖ use one of these names in a post in any capacity: koga, janine, roxie, plumeria, klara.

✖ have your pokemon use a poison-type move in a post.

✖ teach your pokemon a poison-type move.

✖ post in a character's plotter thread, communication thread, or comment on an HNN article.

✖ sell a pokemon to the black market.

✖ complete a thread that involves league-related work or rocket-related work (can be creative).

✖ encounter a legendary pokemon or witness/use an avatar power in a post.

✖ complete a thread that features a conflict of any kind with a character in the opposite faction.

✖ clear all endeavors that are above this endeavor.

✖ complete 10 threads, only 3 of which can be wilds or safari threads.
(wilds: 1, 2, 3 | others: 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10)

✖ complete all toxic endeavors.

rewards

SPOILER: Click to show

TRADED IN: gacha (HNN comment)

dominic scoffs, humourless; the mere thought of being idle at the foot of this mountain made his muscles prickle with restless tension.

"yeah? you going to carry all these fucking pokeballs up there by yourself?" dominic shakes the backpack, slung over one of his shoulders, for emphasis.

he turns his gaze back to the castform accompanying them and narrows his eyes slightly. he’s pretty sure they’re useless beyond their utility as weather forecasters, and that makes him dislike them all the more.

marcel maeda

dominic follows at his partner’s shoulder as she unlocks the door, entering a few steps behind her. he hadn’t really made any assessments of her up until that point; if there were any files about the woman or her performance, he hadn’t read them largely because he’s indifferent to the words of others on the matter. at this point, he was used to disappointment when handling grunts, but as the situation unfolds in front of him, dominic realises this is the exception.

bodies of the office occupants brush past him in a panic and he lets them, his gaze fixed on lulu, a burgeoning smirk at his lips. when sigmund moves with the surge of people, dominic shakes his head and clicks his tongue. the bald fucker almost makes it to the door, but dominic flicks a hand and rose-coloured, semi-transparent chains curl from the floor and snap around the man’s legs, rendering him immobile in a FAIRY LOCK courtesy of the klefki attached to his belt.

"going somewhere?" dominic drawls.

sigmund is forced to stop within arm’s reach of dominic, struggling against the confines for a moment before glancing up just in time to watch as dominic reels an arm back to pistol-whip him with the butt of his gun. there’s a crunching noise, and the man cries out, hands flying to his nose as it freely pours blood - he staggers but is kept upright only by the binding. dominic winces at the force of the strike, and pulls back with a shake of his head, turning away to move to close the window blinds; they don’t need any extra eyes, and he knows they’ve got a limited amount of time to get the point across before the escaped occupants call for help. the room floods with gloom, slivers of sun cutting through the slits of the shutters and the glow of the chains around sigmund’s legs providing the only light. when dominic’s gaze flickers up to look at lulu, he’s grinning.

were it up to him, dominic would have put a bullet in between the consignor’s eyes but walsh wants to take it slow, he supposes.

"you think you’re done with us, but we’re not done with you." dominic’s voice is nonchalant, not quite matching the leer of his eyes nor the vicious curl of his mouth. he doesn’t feel the need for introductions is necessary. the man whimpers a reply that’s muffled by the hands he has pressed against his bleeding face, but dominic doesn’t catch it - nor does he care to.

"we only ask you to do one simple, fucking task, sigmund, and you spit in our faces like this?" dominic continues, talking over him. with his free hand, he taps his fingertips against the klefki twice to issue a silent command and takes a step back as the man begins to suddenly scream out as sharp SPIKES begin to form under his feet en masse, their cruel barbs enough to pierce through the soles of his cheap leather shoes and hook into his skin.

Lulu Flint

he listens to her criticisms while she speaks; expression impassive, almost patient. he is unblinking while crowe relentlessly attacks his photography skills and bristles only slightly - a slight tension entering the muscle of his shoulders. "shut up. those were impromptu."

dominic withdraws his hand and his phone quickly, his brow furrowed in a frown. he pockets the device, narrowing his eyes at the woman to match her own glare. "and no," he snaps. "the rest are private."

he then stands up slowly, his shadow falling across circe’s reclining figure. "turn up at the lilycove docks within the next few days if you want to see more of the guy. or me. i’ll text you the date and time." the sharp twist of his mouth is something between a grin and a sneer.

circe crowley

it always rains in these mountains, but at least the castform with them negates the torrential downpour in a sphere around them. the pokemon floats along at dominic’s shoulder emitting an, admittedly weak, SUNNY DAY; it keeps him and marcel dry, but the ground underfoot is still slick with mire.

far below them, the lights of the weather institute are nothing but halos in the heavy fog. with luck, the tangle of trees and undergrowth veils the artificial sun illuminating their path as they walk.

dominic casts a sideways glance at marcel. ”guess we have you to thank for this, huh?" he says dryly.

marcel maeda
mission

he’s driving because that’s the way he decided it would be when they first arrived at the docks in the morning. the car was already waiting for them, and dominic had jerked his head at the passenger seat to his partner but had otherwise been economical in his words; that being said, under a superficial veneer of cocky but amiable charm, he is not at all curt or abrasive.

they park outside an office building located along the coast, and when he traces the outline of curving roads on the map displayed on his phone screen, the touch of dominic’s fingertips is tender. he remembers these places as a before and after snapshot etched into the back of his eyelids; as slateport was, as it were when they seized it, and as it is now, remodeled into some sort of semblance of normalcy, clean and sterile. the fact is that rocket is a scar against the city, and he won’t let them forget it.

"should be the place," he drawls, inclining his head toward the building. it’s a relic made of brown crumbling stone, and dominic can smell the dust and mildew from here. a sign advertising office spaces for rent lies, haphazard, beside the steps.

"you read the file? marine consignor, used to work with us and thought he could pull out now." dominic tilts his head, a minute gesture, and brushes his hand against his belt subconsciously as he reaches to open to door to the car - the capsules of his pokemon and the steel of his gun glint against the sun.

"motherfucker."

Lulu Flint
mission

if dominic notices any shift in samuel's body language, he doesn’t express it.

maybe it’s the lack of adequate lighting or the movements in the dark, but dominic’s gaze shifts to try to make out what’s ahead rather than trying to fruitlessly discern what samuel is thinking. perhaps in contrast, dominic is at ease talking about these topics and his posture is relaxed.

"you can be sure we’ll keep the income flowing," dominic says smoothly, with a quirk of his lips that the dim afterglow of the salamence’s FLAMETHROWER only barely catches. yes, there’s talk of crumbling the league and observing avatars and accumulating power in various shapes and forms that elude him; but dominic recognises that money is the language understood by all equally.

as the cave lights up with the attacks of samuel’s pokemon, another wild one catches his interest. he realises his gengar with a flick of his wrist and directs it to knock it off the ceiling with a SHADOW BALL. the gligar screeches and careens sideways, allowing dominic to aim and throw an empty capsule.

"yeah," dominic admits with surprising ease. "we get on alright, and it’s not like they really had anyone else to ask." he knows literally no one from the kanto branch would take up the position; he’s pretty sure hoenn is a laughing stock.

Samuel Boothe
capturing gligar