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⊰  mechafights  ⊱

     ⊰❄ —⊱       It was not usual for them to meet. Even in those two years, they had only seen each other very sporadically, be it to train (they had indeed trained together a couple of times in December, when the Champion was busy with the Indigo League, but it had resulted in the obvious; rather tense, more than anything, for both of them. The reasons were obvious after all, so they decided to only train together when Lance was actually around) or to share some important information any of them could have found (which, sadly, wasn’t as often as they both would want. News of Team Rocket couldn’t be catch with a special kind of Pokéball, even the rarest and most difficult one to obtain of those would make it easier if they could).

      This had reduced their meetings face to face without a third person as very scarce, even if Silver saw Pryce as an ally since their new meeting in the Sinjoh Ruins. And that was probably for best, as Pryce’s presence, even if not a revival of a childhood trauma, wasn’t what one would call pleasant.

      So, after all, it hadn’t changed that much; they still had that kind of relationship where they were in the same side for interest, but this time, no one was a tool. No one was used just to satisfy the other’s plans. It was all willingly, as it should have been from the start. Tense and awkward when they were to meet, but not a burden.

               That really helped.

      But as much as he wished to have something to tell Silver about Team Rocket, about his father, this time their reason to meet wasn’t Giovanni. There was someone else, in fact, who worried him more than Team Rocket, more than anything. A sole person.

      Everyone should be worried about her, yet very few people knew about that woman. Not even Lance, if he recalled correctly. That was why he wanted to talk to Silver first. He had seen her many times from the Tunel, and he was sure of something:

               She was more dangerous than a whole Team.

      “Silver. Thanks for coming. Where do you wanted us to go?” The veteran greeted the younger one with a kind smile when the boy was next to him. Silver would have, by all chances, arrived before him if it wasn’t because they had met in Mahogany before going somewhere else (Silver’s choice, though the boy hadn’t revealed where), right in the beginning of the path that lead to the Lake of Rage. Even if he wasn’t the leader anymore, Pryce hadn’t stopped visiting the Ice Path almost every day if he could go there at some point.

           Regardless, Silver determinedly presses onwards through steps so thick in their rigidity they bare slight semblance to the stereotypical arrangement of qualities imbued within most robots, and harshly grits their teeth, absolutely refusing to allow how they feel to interfere with a rather important exchange of information about to go underway--large-scale threats are of far greater importance than the mewlings of their feelings towards another individual.  Quickly but, surely does the telltale figure of Pryce materialize before them in all its rickety and hunched glory--perpetually bound to a wheelchair in a way that almost inspires rarely drawn pity from the dully monochromatic depths of their heart, only to come up short as it’s stapled back down by the immense weight of their shared history--the forced tip-tap of thick soles across the firm earth skidding to a stop only once they’re at a distance they’re one hundred percent certain a conversation can easily be carried without resorting to shouting.  Pale lips merely press into a firm line--one whose blandness itself sparkles secrets, yet is unwilling to share them;  ultimately unwilling to betray anything whether it be the noxious concoction of flattened memories and their emotional points dangerously stirring within their being or the flash of sliiiight discomfort that comes with once more bearing witness to expressions that stray so far from the only ones Silver has ever grown familiar with plastered to the face of someone they can safely say to be on speaking terms with at the very least, but dislike all the same nonetheless--in return as some vague acknowledgement of the other’s presence that covers nothing more than the bare minimum as far as common courtesy goes. 

            Fingers can’t help but, knot together ever-so-tightly though as partial attention is briefly directed towards the given inquiry.  A sharp click of the tongue and a brief adjustment of their footing and the answer does not dare hesitate any longer before entering their mind and creating a means (one as quick as is possible) of arriving at the desired destination.  Still though, Silver doesn’t reveal it quite yet instead allowing a quiet ‘mhm’ to push past their larynx and out parted lips before pivoting on the tip of their heal and delicately bending pale digits in a motion that expects another to follow suit in whatever action they take or direction their owner intends on gradually proceeding towards.  ]