picks and thorns

No, when he tries to recall the faces of his parents, he thinks and sees his fellow Swords, but that doesn't bother Keldeo so much anymore. He has come to terms with his past, at least enough that he can return here and feel at peace . . . all while pledging not to let fire plague this land again, for as long as he was around.

Today he rests by the hollow of an old tree. Keldeo vaguely remembers there being a favorite place for bug-type pokemon to gather, but now, all that peck at its fruits are humble flocks of pidove. They gather at his hooves, foraging in the grass while he lay among them. He was content.

. . . But the warm sun beating down onto the Moor does not abate newcomers. Rather it welcomes them, with a pleasant gale and dappled forest canopy. The pidove suddenly take to the tree's boughs, and Keldeo lifts his head from his dozing, alert.

Someone was here.

Said man looks rather out of place in Icirrus Moor. His dark, alternative clothes would be better suited for a night out at a concert in the city, but here he is, standing out harshly against the natural beauty of the moor.

"Huh, so the rumours where actually true," he murmurs, his grey eyes set on Keldeo as he lifts up his sunglasses to rest on top of his black hair.

"T'would seem so," responds the Gardevoir at his side, his gentle voice projected via telepathy in a way that the human can clearly understand.

A sense of tension has settled upon the secluded wetlands as the wild Pokemon stare at the trainer and their Pokemon companion. They are waiting for the young Sword of Justice to react. How will he respond?

When the time comes for Cataleya's birthday, they've known each other for most of a year. Things are less awkward between them. Comfortable, even. And Malcolm had been thinking hard on what to do to celebrate...

She's become an important friend to him. Few are as close to him as she is now. She deserves more than well wishes and a quick gift. But what?

In the end, he settled on taking her out somewhere after her family took her out for dinner. Coffee and desserts at a late-night cafe she'd been wanting to try. He remembered her mentioning it at some point before.

But, he has one other idea in mind.

"Luna Park?" She's smiling wide, excited. Her slice of key lime pie is forgotten for the moment. "It's been so long since I've been... I'd love to go! But are you sure you can take that day off? What about work?"

He nods. "It's fine. Already okayed it with my boss and all that."

Amusement parks aren't exactly Malcolm's thing, but even he has a few nice childhood memories there and he knows that she loves the place. After all, it was her mom who gave him with the idea one of the times he was visiting and Cataleya had been out of the room grabbing something.

"We'd be there right now but the hours for most weekday evenings suck, so Saturday seemed better," he explains, eyes lowered as he looks into his coffee. "Gives you time to figure out what you want to do there, too."

"True! I'll have to look into if any of the ride have changed..."

While he's not had any really interesting conversation partners this evening, Bill was still feeling rather content as he worked for the moment.

But then the scent of new blood caught his nose. But there was also something familiar, like they had been here before, but he hadn't talked to them.

His suspicions were confirmed when his grey gaze met with Malcolm's, and a wide friendly smile fell onto his pale face.

"Hey there, buddy," Bill said, "Ah, you know what you want, wonderful. Saves me going 'Hey, what are are you having?' for the hundredth time today."

His tone was light-hearted, indicating that he was indeed just joking around. But with that, Bill retrieved a glass and the rum, pouring that drink in first, before moving to get the coke poured in top it.

"I'll take it as is." He reaches for the glass once the drink is handed over.

He smiles softly after taking his first sip. Still cold enough for him from the coca-cola. And a slice or lemon, or a splash of lemon juice, can be a nice addition, but he isn't really in the mood for that flavour right now.

The moment Malcolm addresses him again with exactly what he wants to hear, his head snaps up with all the alertness of a hound that's just heard it's favorite phrase.

"Alright..." Malcolm sets his coffee down and, closing his eyes, thinks about the roundabout conversation he had with his boss last night.

Thankfully, Robbie isn't that paranoid of a person and can be fairly nosy himself so he didn't think much about being asked questions. Clearly, his employee was just curious about a customer. Nothing suspicious here.

"It's a white guy. Late thirties. Brown, shortish hair. Blue eyes. Was dressed in a black tank top and green cargo shorts." Malcolm pauses for a moment. "I think he's Norwegian? Bit hard to place the accent."

Last Beer at Manitoba's - VincentGiarrano

American , b. 1960 -