What Happens In Kanto

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What Happens In Kanto

Postby TheGeddening » January 8th, 2018, 9:36:35 am

Vermillion City was nice, she figured. It didn't have quite as much tourist establishments like Olivine had and wasn't quite as warm and open at night. The mayor of the place had a more technical approach to it, with towering hotels and bustling main roads and the Vermillion Trainer's Academy, which was one of the best in all of Kanto. The city lights dimmed the shine from the stars and the moon and the air had a hint of smog to it.

Still, it was a port city with one hell of a view. The salty waves lapping at the beach, the yachts all lined up by the dock and stark white like a bevy of Swanna, SS Anne blowing her horn for the last time that night, bringing with her visitors from lands beyond the 'twin' regions. The cruiser renowned all throughout as the longest running line in Kanto, armed with the best amenities, expert security and 5-star cabins. People from as far as Alola and Kalos chose the SS Anne as their mode of transport.

And one of them was the client.

She finished her cup of coffee, wincing a little at the bitter aftertaste. Johto definitely had better coffee, freshly havested from the farmlands between Olivine and Ecruteak, and with the best milk to add to the beverage. But this was what her money afforded her. After this transaction, she'd be the one on the boat back to her birth region and she could have all the good coffee and milk she would want.

She'd probably even treat her team to that café for Pokemon. They deserved the food and the break.

Not even bothering to leave a tip, she stood from the table and walked over to the dock, the contents of her satchel tinkling faintly with her each step. The client wanted samples of those Pewter meteorites. All she had to do was look for their signal, approach them, exchange the meteorite samples for thick wads of cash then walk away. Then she'd lie low in a hotel for the rest of the night and take the first trip to Johto the next morning.

She'd been on the job for a tedious four months now. Maybe she could finally spruce up her relatively new apartment with the pay.

(She was getting a little homesick, and she could tell that her team did too.)

With her rather tight cocktail dress, thick layer of make-up and the bit of sashay to her hips, she looked to the world like some wealthy heiress picking up her stud, or maybe even a female escort. The disguise was a price she had to pay, what with the Pewter Museum managing to identify her via her usual get-up with their security cameras, and she can't wait to curl up in sweatpants and a loose shirt in her hotel room.

But hey. If it was to get food on the table and water in the faucet for her and her Pokemon, she might as well invest in full. And besides, no one has been able to catch her so far.

So why stop now?

(Still, a part of her felt bad for involving her dearest friends in yet another dive into her world.)
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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby Kattata » January 9th, 2018, 6:57:36 am


When he stopped to consider it objectively (well, as objectively as one could manage in this sort of Muk-sticky situation, anyway), Claude was willing to concede that it had been one hell of a year, and not in the ironic sense. No, no—it had been quite literally hellish.

He had been delivering the final conclusions of a research project—

a succinct breakdown of the reams and reams of data he had gathered over a period of eight years regarding the physiology of evolution and what long-term side-effects might result from the pokemon's environmental surroundings ... in short (well, shorter), it was a massive, labor-intensive undertaking, and its presentation could well determine whether or not he was up for tenure—

... when he had become aware of the buzzing vibration of his phone in his back pocket. Claude's speech had faltered, because only two people in his entire contact list were set to vibrate rather than complete silence: his best friend, Bill Blankenship; or Valerie, his long-time live-in fiancée (to whom he had proposed three years ago, joyously enough—only to put off the wedding interminably, to the point where Claude no longer asked).

And they both knew about the presentation—knew he was striving for tenure—so to be getting this call meant disaster. (His mind flicked immediately to his parents; to Bill's parents; to Valerie and Bill themselves—)

"Ah," said Claude, clearing his throat. His eyes had welled with tears for a moment; he blinked them away. "Pardonnez-moi, gentlemen; I must take this."

Valerie had been calling to inform him that she was moving out. They didn't have to file for divorce—"Do you see, Claude? Can you imagine how much more difficult all this would be if we'd married?"

She'd kept the ring. Claude, meanwhile, had toppled headfirst into drink; some short while afterward, the college had put him on mandatory medical sabbatical. Because the dean quite liked him, he was getting a monthly stipend, but he was drinking that money; the bills had piled up and up and up ...

Then Bill had rang him at home. "Alrighty," Claude's oldest and closest friend had drawled; his accent reminded Claude of the golden glow of afternoon light slanting through fresh honey, all richness and languorous warmth, "Ah've had it with yer sittin' around—"

"In the dark," his second-best friend, Bebe, interjected; she was near enough to Bill for the phone to catch her voice, and the thought made him smile. They were both nerds, and wild for each other.

"Yeah," Bill agreed. "An'—"

Dreamily, Bebe repeated, "Sittin' around in the dark like some kinda creeper—"

"Yeah," Bill sighed, "like some kinda creeper. Look, wouldja? Or well—lissen ta this. We jes' happen ta have an extra ticket, fer th' SS Anne—"

Claude said, skeptically, "Just happened to."

"These things happen," Bill replied, unperturbed. "Anyways, th' SS Anne's goin' ta Kanto, which is jes' lovely this time'a year, an' there weren't even no fires burnin' up near th' Safari Zone, which means y'all can go an' catch all th' new pokes yer lil' Kalosian heart desires.

"An' if y'all decide ta turn down this lil' offer, Ah know where ya sleep, so's woul'n't be no trouble a-t'all fer me ta come over'n break yer goddam kneecaps."

~

So Claude found himself leaning against the deck railing, forearms folded across the rail itself, his eyes alight: they were normally a deep, rich violet, but now interest and excitement had brightened and sharpened the color to a deeper shade of almost royal purple.

His eyes perfectly complemented his thick, dark hair—so sleek and lustrous a black that it shone nearly blue beneath the fluorescent lamps, and just long enough to be drawn back into a curly little ponytail. It made him look considerably younger—in his late twenties, perhaps, or early- to mid-thirties, rather than his actual age of forty-mumble.

By this time, most of the other passengers had disembarked. So—happier than he could remember feeling since that fateful phone call that had lost him his fiancée and, for all intents and purposes, his job—Claude began to whistle jauntily, sauntering down the gangplank and past the dock, a tartan valise in his left hand.

("My man," the uninflected, autotuned voice had told Amelia, "will have a plaid suitcase. He will smooth his hair, adjust his tie, then put down his bag and pull out a notebook, into which he will begin to write. Approach him carefully, as he will be armed. Don't startle him, or they'll be hosing you off the wall within the hour.")

Just beyond the perimeter of the busy docks, Claude let out his breath in a little sigh, putting down his valise with no small relief. As he caught the eye of a passing businesswoman, heels clacking as she passed him, the Kalosian reached up and smoothed his hair, which had grown rumpled and untidy since that morning, and tightened his tie.

But she was already gone, shortening her stride with a little moue. If only I had time, that look bemoaned; if only I had an hour, the sights I could show you ...

Claude sighed again, then slipped his sketchbook—a small, black-bound Diglettskin—out of the breast pocket of his coat: there was a Meowth skulking around, looking for hand-outs, its coat mottled with patches of gold and black, like a Seaking. He'd never seen a Meowth with a coat like that; it piqued his curiosity, and he had been sketching pokemon since his training days.

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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby TheGeddening » January 9th, 2018, 8:17:38 am

Eyes were on her and she could feel them, trailing up her legs and her body, following the curves of her hips and breasts to the smooth angles of her naked shoulders to her made-up features. The dress was too short and the stilettos were killer on her feet and the powder and the lipstick and the mascara and eyeliner caked her face in what she though to be the most uncomfortable way. This part in all her jobs was what she hated the most. She barely resisted the urge to scratch her head, right under the fake scalp of her blonde wig.

She wanted this over and done with seconds ago. That damn client's man must be here somewhere. Ignoring all those stares on her, she let her ocean blue eyes roam the area, from person to person, primed to identify the man and the signal and -

There! Plaid suitcase, set on the ground just now. Amelia focused her gaze on its carrier, right in time to see him smooth his hair and straighten his tie.

She blinked.

He had...really nice hair. Naturally wavy, from the looks of it, and didn't appear to be greased up in gel, shining a seemingly deep blue. Under the glare of the streetlight directly above him, his eyes were like a pair of Dusk Stones with the moonlight behind them, illuminated in a way that the black in their cores was chased away by richer pools of purple. There was a light layer of stubble to the curve of his jaw and the bridge of his nose was straight, barely having a crook to it. The man was...huh.

Rather attractive.

She shook her head once.

No. No distractions. She wasn't even sure if this was the guy her client had told her to look out for -

And he just took out a notebook. So Mr. Distraction really was her target.

Sinnoan, perhaps? He had fair enough skin, lacked the tan most people from Hoenn or Alola acquired from their days of tropical sun. Or maybe Kalosian? He seemed refined enough to be one of those folk. And he was tall, and there was a slight definition to his arms so maybe a hint of muscle -

Focus, Amelia!

...right. The job. The pay. The boat ride to home. Home. Damn the client for choosing such a distracting recipient.

After taking a deep breath, she sauntered over to the man, making sure that her stilettos clicked loudly enough for him to be alerted to. Armed, the client had said, and remembering that fact had her hand balling around the strap of her satchel just a tad tighter. At the bottom of the satchel, right under the paper package that containe the meteorite samples, were four Pokeballs, ready for her to whip out and unleash her Pokemon if need be. She'd rather have them close to her body really, but the dress didn't have anything for that. Putting on a belt would cramp her style and make her look suspicious.

...she was considering having Embry burn the dress later on. Accursed little piece of cloth. How could anyone wear it? She felt like cling-wrapped sausage in it!

She was near, she realized, alerted by the quick scamper of the calico Meowth at her approach. She tried not to remember how hungry she felt, just like the stray, except she'd been too on edge to eat instead of being starved. Maybe a speedy bite from some fast food chain was needed after this.

This. Back to the job.

"Hi," she greeted, curt and simple, lacking sharp inflection that otherwise jolt the man and make him draw his weapon on her. "You're him, right?"

Don't get distracted. Don't get distracted.
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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby Kattata » January 11th, 2018, 2:24:24 am

Fully absorbed as he was in a number of quick pencil sketches—pinning down on paper the graceful way the Meowth wove between the feet of pedestrians, sitting up on its hindquarters now and again to bring its paws together, begging shamelessly ...

Well, Claude couldn't help himself.

Amelia would see, after she's begun to approach him but before her advance has startled the pokemon away, this black market courier feel around inside the pockets of his fitted jeans (very nicely fitted, too, showcasing a narrow waist and slender hips) before crouching down and offering something to the calico Meowth.

The pokemon sniffed at his fingers, then gingerly began to eat the morsel from his palm, its ears flicked back. The man smiled, remarking in a wondering voice as he reached out to stroke the Meowth's patchwork fur, "You are beautiful, minou ..."

Then the Meowth bolted away, and Claude glanced up, annoyed.

The annoyance melted from his expression as he took in the woman's slinky dress—tight in all the right places, Claude thought approvingly. As he snapped his sketchbook closed and slipped it back into the breast pocket of his suitjacket, he met her eyes, enjoying the tingling thrill that ran down his spine at the woman's vivid, sea-colored gaze.

"Ah?" Claude said, his voice the velvety purr of a man whose first language was Kalosian—the language, some said, of love—often imitated, but seldom achieved by anyone who was not native to the region. "Oui, well, I suppose I am him, yes."

Bill and Bebe hadn't outright said anything about providing him with an escort, but ... Bill knew all of Claude's trouble with commitment, and women, and ... well, say what you will about the drawling, squinty mathlete, but he did love solving problems.

Claude extended a hand for Amelia's, smiling in a way that lit up his face. "I hope you are being well-paid for this, mademoiselle ... ?"

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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby TheGeddening » January 11th, 2018, 3:55:45 am

Ah. Kalosian. That accent was unmistakable, the swagger, the suave. It fits him, a part of her whispered, in the same way his hair and his eyes and his nicely cut jeans did. His voice had the slide of silk, smooth, lilting, ticklish if he ever so desired, and Amelia swallowed oh so quietly, oh so minutely. She repeated the mantra over and over, with a touch more of vigor, coupled with the mental image of her in her apartment, curled up on the couch and surrounded by the four most important beings to her.

So she batted her eyelashes at him and smiled, pursing her lips a little tighter to plump them up.

"My, my. I didn't expect you to be this handsome, Handsome," she drawled right back, her eyes half-lidded, her tone sultry.

If this was this man's game, then so be it. But she wouldn't have him spend the night at her place. She was in a hurry, on the run and escape was literally just a sunrise away. She'd flirt and entertain him a bit, make herself look pretty, but she had no time for another man.

She did smile softer at the offered hand, though. It was still a rather sweet gesture.

"Well-paid? Now that all depends on how good your boss is in keeping his end of the deal, my good Sir."

She reached into her bag, closing her fingers around the paper-wrapped package before bringing it out. Then she unceremoniously plopped it in his hand, her fingertips briefly brushing the inside of his wrist. Leaning over, she planted a quick peck on the man's cheek.

"Sorry, honey. Can't take you with me," she said, sounding genuinely disappointed, adding in a pout for the extra effect. "Don't want any of the cops after my tail following you back to your boss, hmm?"

And here, she lost the amorous air to her as her ocean blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

"So if you don't mind, I'd like my pay now."

She couldn't help herself when she batted her eyelashes again.

"Pretty please, pretty boy?"
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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby Kattata » January 12th, 2018, 4:56:01 am

"My boss?" Claude repeated, confusion shading his tone. He was fluent in Kantoese, had studied for a time at the big university in Saffron City—he'd met Bill there, actually—or he would have suspected that he was misunderstanding a key vocabulary word.

Might it be slang? His brow furrowed, mind racing, fighting to gain purchase on this slippery new complication; not for the first time, Claude regretted the large (and expensive) bottle of bourbon he'd imbibed while awaiting the disembarking.

Then there was paper in his hand—no, belay that: a paper-wrapped something of substance, with considerable weight and heft, and the erstwhile professor's gut plummeted into his shoes.

"Non, mademoiselle—my apologies, but no, there has been some mistake." Claude tried to press the meteorites back into her hands. "I am not, as you say, him after all, it seems. I would hate to have to alert the authorities—perhaps we can get a drink, and discuss matters?"

Claude's smile grew more brilliant, more charming. "I am sure there is other work you could be doing—it is a dangerous business, er ... if you are doing what I think."

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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby TheGeddening » January 12th, 2018, 6:22:40 am

Amelia blinked once. Twice.

"'Not him'?" she repeated, her tone incredulous, her current composure similar to that of a Sawsbuck's in the headlights.

Then that crumpled into an angry snarl as she grabbed the package in one hand and the man's necktie in another. The ocean blue of her eyes gained a tempest-like quality in them, a storm brewing from all the stress of lying low and the sheer want to go back home, a storm that suddenly didn't care how tall or distracting this man was. She has had it, she thought as she hissed at his face when she pulled him near.

"Whaddaya mean yer 'not him'? Y'tryin' ta con me, pal?"

Her Johtoese accent was bleeding through with her growing fury and pent-up frustration. But she dropped the snarl as she gained a thoughtful look to her gaze, her mind whirring on his words.

"Discuss thin's? Whaddaya playin' at?"

Her eyes flashed again, the thunderbolt of a hunch.

"Yer...yer a - "

"Amelia Andrews?"

Without letting go of the man, Amelia turned sideways a little so she could catch a glimpse of the newcomer. Jacket, toothpick in mouth, shades in hair, a quirk of a smirk to his lip. She felt her blood run cold when he flashed his badge.

"You, sweetcheeks," he calmly began, a hint of a sneer in his tone, "are under arrest for multiple counts of theft, smuggling, and breaking and entering."

Her breathing kicked up several notches as she looked around for an escape route. But at every angle, cops seemingly materialized out of thin air. How could she be so careless?

"Stin' awperayshun?" she muttered in disbelief before growling and shaking the man in her grip. "Ya snake! Ya one'a them!"
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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby Kattata » January 12th, 2018, 1:03:45 pm

Startled by the woman's swiftness and strength, Claude could say little in his favor, managing only something that sounded quite a bit like glrkk. It sounded like the sort of vocalization a Ditto might make after being trodden on.

But he had no time to lounge about and make such academic observations; there were officers on-scene, and while he generally respected law enforcement, he was finely-bred Kalosian down to the marrow of his bones.

So even as Amelia was shaking him, Claude reached smoothly up to disengage her hands from around the lapels of his nice suit-jacket, smoothing the fabric down afterward, and then ... and then Claude would practically unfold, like one of those little Darumaka dolls: straightening to his full height (a respectable 6'8) and moving between Amelia and the officer.

"Sweetcheeks," Claude repeated, sneering with disgust. "By Mew, man! Have you no manners? Whatever crimes she has committed does not strip her of her right to be treated like a human being, you— you—" He sought, with visible effort, after an insult that would convey his feelings on the scene while maintaining that certain je ne sais quoi that made life worth living.

Then his brow, which had been furrowed with agitated cogitation, smoothed and he began to smile once more. He took a deep breath, as a concert pianist might to center himself before an audience of tens of thousands, then said, with feeling, "You fucking walnut."

Claude glanced at Amelia. "Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle, for my most abhorrent language just then."

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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby TheGeddening » January 13th, 2018, 4:10:38 am

Amelia would like to think that she was an independent woman. She lived alone, not including her team of oftentimes lively Pokemon, and while she considered herself a good neighbor, she didn't interact much unless spoken too first. She could be polite, she could be courteous, she could be amicable, but she only sought to look after herself and her team.

So when the Kalosian stepped away from her and in front of her, she was generally confused. When he spoke his mind and made his disgust known to the officer about to arrest her, she was honestly shocked. This man, defending her? Even after she'd yelled at him? Even if he didn't know who exactly she was?

Well, the copper just said what she was going to court for. Shouldn't the man be repelled by the fact that she was a wanted criminal?

And yet here he was, reprimanding the smug bastard for calling her something she'd already heard from other (and much nastier) men before. She caught the dark dusk of his eyes and the flash of his smile and realized that he was addressing her.

Apologizing to her. For, what? Frickin' cussing?

(Amelia was never familiar with the term 'gentleman' or 'chivalrous'. All the men in her life just took what they wanted from her then left.

There was nothing 'gentle' with that, and it was all but tyrannical, in a sense.)

She heard cusses and curses day in and day out, especially in her jobs. They were regulars in her life. And this man seemed to think that it was some kind of sin he had to frickin' apologize for.

Just who the hell was he?

She opened her mouth, then closed it, open then close again. She was very aware that looked like a Magikarp gasping for air, that she might as well be flustered, but something about this man and what he did paralyzed her thought processes. And when her mind finally rebooted and she was about to say something in return (maybe a quick dismissal to his apology), there was the foreboding click of a loaded firearm.

(Yet another common occurrence in her life.)

"We're taking you in too, bucko," the cop said to the Kalosian, his voice possessing an undercurrent of anger at being told off just like that. "Just because you've got your fancy words, that don't mean you can talk your way out of this one."

He raised his gun a little higher, the Kalosian much and intimidatingly taller than he, the nozzle of his weapon aimed at the man's forehead.

"And we caught you in the act, trading with your darling over there. Think you can smuggle meteorites out of Kanto that easily? Think again. And while you're at it, put your hands in the air."

With the lead cop distracted, Amelia inched a little back. One hand gripped the strap of her satchel a little tighter while the other was beginning to snake its way in, fingers reaching for any of her four Pokeballs.

"Now, now, Mister Police," she called, smoothing out her voice, taking another step back. "I think you've got it wrong. This guy apparently isn't my client's - "

She felt more than saw the gun pointed at her back, making her freeze stock still.

"You have the right to remain silent," the officer behind her ground out, unbreakable steel to his voice. "Anything and everything you say will be used against you. Now slowly put the bag down on the ground, Miss. We don't want trouble."

At being found out, Amelia all but grimaced.

Well shit.









Out where the docks met the concrete sidewalk of Vermillion, a figure in a heavy coat watched the scene unfold. His gloved hand tightened around the handle of his Krokorok-hide suitcase, while other brought a touch-screen phone and rang up a number. His call got picked up at the first ring, and he turned around to take it.

(And in that way, he didn't see the lead cop aim the gun at Claude, didn't hear the start of Amelia's denial of having any connection to the Kalosian.

Had he seen and heard this, maube it could have gone differently.)

"'Ey, Boss. Yeah. Deal's gone stale. The bitch fibbed. You said me an' the boys can have fun with 'er if she does."

Then he began to walk away, his wingtips tapping the concrete under them faintly, his grin wide amd hungry.

"We'll dump 'er in the sea aftah, yeah. Then we gonna get those rocks the messy way. Yeah. Thanks, Boss. You's a swell man."
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Re: What Happens In Kanto

Postby Kattata » January 15th, 2018, 3:45:42 am

Claude raised his hands as he was bid, although he was shaking his head even as he did it. "You," he remarked, sadly, "are making a terrible mistake, mes amis. I am certain this is some kind of misunderstanding—"

He took a step back, nearer Amelia and the officer behind her, appearing to shift his weight; not a heartbeat later, a familiar burst of red light erupted from the left breast pocket of his suit-coat, freed by the gesture.

The pokemon that coalesced out of that flood of pure energy was enormous—ten or twelve feet, at the least; its huge, thick-furred paws were each the size of off-road tires, and the eyes that glared madly out from behind its three-pronged golden mask shone like the molten heart of the planet itself.

The air was thick with the smoke that poured from between the bony plates jutting out from its broad back, and the ground shuddered and leapt as the Entei threw back its head and roared, the sound alone sufficient to unzip the bowels of the most stalwart man.

Trusting that the officers were satisfactorily distracted, Claude snatched up the con-woman's hand and ran.

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