HEY DO YOU LIKE CRAZY POKEMON MUSES? ME TOO. THERE’S A REASON THEY CALL THIS ONE ‘FRANKENSTEIN’, THOUGH! CAREFUL, SHE BITES.
IND. TEAM PLASMA OC // SCIENCED BY YA BOY PLANE
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@abominatriix
HEY DO YOU LIKE CRAZY POKEMON MUSES? ME TOO. THERE’S A REASON THEY CALL THIS ONE ‘FRANKENSTEIN’, THOUGH! CAREFUL, SHE BITES.
IND. TEAM PLASMA OC // SCIENCED BY YA BOY PLANE
{ RULES } { MUN } { DOSSIER } { MAIN BLOG }

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MOVED TO @PLANESPC !!
happy pride month i am going to do an experiment that challenges the gods themselves <3
abominatriix:
At first, she does not react. The spit dripping down one of her cheeks is slowly wiped away, fingers cleaned on his shirt. Only an eyebrow quirked in response to his disgusting act, watching him let out his fury and frustrations. Listening to him promise her a broken nose, yell and scream his head off as he thrashed.
For his trouble, Francis does rear back a hand and offer him a backhand slap, her other hand coming for his throat to squeeze a moment later. Cold indifferent hatred in her eyes as she roughhouses her specimen, staring him down like a butterfree to be pinned on display. A harsh grip on his throat finally released, instead getting up and backing off.
“I’d much rather cheat the system and get your file directly from the source. Much easier that way.”
He sure was a lively one, this Guzmania. From what she’d heard, destruction in human form. Which would suit her needs just fine, if at all. She wasn’t really picking on him for any personal reason, of course, all in the name of science and furthering her own knowledge.
Instead, leaving him to stew in his own feral anger, Francis wanders back over to one of the many tables. Almost remorseful she’d ungagged him already. This had to go perfectly if she wanted viable results, and even having him here was a dangerous game. She’d never handled fallers, but annoying and unplanned things always tended to happen around new variables…
“But– you do remember your Aether incident, do you not? I’m sure it’s hard to forget your first encounter with an Ultra Beast, mm? Do you know much about them or was it simply the wrong place at the wrong time?
Why, if this isn’t the consequences for his actions! His favorite!
Guzma can’t do much, if not gritting his teeth and press his back agains the chair, groaning more out of annoyance than pain as he keeps eye contact like a feral beast, waiting for her to release him. Come on, now. If she wanted him dead, she would’ve done it already. He could take a blood transfusion or a slap or two with no problem, he just needed enough time for her to get distracted and tear her apart.
And then… … …and then that’s a problem for future Guzma. He can find a way back home. Somehow. Present Guzma is much more focused on still trying to break free and ignore her babbling about Ultra Beasts. From experience, anyone so fixated on them meant nothing good for him.
“Oh, so sorry, I don’t give out interviews!”
Oh he’s lively alright.
“Here’s a great idea! How about you go to Aether and ask pretty please to be thrown in a interdimentional portal and get eaten alive by them instead of bothering me since you’re soooo passionate about those stupid Jellicent looking asses, huh?!”
"So you do remember! Wonderful. That will make this so much easier."
She's almost giddy, staring him in the face. He either knows everything, or nothing. She doesn't truly put it past those involved to keep such a specimen in the dark about his latent abilities, recognizing that if he knew better, knew how valueable he was, he wouldn't have gone out alone. There were programs, she'd heard, protecting fallers, but it was more likely that Interpol would use them for the same reason she was.
Bait.
"No trouble if you don't remember, though. Fallers tend to be characterized by their latent memory loss, of course. Fallers -- being anyone that's been inside of an Ultra Wormhole, that is. Which is you! And your lady friend at Aether, if I'm not mistaken, several others. Not a lot of clarity on the report I read."
Clipboard once again in her hand as she scurried around him, scribbling down notes, Francis ever so gently pulled back the collar on his shirt. A mark there had caught her eye, grabbed for her attention, and after giving it a peek, she let it go.
"Do you see a lot of Ultra Beasts in your day-to-day? I can imagine you do. I can imagine they're like pests at this point. Showing up out of the blue, wherever you stay too long, always around.... I can imagine that being quite dangerous, can't you? Do you know why that is?"
she sure got shut down quickly on the wally texty thing :(

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abominatriix:
it would be another five minutes before Francis wandered back into the main laboratory from the side office, carrying with her a clipboard and a pen. Upon seeing her specimen awake, however, she couldn’t help a noise of curiosity as she drew closer, pulled a pen light from her lab coat pocket.
Only to grab him roughly by the hair, tilting his head back to shine the light into one eye, then the next. Watching and measuring his pupil response.
“Well I see you’re no worse for wear! Mmm… Maybe a small concussion but that’s to be expected. I suppose it could be worse. I could’ve killed you. Easily.”
A laugh at that, ruffling his hair before pulling the gag free so he could better breathe. Not that he could be going far, anyway.
“Guzmania Mitchell, is that correct? You’re a hard man to track down. Especially given your… history with Aether. I’ve read the reports, and I’m surprised you survived that – though because you have, it gives more credibility to you surviving a tire iron to the back of the head.”
Muttering as she trailed off, Francis scooted behind him. Turning over one of his wrists still restrained, easily slotting a syringe in his forearm. Silent moments ticking by, not caring if he squirmed or yelled, before it was removed and bandaged. If he wanted to hurt himself fighting back, he certainly could. She was going to run her experiments one way or another.
Once she came back around, the vial attached was visibly full of his blood.
“Do you have a habit of making friends with shady people? I admit, your whole… gang is shady people, but they’re not who I’m speaking of, now are they?”
Getting closer, hands on the arm wrests of the chair. Close enough to look into his eyes.
“Do you remember anything of what happened at the Aether foundation? That night with the wormholes? I’m sure you do, I’ve seen your extensive scars. That must have been quite a ride.”
He stopped rocking his chair only when the door opened… and noticed that his kidnapper was. … …is. Is that, like. A teenager? Seventh grader??? Fuck, man. This is embarassing. He could understand if some big burly Rocket simp decided to mess with him, but this woman for Durants?? Oof, he’ll cringe about it for days.
Maybe it’s the surprise that makes him hesitate from reacting properly – that, and the rough hairpulling, that made him let out yet another muffled yelp that turns into coughs as he’s finally allowed to breathe properly, again giving her enough time to babble.
…and to notice that, yeah. She read some reports alright. From his full name, to Aether, to whatever she could mean with that comment about surviving something, this lady proved that she knew a little too much for comfort. A cop? …nah, they’re Tepigs but last time he checked they don’t kidnap people, at least in Alola. He didn’t recognize the clothes, so likely not a Rocket either, nor someone from the Interpol.
Someone he doesn’t know, who acts like she’s a big deal.
“Who the f-” he started, looking at her as much as he could as she walked behind him and did– whatever. Stole blood, apparently?
A fucking shortie with too much brain who steals blood. That’s cool. That’s fine. This is so fucking fancy.
Again, it took him some time to calm down. Understand in what kind of situation he’s in, get properly angry enough to react to her oh-so-sweet voice… and as she leans closer, Guzma did what he does best. Likely people he shouldn’t mess with as angry as he is, in this case by spitting on her.
“First of all” he finally snaps, leaning as close as he could “consider getting bent and fucked! Ya need level 6 in friendship to unlock my sad goddamn backstory, and I assure ya that the only thing you’re getting as soon as I get free from this– fucking- thing-” cue him rocking the chair even more “–is a BROKEN FUCKING NOSE-”
At first, she does not react. The spit dripping down one of her cheeks is slowly wiped away, fingers cleaned on his shirt. Only an eyebrow quirked in response to his disgusting act, watching him let out his fury and frustrations. Listening to him promise her a broken nose, yell and scream his head off as he thrashed.
For his trouble, Francis does rear back a hand and offer him a backhand slap, her other hand coming for his throat to squeeze a moment later. Cold indifferent hatred in her eyes as she roughhouses her specimen, staring him down like a butterfree to be pinned on display. A harsh grip on his throat finally released, instead getting up and backing off.
“I’d much rather cheat the system and get your file directly from the source. Much easier that way.”
He sure was a lively one, this Guzmania. From what she’d heard, destruction in human form. Which would suit her needs just fine, if at all. She wasn’t really picking on him for any personal reason, of course, all in the name of science and furthering her own knowledge.
Instead, leaving him to stew in his own feral anger, Francis wanders back over to one of the many tables. Almost remorseful she’d ungagged him already. This had to go perfectly if she wanted viable results, and even having him here was a dangerous game. She’d never handled fallers, but annoying and unplanned things always tended to happen around new variables...
“But-- you do remember your Aether incident, do you not? I’m sure it’s hard to forget your first encounter with an Ultra Beast, mm? Do you know much about them or was it simply the wrong place at the wrong time?
abominatriix:
To the guy’s credit, he was hard to track down. After having stalked him for nearly a week, watching where he went, who he talked to, how his daily routine went, Francis was delightfully surprised when he decided to mix it up. Leaving Po Town behind, insisting he went alone. Denying all worried grunts, simply sitting. Existing. With his back to the world, attention focused on the ocean in front of him.
It’s almost as if he knew what was coming next.
Having swung so hard, she half expected him to have died right then and there. But he was breathing, out cold facedown on the sand. Cigarette dropped to the wayside, smoldering slightly. Forgotten by both parties as she approached, measured the pulse at his neck. Strong. Unresponsive physically, but the pulse was still there. And as she rolled him over, brushing sand from his nose, the steady rise and fall of his chest corroborated the fact.
Either he was resilient as hell, or she had weak arms.
Not that she cared if it was her strength that had kept him alive. Though it did come into focus how little physical work she did as she dragged him, with struggle, back to her sedan. Handcuffing his hands behind him, his ankles together as well. Shoving a rag in his mouth just in case, tying it behind his head. Speeding off to their destination, thoughts already running a mile a minute.
She really should have brought Pilot Two for this, obedient as he was with the perfected control collar. Damn. Better think ahead next time, maybe a dart gun would do better too.
“You better not be a waste of my time…”
How embarassing, really.
Being taken down in one hit, being dragged away by someone, like, half his size… that wasn’t cool. That wasn’t cool at all. With his grunts being told he was out for a stroll they might’ve gone to look for him in a few hours, but by then Guzma would’ve been already gone, far, far away…
…or, at least, we’re going to assume so.
The travel towards his new destination is spent in dreamland. Completely blacked out, Guzma barely moved during all that time, unreactive even when he was taken off of the van and dragged around, likely bumping into a few corners here and there. Or, at least, considering the terrible headache he finally woke up with, accompanied with a tired, long groan, that’s what he immediately thought, even before he opened his eyes – even before he realized in what kind of situation he was brought into.
“…ghnh.”
To be fair, he would’ve made that sound with or without a rag in his mouth. He takes his sweet time to wake up, blink, look around. Connect the dots.
…
…and then finally open his eyes wide open, letting out another choked groan as he looks at himself - at the chair he was plopped on, at the room he couldn’t recognize. Is– is this a joke? Did someone pull a prank on him? Oh, haha, real funny!
If his kidnapper had to show up, they better do it before he wrecks his seat while trying to move around it to break free!
it would be another five minutes before Francis wandered back into the main laboratory from the side office, carrying with her a clipboard and a pen. Upon seeing her specimen awake, however, she couldn’t help a noise of curiosity as she drew closer, pulled a pen light from her lab coat pocket.
Only to grab him roughly by the hair, tilting his head back to shine the light into one eye, then the next. Watching and measuring his pupil response.
“Well I see you’re no worse for wear! Mmm... Maybe a small concussion but that’s to be expected. I suppose it could be worse. I could’ve killed you. Easily.”
A laugh at that, ruffling his hair before pulling the gag free so he could better breathe. Not that he could be going far, anyway.
“Guzmania Mitchell, is that correct? You’re a hard man to track down. Especially given your... history with Aether. I’ve read the reports, and I’m surprised you survived that -- though because you have, it gives more credibility to you surviving a tire iron to the back of the head.”
Muttering as she trailed off, Francis scooted behind him. Turning over one of his wrists still restrained, easily slotting a syringe in his forearm. Silent moments ticking by, not caring if he squirmed or yelled, before it was removed and bandaged. If he wanted to hurt himself fighting back, he certainly could. She was going to run her experiments one way or another.
Once she came back around, the vial attached was visibly full of his blood.
“Do you have a habit of making friends with shady people? I admit, your whole... gang is shady people, but they’re not who I’m speaking of, now are they?”
Getting closer, hands on the arm wrests of the chair. Close enough to look into his eyes.
“Do you remember anything of what happened at the Aether foundation? That night with the wormholes? I’m sure you do, I’ve seen your extensive scars. That must have been quite a ride.”
@abominatriix:
🔧 10- a tire iron bc thats what she could get her hands on. into the trunk with you :)
What a wonderful day. He managed to chill out a bit. To relax. To go clowning a little in town and take some time for himself. Sitting on the beach with a cigarette in his hands, Guzma took a deep breath, appreciating the salty air and the cool temperature of that starry night.
It’s rare for him to be so chill, and for once he could finally appreciate a barely deserved “me” day. Surely, nobody could go wro–
*BONK*
——LOL JK something fucked up is always going on here, and today is no different… but our boy won’t realize for a while. As chill as he was, he didn’t even notice someone approaching, let alone said someone swinging a tire iron at him, hitting him with worrisome precision right on the back of his skull. A perfect hit, one that makes him black out after a second of confusion, leaving him slumped on the sand before being dragged away.
What a wonderful fucking day.
To the guy’s credit, he was hard to track down. After having stalked him for nearly a week, watching where he went, who he talked to, how his daily routine went, Francis was delightfully surprised when he decided to mix it up. Leaving Po Town behind, insisting he went alone. Denying all worried grunts, simply sitting. Existing. With his back to the world, attention focused on the ocean in front of him.
It’s almost as if he knew what was coming next.
Having swung so hard, she half expected him to have died right then and there. But he was breathing, out cold facedown on the sand. Cigarette dropped to the wayside, smoldering slightly. Forgotten by both parties as she approached, measured the pulse at his neck. Strong. Unresponsive physically, but the pulse was still there. And as she rolled him over, brushing sand from his nose, the steady rise and fall of his chest corroborated the fact.
Either he was resilient as hell, or she had weak arms.
Not that she cared if it was her strength that had kept him alive. Though it did come into focus how little physical work she did as she dragged him, with struggle, back to her sedan. Handcuffing his hands behind him, his ankles together as well. Shoving a rag in his mouth just in case, tying it behind his head. Speeding off to their destination, thoughts already running a mile a minute.
She really should have brought Pilot Two for this, obedient as he was with the perfected control collar. Damn. Better think ahead next time, maybe a dart gun would do better too.
“You better not be a waste of my time...”
pulchramundii:
Lysandre stopped his advancement, though his eyes continued to lock her down in a predatory fashion. Hands returned to their place locked on top of his hips and the duke lifted a brow. Even the smile faltered, giving the mountain of a man a very solemn look. His eyes had become quite hard. The cigar that had been lingering in his free hand dropped a few more heaps of ash onto the ground and the immortal gave a hum, bringing it back to his mouth so as he could take another inhale of the smoke.
“He’ll kill you.” He responded after a brief pause, the smoke billowing out of his mouth so as to put a shade over his intense eyes. Lysandre took another long moment before he took another step towards her, easily breaking the space between them with how long his strides were.
“Taking what isn’t yours is something well in your history, isn’t it, Francis? Are you telling me you’re more afraid of your Lord Harmonia than you are of me?”
The War General’s tone was amused by the prospect, far less than being offended. The man hardly seemed to care about the consequences.
“Yes, there are other places I could find it, but you and I have history. I worked with you at a base core that I would simply not have with other worlds. I know how you think. I want what YOU have built. Going to another world would be like suffering for second-rate quality and I simply couldn’t have that.”
“I did not want this to come to violence,” he continued “ but when it’s all you know, I suppose these things can’t be helped.”
He took one last inhale from the cigar, letting it rest between his fingers in such a casual manner. The breath in was held for a prolonged period of time –if she was observant, she would have noticed how he didn’t breathe at all – but he exhaled out with his last statement.
“Come. Yveltal.”
There was a loud, unhinged shriek as the legendary escaped from their prison, wings unfurled in a dramatic display behind the War General. Yveltal landed in a perched position behind him, wings still out spread to match the way that Lysandre’s own arms spread outwards.
“You’re afraid of what he would do to you? My dear, I do wonder what you must think of what I can do. I AM death.”
As flattering as his words are, as he advances further she can’t help but panic. Clear on her face, clear in her heaving breath and reddening cheeks. Clear in her scrambling to melt into the wall, sinking lower to try and break his line of sight.
“I-- I--”
She wasn’t sure who she was more scared of. The man before her, cornering her into a deal. The man who could kill her right then and there, might even take joy in it. Or Ghetsis, her boss. The man she’d already failed once when Pilot 2 got loose, ran off. No thanks to Warren, the little shit. But still, having let him down once, she could not afford to do so again.
They were both huge threats. They were both dangerous. But... who was moreso? Who could she truly afford to piss off more?
Her mouth opened, going to say something. Going to tell him no, she couldn’t afford to screw up again-- only for him to unleash IT.
Yveltal.
She was sure it was dead, sure it was cocooned or destroyed or loose somewhere. But no, it was here, in all its humongous, terrifying glory. Only accentuating him more. She could already feel the pressure in the room, exhaustion and shortness of breath just the first of many symptoms should it stay released.
In no uncertain terms did she take the gravity of the situation. But she’d sworn an oath, and if she gave him what she wanted, she’d die by his hand. Or die here, in one of the Duke’s fits of rage.
Eyes flicking from the beast in front, to the beast behind, Francis made her decision.
“My answer is no. I cannot aff-- afford to lose my lab equipment. Go elsewhere, Lysandre. I can’t help you.
Better die right then and there than face whatever wrath Ghetsis held later.
pulchramundii:
abominatriix:
As he moves, so does she, straying to the pokeball at her hip. Abomination had, finally, successfully been contained in a pokeball, though it was far from normal. A latch on the front held it shut, anf pieces of welded metal made up an outer shell outside of it. It might take a moment longer than a normal ball to open, but at least it didn’t melt under the pressure of what the technology inside believed to be six different pokemon.
“I’m perfectly free where I am, Lysandre.”
Her eyes narrowed, watching him.
“And while I do love talking with you, m’lord – I have deadlines I need to meet. What did you want from me?”
For a moment, he seemed locked in thought. Eventually, though, his hands moved and he slammed his open palm against the closet wall. His fingertips ran slowly along the surface as he approached her more, his eyes locked on her. His gaze was commanding, as the eyes of those who were born into power would know. Slowly, though, a smile once more crossed his features.
“I know. So busy with your experiments with your new little club. Hm. I’m sure they’re treating you so well–”
He withdrew his hand and moved to look at his fingers, flexing his hand open and closed and open again.
“This is something so simple. I will easily let you get back to your little plans, but I want something from you. In exhange, I offer you the freedom from Flare. Consider your Price completely paid.”
He extended his palm towards her.
“I want the expansion technology.”
Flinching hard, Francis couldn’t help but let out a yelp of surprise. Sudden movements shocking her out of her thoughts, scrambling her brain as he advanced, and forever in her way out the door. Large. Imposing. Easily able to crush her windpipe in one hand if he sho chose to.
Sweat beading up on the back of her neck, Francis continued to backpedal, eventually coming to hit a wall. Hand still on the pokeball at her belt, staring him defiantly in the eye.
“You what?”
It was impossible. Not only was she technically only loaning it from Ghetsis, but she originally wasn’t even supposed to have tinkered with it in the first place. Eyebrows furrowed, staring up at him, she stammered out her response.
“It -- it doesn’t .. It’s not mine. I’m not even sure how to make one of the suits from scratch, let alone give them to you. Lord Harmonia would kill me if he found out.”
A hard no, taking her chances with refusing the offer. And there was no mention of her pet project, the EXP MKII. Hell, or even the MKIII. Glad she’d put Pilot Two away for the evening, asleep in the chair in his designated room. He was a delicate subject, permanently altered. There was no doubt in her mind he’d rip it from the man’s neck should he deem it what he wanted.
“You’re asking for something I can’t give you and you know it. There are plenty of..... other worlds to get them from, but these are off limits. They’re Plasma property, I can’t. He’ll kill me.”

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hhhhh frankie core (gore cw)
PLASMA SCIENTIST FRANCIS would love to dismantle you and your pokemon for fun battle!
PLASMA SCIENTIST FRANCIS sent out OH GOD WHAT IS THAT
YES!! KILL!!
hey uhm francis what the fuck was that
sweating in ex-flare

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pulchramundii:
abominatriix:
He had her expertly cornered, standing right in the doorway. Her eyes couldn’t help but flit back and forth, between his gaze and the escape sitting right behind him. Even if she was quick enough, he was too big. A physical struggle was not something she could afford right then, especially given their history.
God, she wished he’d stayed buried under that building.
“… Very well.”
Though what kind of deal he’d be making she knew she’d have to accept. Most likely, the only other option was death, and she was not ready for that. Not in the slightest. So much left to do, so much left to see, and for him to waltz in like he owned the place and demand something of her, to demand a deal – oh it made her blood boil.
But she knew his game, has played it for quite a while. Maybe something beneficial could come from this?
“Though, forgive my speaking out of turn – I can’t help but feel I’m going to be forced to take this deal of yours whether I like it or not. What do you want?”
“Oh, don’t act like that, Francis. Do you think I feel so little for our past together?” Lys mused as he took a step forward, though not so much as to allow her an easy escape out the door. He rested his hands on his hips and tilted his head, a slow etching of a smile crossing over his lips. It seemed well aimed to grab her jugular, if he felt so inclined.
“I think you’re going to like what I have to say, darling, as it involves your freedom.”
As he moves, so does she, straying to the pokeball at her hip. Abomination had, finally, successfully been contained in a pokeball, though it was far from normal. A latch on the front held it shut, anf pieces of welded metal made up an outer shell outside of it. It might take a moment longer than a normal ball to open, but at least it didn't melt under the pressure of what the technology inside believed to be six different pokemon.
"I'm perfectly free where I am, Lysandre."
Her eyes narrowed, watching him.
"And while I do love talking with you, m’lord -- I have deadlines I need to meet. What did you want from me?"
@abominatriix CONT FROM HERE
The War General moved more into the light, though he still kept his distance from her. He could practically sense her hair standing on end, hackles raised like a prey pokemon might at the whiff of a predator. He would simply let his aura intimidate, letting that distance between them be enough to give her the illusion of escape. All part of the game, it would seem.
His hands rested into the pockets of his coat, hanging leisurely as he focused on her. When he spoke, however, his tone seemed far less playful.
“No. We are going to speak now and you are going to listen.”
It wasn’t a request. It was the sort of command one who always wore power would utter. Eventually, though, the smile was split on his lips to show very sharp teeth, but his tone was dupliciously kind.
“I think this is a deal you will want to know.”
He had her expertly cornered, standing right in the doorway. Her eyes couldn’t help but flit back and forth, between his gaze and the escape sitting right behind him. Even if she was quick enough, he was too big. A physical struggle was not something she could afford right then, especially given their history.
God, she wished he’d stayed buried under that building.
“. . . Very well.”
Though what kind of deal he’d be making she knew she’d have to accept. Most likely, the only other option was death, and she was not ready for that. Not in the slightest. So much left to do, so much left to see, and for him to waltz in like he owned the place and demand something of her, to demand a deal -- oh it made her blood boil.
But she knew his game, has played it for quite a while. Maybe something beneficial could come from this?
“Though, forgive my speaking out of turn -- I can’t help but feel I’m going to be forced to take this deal of yours whether I like it or not. What do you want?”