▪ the s e c o n d coming ▪

“Consider it done,” Alistair said, scooting back and all but plucking the hamburger out of the waiter’s hands before he passed it to Sabine. 

“Us disillusioned types need our fair share of hobbies,” Alistair said with a wink, biting into his burger as the juice soaked into the soft potato bun. “Mmph…shay what you want about thish plashe but they grill a mean dead cow.” 

For good measure, he took another big bite before wiping his mouth and chasing it with a drink of water, pounding himself on the chest to help the eighth of a pound of meat down his throat. 

“Is it fighting types only then?” Alistair asked. “Because I got a feeling my Goodra could sweep most of the competition; whoever tries to suplex her Olympic ass is only going to hurt themselves.” 

“Gosh, as fun as that sounds, I don’t think Gooey would be up for that!” Firewall chirped from his phone as the man at the next table glanced over curiously. 

Talking with a mouth full of food. Charming. Sabine looked down to concentrate on her meal until little bits of break were done flying from Alistair’s mouth all over the table cloth. She couldn’t help but glance to a passing waiter who was grinding his teeth at the primitive display. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she forked more salmon from her plate.

“It’s pretty open, from what I understand. Fighting-types have a genetic advantage but it doesn’t mean a Kangaskhan or Granbull couldn’t put up a decent challenge with the right training.”

Sabine raised her chin to subtly peer at the phone. “Interesting gadget you have there. Porygon or possessed by a ghost?”

Pulling out her own C-Gear, she bluetooth wired the Driftveil Fight Night information to Alistair’s talking contraption.

Completely unprompted, a mauve flash of light appeared in the center of the table and Little E appeared, licking his tiny garbage lips. “Oh no, you don’t.” Sabine reacted quickly, grabbing the Trubbush to hold over her head, “I’m not having you stink up the apartment like rotting fish.”

Hipster was a quirky word to describe a town, but he supposed he wouldn’t know any other word to do just as good a job. Both halves of the town seemed to be that way, respectively. “You are right; pretty much a shop for what you can think up. From food to oddities, can’t miss out.”

It’s definitely an exaggeration in his head, but when he imagines experimenting, he thinks about the stereotypical test tubes; bubbling liquids in contrast to the dark room—equipment scattered about in a ‘method to the madness’ kind of way. It’s an exaggeration and—it’s silly. He bites back a small smile, “Ah, yeah? Opelucid Academy. I haven’t visited in a while, not sure if President Drayden is still around …” Hawke is a bit taken back from the sudden burst of enthusiasm, but he tries his best to hide the surprise.

“This way, then.” He’s about to take a step forward to lead the way before he feels a vibration at his hip; there’s a soft sigh that escapes him when he pulls out the guilty pokeball—his Marill forcing its way back out at the mention of the bakery.

Sabine glanced to her left and spotted the body and bath store Marina had spoken of. A strong pleasant aroma of citrus and vanilla emanated from the weave baskets displaying bath bombs in front of the shop window. She looked around for a nearby street sign so she wouldn’t lose it.

“I’ll have to go pay Mr. Drayden a visit soon then,” Sabine smiled, watching as the adorable Marrill decided to make its second appearance. She followed Hawke with a small shrug, “Unfortunately I need to keep Little E on a strict diet. I can’t be having organic goods contaminating his digestion before experimentation. However...”

Her fingers floated over the six PokeBalls on her messenger bag, “Uh, don’t freak out,” she warned Hawke with a sympathetic smile before tapping the release on one of the balls.

Balor appeared, the “demon Heracross”. He stretched out all four of his arms before checking his carapaces, reattaching any which had come a little loose. He blinked hard a few times, glancing up to Sabine with his white pupils and cautiously at the stranger and Marill.

“We’re getting pastries,” the researcher grinned to her Pokemon which looked more like a Frankenstein experiment gone wrong than an organic Heracross. Nonetheless, as soon as Balor heard this information, he relaxed, giving a sharp toothed grin.

The editorial staff at the Castelia Daily Gazette would like to extend our most sincere apologies to Noel Dickfingers for an article that ran in today’s paper and on our website. We are currently looking into the situation as we speak. 

We at the Castelia Daily Gazette would like to stress that we do not endorse the kind of language that ran in today’s paper and encourages our readership to see Mr. Dickfingers in Vendetta of Vengence. 

-E

I’ll actually be there later for some business of my own. Arceus only knows my Pokémon could use some attention.

I prefer coffee and climbing trees, but I’ll take this advice into consideration.

He might have done it whether Sabine suggested it or not; it had been a while and he still had a whole computer he could use and then destroy instead of selling for parts. 

“Wrestling?” Alistair’s eyebrow quirked. “Like Greco-Roman or pretending to hit people with chairs kind of wrestling? Or like…Turkish Oil Wrestling which is concerning but wouldn’t surprise me.” 

Sabine glanced up, biting her lip. She remembered a politically incorrect card game Marina once talked to her about.

“.. Noël Dickfingers?”

Sabine stifled a snort and pushed her hand against her nose as the waiter from before returned with their meals (with a change of pants). He went to put the burger in front of Sabine but she made a motion with her index finger to switch plates, though she was still trying to contain her laughter over Noël Dickfingers.

Mental: Absent-Minded | Artistic | Avant Garde | Bookworm | Can’t Stand Art | Computer Whiz | Eccentric | Gatherer | Excitable | Genius | Green Thumb | Handy | Insane | Natural Cook | Neurotic | Nurturing | Perceptive | Photographer’s Eye | Savvy Sculptor | Unstable | Virtuoso 

Physical: Athletic | Brave | Clumsy | Couch Potato | Coward | Disciplined | Heavy Sleeper | Hydrophobic | Light sleeper | Lucky | Loves the Cold | Loves the Heat | Loves to Swim | Neat | Never Nude | Slob | Unlucky

Social: Born Salesperson | Brooding | Charismatic | Commitment Issues | Dislikes Children | Diva | Dramatic | Easily Impressed | Flirty | Friendly | Good Sense of Humor | Great Kisser | Grumpy | Hopeless Romantic | Inappropriate | Irresistible | Loner | Loser | Mean Spirited | Mooch | Natural Born Performer | No sense of humor | Party Animal | Proper | Schmoozer | Shy | Snob | Social Butterfly | Socially Awkward | Supernatural Fan | Supernatural Skeptic | Unflirty

Lifestyle: Adventurous | Ambitious | Angler | Animal Lover | Bot fan | Cat Person | Childish | Daredevil | Dog Person | Eco-Friendly | Equestrian | Evil | Family-Oriented | Frugal | Good | Hates the Outdoors | Hot-headed | Kleptomaniac | Loves the Outdoors | Night Owl | Over-Emotional | Perfectionist | Rebellious | Star Quality | Technophobe | Vegetarian | Vehicle Enthusiast | Workaholic

At the mention of hobbies, Alistair unconsciously tugged his shirt down over bruises still healing from his recent run in with the lovely men in masks. 

“Oh, not much,” Alistair shrugged, slurping water out of his glass through a straw. “Insect-equestrianism notwithstanding I enjoy a good whisky, brunettes, and coding; all three at once if I can get it. Once came up with a program that forcibly replaced “the Unovan President” with “Gary Motherfucking Oak” when integrated into a site’s structure. Think I got the Lumiose Gazette, the Castelia Chronicle, and the Goldenrod Times before IT got on the case. Had to destroy the computer I used but I think it was worth it in the long haul.” 

“Excuse me!” Firewall’s voice chirped from the phone. “I am so very sorry for interrupting this wonderful evening but I would just like to say that Chairman Meowth has been successfully acquired and is now happily dozing next to Mister Tubbs!”

“Right..” she sipped at her wine, eyes surveying his movements from over the lip of her glass. Her eyes widened when he mentioned one of his great hacks of the decade. “I.. remember that. That was you?”

Sabine wasn’t at all interested in computers or coding but there were a few people in her year who were. She distinctly remembered a tall, frizzy blonde interrupting physics class just to relay the article from her phone. Sabine winced as she realised Alistair loosely reminded her of Francis.

A slightly jump in her seat was caused when Alistair’s phone started talking on its own. Sabine didn’t even understand half the words the electronic voice said. She gave him an uncertain half-smile.

2 tattoos one red: No Apologies