chop chop

example: 

you come into the base’s mess hall and the man’s constructing some kind of architectural monstrosity out of erasers. why erasers? why now? you surely don’t know. clearly no one wants to interrupt him given there’s about five feet of empty space around him in every direction. isn’t there something else he should be doing? literally anything else? except you’ve heard about what he does and you shut down that thought real fast.

it’d almost be funny if he didn’t look like he’s trying to perform open heart surgery. you really don’t want that kind of focus turned on you right now.

but you got to give him this report! god help you if you don’t. so. you approach. there’s a horribly long pause as proton remains engrossed in building this whatever. should you cough? just a little cough because maybe he doesn’t know you’re there? pause continues. you don’t cough. proton finds the perfect spot for the eraser in his hand, and then looks directly at you. your mouth goes dryer than the desert in drought as all the liquid in your body starts sweating out from your armpits. it’s all you can do to stick your arm out and hand him the report, trembling in your clammy hand. 

slowly proton takes it. and then - 

“thanks.” and he’s focused again on the erasers, dismissing you without another thought. you scuttle away, flushed with adrenaline and impossibly confused. there’s so much you don’t understand, don’t want to know. 

❝ ….. ❞

Silence, quiet enough that even a single heartbeat can be heard. Nanu stayed in the same position inside the dimly lit jail cell, crimson red eyes piercing through the Team Rocket member. Despite the precarious situation, he is calm. Eerily so.  As much as he did not want to admit it, the captured man was right. It was a race against time.

❝ You’re right, I don’t. So I ask you this, what would you like for this information? ❞

Will he… or won’t he…

he absolutely will.

the other man’s so still he could as well be carved of soap. it makes proton want to lunge just to see him flinch. he waits, however, partly because he’s more curious if the officer will bite the baited hook, partly because he doesn’t think the lunge would even be enough. 

“what do i want?” proton makes a show of thinking, tapping the side of his cheek.  

@rcketbutcher liked for a starter!

Cyan stood outside of Proton’s office door, feeling his stomach twist into knots.They hadn’t really spoken since the incident. The wonderful, mouth watering,heart pounding incident-

Would they act like nothing happened? Would he shoo him out before he could speak? Would Proton ask for more?

“Sir.” he came in, head down but saluting all the same, a flush on his cheeks. “I, uh, I bought the documents you needed for the next mission.” and he held it in his hands, with only a slight shake.

proton barely even glances up as cyan enters the room, engrossed in whatever it is he’s doing, which on closer inspection appears to be folding an elaborate paper airplane from an internal memo. 

he smooths a crease in the plane and seamlessly flicks his hand to point at a stack of papers. “put ‘em there.”

something must catch his attention, however, because after a beat he looks up, directly at cyan. his expression is the same as it always is around cyan and the other grunts in general, which is what looks to be a mixture of indifference, vague irritation, and who are you again? 

this time, there’s an element of scrutiny as he scans cyan’s face, brows furrowed.

proton dreams for the first time in a long time.

moonlight on a glade, the grass silver as pale worms. the trees dark spikes of shadow. and something among the trees. a shape he can’t make out, larger than any creature he’s ever seen, its movements unlike anything he’s ever known. his eyes strain to bring it into focus, but it remains beyond his comprehension.   

the shadow trees shudder violently like wet paper ripping, and he realizes the creature is approaching the clearing with speed, the clearing that is now rippling in the moonlight. he looks to his feet and sees the grass is no longer grass but layers of white maggots writhing over each other. 

soon the creature will reach the edge of the glade and he’ll see it. the anticipation makes his blood vibrate so fiercely he could swear it speaks words right into his brain. it urges him to walk into the sea of maggots. he’d rather wait among the trees to spot the thing, but the urge is too powerful. 

he steps. and wakes up.

his blood is still buzzing, strong and harsh in a way that makes him want to put his fist through a window pane or someone’s face. makes him want to grip the sharp end of a blade until he can feel his heart beating in his hand. or maybe someone else’s. it’s not a terrible sensation. 

Oh, they do not like his tone. “How charming.” Couldn’t Giovanni of sent someone more pleasant? It’s a shame, really, that his pretty face is ruined by his horrible attitude. “This way.” Val turns and walks toward the manor’s doors. The guards open the doors for them and Anastasia skitters inside. The hallways are vast and the walls are even gilded. They remain quiet as they walk through the halls and up a flight of stairs. It’s much warmer inside, but it’ll be even warmer in their office, where a fire is currently roaring.

Once they arrive Val sits in their office chair. Two shot glasses are waiting along with a bottle of Rusov’s finest vodka. Without a word they pour two shots. “It is custom here to drink when making a deal.” Their voice is soft, thoughtful. “Unless you’re not up to it.” Val hopes that the man can hold his own. If not, this would be a boring exchange.

he ignores their distaste in favor of the manor. a cushy place for a weapons dealer. the expanse of it makes his palms itch, but he follows val in silence to their office. 

once inside, proton peels off his coat and hat and sits, stretching out his legs toward the fire. the slowbro settles its heavy bulk beside the chair and appears to fall asleep immediately. 

suitably warm, his earlier irritation has thawed as well; he seems at ease, as comfortable here as if it were his own, and there’s a glimmer in his eye that’s more than the reflection from the fire.

the challenge pulls a grin up the good half of his mouth. 

“you outta know those are some of my favorite words to hear.” 

he picks up the shot glass and hesitates. nothing in val’s demeanor suggests the vodka is anything more than vodka, but proton wouldn’t be sitting here if he took everything blindly.  

❝ Don’t play dumb. I’m well aware how your organization works. There is no way that the Pokemon in question were already shipped out. It’ll take too much resources to get them out so quickly.

So I ask again,

Where are they. ❞

a shrug. 

“guess you don’t know us quite so well as you thought, seeing as you’re still asking me so nice like.”

proton leans forward. there’s a glint to his eye that says he’s enjoying this. bagging and selling merchandise was never his speed, but this, this is.  

“now if you wanna twist my fingers like you mean it, go ahead! but it’s just gonna be a waste of both our time. and me? i can cool my heels here as long as i like. we can have a real nice chat or whatever the fuck. you’re the one working against the clock, from what i can see. 

@rcketbutcher​

The stately manor stands imposing—a dark contrast against the thick, fluffy white snow that dusts the ground. They are sitting outside & waiting—waiting for a man that supposedly will strike up a partnership in Giovanni’s stead. Glacial blue gaze settles on the man as he arrives. Their eyes are the same color of their well tailored suit.

Their Glaceon, Anastasia is frolicking in the snow, but a snap of their fingers & the pokemon is by Val’s side in an instant. Val’s smile is slight—but it’s the most friendly they’ve looked in days. “And you must be Mister Proton.” Voice is soft and effeminate with only a trace of friendliness. “I am Val. It is nice to finally meet you in person.” They hold out their hand expectantly.

fucking gods but it’s cold. the tips of his fingers and toes have gone, as has most of his patience by the time they reach the place. 

his slowbro doesn’t seem to feel the chill, its round face placid and vacant as ever as its trundles up beside him and exhales a warm huff.

if val’s friendliness is as remote and glacial as the rest of their surroundings, proton’s annoyance radiates off him like a vapor, his mouth pinched into a frown underneath the peak of his hat.  

he eyes the offered hand with naked suspicion. brings that gaze up to scrutinize val’s face. after a moment, he takes the other’s hand in his own, tight, like he’s trying to feel out their bone structure. then he lets go. 

“we gotta quit meeting like this. s’practically a pattern.”

the pleased way he pulls the bowl toward him however is enough of an indication he doesn’t mean it, not really.

they’re in his hotel room this time, and the window overlooking the malie streets is blistered with rain. proton himself even looks a little drenched; his hair is dark with water and his damp clothes hang to dry near the room’s radiator, leaving him barefoot in his undershirt and sweatpants. the tops of his shoulders are capped with dark ink that disappears down the length of his back and out of sight.

it’s an unusual state of undress for him, but he is no more or less his usual self as he takes the chopsticks in hand and gathers up some noodles.

Whenever sleep eluded him, he would often sneak out and walk along the docks on his own - not even taking his Pokémon along. It was a good way to get some fresh air, do some self-introspection, and contemplate the sea. There was more to that last thing, however, as he was squinting toward the Whirl Islands with the hope to catch a glimpse of the one he owed his life to.

Eh. That was dumb. As if they would show themselves to him again.

Whatever inward musings he was losing himself in, Lorenz snapped back to reality as he realized he was not on his own. It was the spark of the match that alerted him before the stranger spoke.

“I’m a light sleeper.” He answered, crossing his arms behind his head and cracking his neck.  “Thought the pier would be deserted at this hour. You waiting for something?”

a light sleeper, sure.  

proton approaches to get a better look at the guy. bit on the short side but stocky, rough around the edges. and there’s something wrong with one of his eyes. 

“sure am. and you know the damnedest thing?”‌ proton tips his head to one side, and the moon illuminates a half twist to his mouth that could be a smirk or could just be the light. “i think you are too.”

“but you asked first! so i’ll tell you.”‌ one of proton’s hands waves out toward the mouth of the docks. “word is there’s a shipment of rare candies coming in on the next boat, along with some other valuable items worth a pretty penny.

“now i don’t know about you, but me, i could use the cash. you probably could to, you want my honest opinion. but who doesn’t? and what’s the harm, really.  

DOES YOUR MUSE, WHILE FIGHTING …