#fleurfell

Nevermind the fact that he accepted the invite on such short notice. Nevermind the fact that Shelly sighed and said they’d have to get him a complete business casual wardrobe for events such as these. Nevermind that he’s trying his damnedest to be at least proper. 

He half swallows, half inhales his coffee, and ends up having to set his mug down, raising a hand while the other covers his mouth as he cough. Oh shit. Ooooh shit that CAME STRAIGHT OUT OF LEFT FIELD. 

Help. He’s dying. He’s dying and Lysandre killed him without even knowing how or why. Oh God. Oh God he sees the ground open up and Hell getting ready to welcome him and—

“I’m alright, I’m alright, sorry about that—”

Ooooh boy. Here. Inhale. Exhale. Take another small sip of coffee, dab a corner of a napkin to soak up the tears that formed at the corner of his eyes, and thank all the Gods that exist that all eyeliner available in the Aqua base is water and smudge-proof.

“For someone who supposedly longs for ‘beauty’ in the world I’m surprised you can look at Fairy Types and not see the appeal of them. Pulling away from the psychopathic ramblings for a moment; they’re incredibly powerful and empathetic beings. They’re just dismissed and looked down upon as ‘girly’ and ‘feminine’.”

 @fleurfell​ said: “ What are you staring at ? ”

QUESTION SENTENCE STARTERS. | accepting

Immediately, Serena found herself shaking in place like a leaf. From fear, from anger, from a multitude of emotions, thoughts, and memories swirling in her mind. How-- How was he here? She had seen it herself, the entirety of the Ultimate Weapon, crashing down into the depths of the headquarters in a terrible noise. Hands gripped the fabric of her clothing tightly, not wanting to dig her nails into her own skin. The phantom feeling of a hand wrapping around her throat made it hard to breathe, much less speak.

This had to be a cruel trick of the mind. It was just a hallucination, it had to be. Serena simply couldn’t accept nor believe this was reality. Please, dear god, let this be some sort of fucked up joke.

“Y-You-” Serena squeaked out. Oh, what had happened to her? She used to so brave, but now she was crumpling and falling apart. She felt her shame crawling up her back.

   “Right, so, Hotel Richiemissie...” The lad repeated, unaware that he’d mispronounced the name. Frowning to himself as he was anxiously looking over his map. It was made of paper, rather than his gear... None of it worked outside of Johto. “A-And North Boulevard?” Ethan didn’t seem at all confident about finding his way around... It didn’t help that one of his arms were busy holding his Pichu close to his chest... The little mouse pokemon was curled up and had his face buried into Ethan’s vest. Clearly the loud and bright city had made Juvon quite nervous.

   “I... should be okay.” The lack of confidence in Ethan’s answer was quite obvious, “It should be easy to get there... right?” He almost wanted to ask for a guide, but hesitated at bothering a stranger like this one even more. “Thanks a lot for the directions, anyways. The last two people I asked kinda ignored and pushed me.” He tried but failed to hold back the annoyance in his tone.

The ungrateful word happened to be prompted by a slip of the tongue from the silver heir, although it wasn't like he was going to quickly recoil from it ever happening. Shutting his eyes, face turned with an obvious disagreeing frown on his face, Steven merely responded with a soft 'huff' that escaped from his nose.

“I experience plenty in my own work place. I don’t think it’s wise to compare, since obviously what’s easy for me is too hard for you, or what’s easy for you is too hard for me.” Words still sharp off the tongue, Steven sighed and took a glance at Lysandre. It’s unprofessional and embarrassing, to act like this in front of one of the most successful men that ran Lysandre Labs himself. 

“It doesn’t.” The answer is simple, exhaled in a coil of cigarette smoke to twist and evaporate with the most barren hint of regard to the Kalosean fidgeting before him. His ankles are crossed, and he doesn’t blink, merely lifting an eyebrow the smallest fraction.

“You waste too much time with why. Why doesn’t matter. Who doesn’t matter.” While he pulls another drag into scarred lungs, he watched, carefully, for any indication of acknowledgment, rejection or otherwise. 

          To think, he too, had been so naive once.

"Hello, Mr. Lysandre. Do you recognize me from your world?"

Serena spoke quietly in case Flare matters were discussed, and stayed alert to pick up on any coded language or euphemisms for Flare activity this Lysandre would use.