pocketing his new acquisition with some distaste, dominic's gaze follows kyle's to the sound of jingling bells. his eyes flicker back to his houndoom, which was now awake and alert, its teeth bared in a silent snarl.

"let's not risk it," dominic says with a frown, flicking his wrist to return his pokemon to its capsule.

kyle lopez
skipping

dominic raises a shoulder in a shrug. sure he was interested in the vague concept of "powerful wild pokemon", but he lacked the energy to personally train them to be useful in any capacity. if anything, he would likely catch them and hand them over to someone else.

"yeah, i was curious. thought i might grab it and bring it back for one of the grunts to handle."

Samuel Boothe
skipping

he isn't entirely sure how his delicate sylveon manages to handle the obstacles being literally and figuratively thrown at it, but he also isn't really in a state to question it in any significant depth. it's probably the residual effects of PSYCH UP that keep it going.

dominic stumbles alongside his teammates and their pokemon, hoping that nothing throws him off because there is only so much movement that he can handle right now.

d6MDS|FO + 60

post 8, total 882

marcel maeda Kazimir Wynter kyle lopez

on some level, they’re of the same ilk; dominic knows this, and so he also knows that the more marcel struggles, the tighter he winds the rope around his neck.

dominic’s response is immediate, sharp but spoken very quietly and with conviction. a tight smile can be heard in his murmur.

"no you won’t."

marcel maeda

he didn’t seek gavin out intentionally but dominic knew he would run into him eventually; after all, there’s nowhere to hide in this space, leagues under the ocean waves. the long corridors are empty, filled only with the faint whirr of the engines and echoing footsteps.

smoke curls from dominic’s parted lips and he turns his head very slightly to survey the newcomer. at the sight of his blond counterpart, dominic’s expression remains impassive, artificial lighting draping itself across his features. he juts his chin out, eyes narrowed, as though expecting a challenge, but otherwise remains uncharacteristically silent.

Cillian Quinn

dominic realises his breathing is halting, and so are his words; they’re catching against the chips of shrapnel lodged in his throat. he lets the air leave his lungs and when he leans forward to whisper, as though to share a secret, the aggression has bled from his tone - replaced with something foreign and hollow.

"that’s the first thing you’ve been right about." he is too close to read marcel’s expression; he just wishes he could see his eyes. "i'll follow declan and i'll lie in that grave if he tells me to. and so will you."

marcel maeda

the expanse in dominic’s chest yawns again at the provocation. he’s close enough to lash out and strike him. briefly, dominic fights his muscles to still himself, though his fingers curl and he feels a phantom pain ache at his knuckles.

marcel, he figures, wants his violence. he wants the satisfaction of being right, and dominic won’t give it to him. instead, he throws his head back, the low of his harsh, humourless laughter echoing mockingly against the steel entombing them.

"wrong on both counts."

dominic draws very slightly closer, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. when he speaks again, he drops his voice to a soft drawl, but the intimacy belies the bite. "what are you trying to get at?"

marcel maeda

he'd heard the same rumours, and now dominic found himself lingering in the interior of the cave.

a crown of pale hair in the gloom prompts dominic to straighten. the voice he doesn't immediately recognise - not when it's amplified to an echo by the cave - but dominic can place it to the face.

"looks like it's just me."

Samuel Boothe

he could ask for so much more.

"just like merlino," dominic sneers. the intention to play at civility had been stripped away the second marcel spoke.

dominic catches the minute change in the admin’s posture; but it is the slight motion forward that prompts him to go on the offensive, drawing close to snarl, "are you really going to pretend to be stupid, marcel? why do you think i’ve been going to kanto for months?"

marcel maeda

it’s a years old scar - the emptiness behind the ribs that never quite heals. dominic wants more and more and nothing will never be enough for him.

he lets marcel’s words settle in the physical expanse of space between them. the corridor feels too small; dominic thinks he can taste the smoke as well as smell it.

"no," he says shortly, barely above a murmur. "and think carefully about what you’re saying."

marcel maeda

dominic gives a short, humourless bark of laughter at her next words - more a sharp exhale than anything. turning his head away from circe, dominic scans the beach for several long moments. if he did smile, the expression faded quickly, like prints in the sand being consumed by the sea.

the smell of BARBECUE wafts over, prompting dominic to take another contemplative sip of his drink.

"you’d do that for me?" dominic shoots circe a stare, his faux surprise hidden by the dark lenses of his sunglasses. "i’m touched. really," he adds, tone flat and not sounding very touched at all.

this type of banter might have been cute once, but dominic’s patience for the farce had eroded over time. when he next stares at her, it’s more contemplative than appreciative. the distinction is, likely, imperceptible.

"but suppose i am asking, just on behalf of someone else."

circe crowley