Sour Spirits.

Coco is grinning, wide and obnoxiously pleased by the idea.  Fester, not so much, if the odd hissing sounds coming from him are to be believed.  But seriously, no one asked him so his opinion is invalid.  They’ll talk when he stops accidentally cutting Coco up when he gets too excited.  Or angry.  Or hungry.

“I’ll just get him a muzzle-  Or not, that might smack a bit too close to weird bondage shit considerin’ he’s kinda, humany shaped?”  He gets a shriek for his troubles and mad scuttling as the dual type clambers down his leg to tear around in the grass, snapping at leaves in the wind. “I know I complain about him, but he’s actually not that bad.  He’s just a little bit like a hyperactive three year old that some dickhead gave sugar too and then gave the hellspawn back to you once it was vibrating with energy…”  You’re not selling him Coco.  An odd choking sound as Fester catches one of the leaves he was chasing and inhales it. 

The witch just sighs, head falling into his hands.

Oh, that hissing. Morgan still does not care for it. The stupid, argumentative, stupid a second time for emphasis part of his brain wants him to hiss right back at the little thing as a show of like, dominance or something. He thankfully decides against it.

“I think if someone’s looking at one of these in a muzzle and their mind immediately goes to bondage, that’s their problem.” There’s probably a specific therapy for that. If there isn’t there should be. “But they seem like the kind of thing that’d manage to get one off since they do have hand-hands, and then he might just... eat the muzzle.”

Down the little nightmare goes. Morgan and Hexblade both keep their eye(s) trained on him as he scampers and proceeds to take out his emotions on the innocent grass. Coco tries to downplay his nightmareish-ness, but Morgan remains unconvinced.

“So like a buzzed toddler, but also he could carve lump out of you if he’s not careful with his sharp shit. Huh.” Noooooot appealing. Though Fester’s leaf-related shenanigans gets a grin from Morgan that he can’t hide. “...Okay, can see some of the baby brain peeking through there.”

+oh shIT I didn’t know that was a thing i wanted until you said it but now i need it to live. gimme welsh gymleaders though, cockney villain team

grunts are now legally only allowed to talk in cockney rhyming slang and no one ever has a clue what they’re on about

+ okay okay but rumours that it’s brit based and i’m over here dying about sword and shield cause luc, luc Arthurian legend!!!

that would be Rad and I hadn’t even thought of it bc my priorities are just bad honestly

I’ve been more hoping for any kind of confirmation that they’re phonetically typing accents across the region that’s all I want

I love it already 120% perfect

Well, if Morgan wasn’t worried about it, then neither was Coco.  He didn’t want to be that guy.  If he said it was fine, then it probably (hopefully, maybe, not really) was.    

His attention flickers to the sword, lingers on it when it’s juggled, still clung to the thing wrist it could be using to drain life from.  He forces himself to look away, to make himself look at Morgan.  Not a hardship, really, to look at the guy, but it was still enough to make him antsy with the sword so close.  

“Worst is that he’ll eat through them an’ then come back for revenge.  Fest takes spite to levels even I’m proud of an’ I’m the kinda guy that’d cut his own damn arm off if it meant I got a free pass to slap people who pissed me off.”  Coco says as Fester stands on his shoulder and wiggles his fingers, sharp claws being shown off.

Hexblade is good. A friend, as Morgan would consider them, which is a title very few get from him. Even if they're slowly killing him, it‘s fine! He doesn’t mind that too much.

“Yeesh.”

The thought of revenge from this little hellbeast is enough to even earn shivers from him. Ending up on the business end of Fester’s claws wouldn’t end well. Just messily.

“What if you got him those like, nail caps. The pet-friendly ones you see rich ladies put on their Skitty and Meowth and shit.” His mum used to put them on her Purrloin. “They’re like bright pink and soft plastic and you’ll get all the girls going ‘ooh, how cute, can I pet your little Satan mite?’ and then he’ll bite their hands because they don’t make them for teeth yet.”

Benji has never claimed to be a good trainer.  Sure, he knows what type is weak against what and he has some basic grasp of battling, but mostly he just falls back on it when it’s been a rough month for commissions.  A way to make ends meet rather than an attempt to actually go pro.  He’ll leave that to the people that can actually make their pokemon listen to them for more than three seconds when they’re told not to eat paint… If she’s judging him, and he’s not entirely sure, because it’s all delivered in the exact same tone she’s been using the whole time, then she’s well within her rights to do so. 

“Let’s just say I’m not planning on making a career out of showing them off anywhere that requires good behaviour.”  He says around a smile, a slightly awkward curl to it.

Ran.... also has no claim to being a good trainer, to be perfectly honest. Her and her one Pokémon that’s more a life companion than a teammate. She can’t control a thing that Mireille does, but that’s just fine.

“Quite fair. ...Life would be rather dull if all acted as they were ‘supposed’ to, anyway.”

Doesn’t she find life dull anyway? Is it a change of tune? Or just a continuing stream of thought, ideas slightly changing as she thinks on it harder? It’s still difficult to tell because, you guessed it, her tone hasn’t shifted in the slightest.

“...Could earn money off of her doing interpretive paintings of her fellow Pokémon instead.” A gesture to Mona. That’s what Smeargle do, right? Or do they just paint to mark her territory? Who knows? Ran doesn’t. “...Or something. You could pay her in chocolate.”

“Bravo!”  Benji offers a round of applause at the little show, Mona joining in after shoving the chocolate into her mouth.  There’s a distinct lack of chewing, it’s kind of painful looking.

“Oh, he’s a Fire-type, but he’s also a dick, and that part wins out far more often than his aversion to water.”  A huff of laughter from the artist and a shrug.  “The others try their best to keep him in line, but one of them is a Grass-type, and the other just doesn’t care either way.  They’ve really only got themselves to blame when they don’t get let out around people.”

Ooh. Not... not gonna chew that, Mona? Alright. Ran’s slight wince is just that - slight, so hopefully doesn’t come across as blatantly rude to man or art dog. Mireille, meanwhile, is much too busy soaking in the praise to pay attention to anyone else’s unsightly eating habits. She’s gotten attention, so now she chimes melodically in her victory, hoping to keep those eyes on her.

“I see. ...What an odd thing.” A (dual) Dark-type not even deterred by the things it should fear... Ran’s immediately marking this particular Houndoom down on her list of ‘things I don’t want to come face-to-face with ever.’ “I stand by my previous statement, then. Sounds chaotic, especially if even teammates can’t help keep him in line.”