#gentletide

The mystery-person isn't here just yet, some complications apparently, and is apologising to the grunt's old high-school acquaintance / comrade. She chats a little bit for a while, drinking some of the lum-berry flavoured coffee whenever she has nothing to say. And she finishes it quite fast when she forgets that she doesn't talk much anyway. Her friend is good enough to do the talking. Everyone who knows (/of) Venice knows that she isn't a good socialiser.

They reminisce about their stupid antics in high school, remembering even the silliest details — which naturally brings a warm smile to Venice’s face with a few fits of chuckles. For a moment she completely forgets her reason for being here, but she’s soon reminded by the ringing and tingling of the bell that hangs above the café old-fashioned door. The person is a girl, with long blonde hair that hangs gracefully. “Ah! There she is!” exclaims Venice’s high school friend.

Based off of first glance — which Venice understands is bad, to judge others based off of first glance — the Magma grunt has a good feeling about her. The way she carries herself is gentle and almost like a dance, to which she can feel herself ease into with comfort. The stranger (to Venice, at least) makes her way to the two who look towards the door.

Needless to say when they finally did assemble at the given time and place, he was wholly underwhelmed. Not only did their personalities clash akin to water and oil, but he found the blonde far more troublesome than he could have ever imagined. You could imagine his unbridled enthusiasm when no sooner did they start moving did she press to take an unnecessary detour!

Tapping his foot irritably as she waited in line, Seymour wasted no second to let her know his opinion on the matter when she returned from the food stand with shaved ice in hand.

“Comeon, this ain’t a fieldtrip,”

There, in the crowds with a shock of blonde hair and a seemingly star struck expression was a girl who had felt right. Lisia manoeuvres the masses that parts simply around her intended target, her hands reaching to take the other's in a handshake. 

Prince charming was suited into a dashing 3 piece suit with the motif of his favorite shade of purple while his pants were kept at a mellow navy blue/black. Quickly whipped around, still snoring, he was pushed into a plush chair with his head snapping to the back and he choked on his spit a bit and the butler's worked on his overly polished shoes. The cushion he rested on was pulled under him and he was on his feet once again. Women charged at him, make up kids and hairsprays ready for the war that was his morning face and bed head. At the end of it all, Steven's canines with sparkling like the stars on a night in the country side and his face was brilliant like a perfectly cut diamond and his hair was as tame and docile as his Metagross (which meant, really really well kept). Somewhat finally awake, a pale hand raised to a dull golden optic to rub the sleepiness awake when it was slapped away by his make up artist, the threats of "you might smudge my art work!" filling the room. Shrugging, Steven was escorted into a room in his Father's home, where the elderly Stone held meetings and such was now turned into an audition room with a long, white cloth adorned table that faced the stage, on top of it, breakfast for the awoken prince.

His mouth watered. Slipping into the seat in the middle, he opened his mouth to pop in a piece of scrambled egg passed his lips. "So what's this all about?" He mumbled, mouth filled with egg. A smack to the back of his head was the reprimand he got for his bad manners. "Ow."

The large den was brightly lit, the floor to ceiling arched windows had the rich maroon blinds pulled to the side allowing the sharp morning rays to seep through the crisp glass diamonds, creating the illusion of dancing aurora on the white marble floors. Large pillars of cream held the ceiling from the ground, towering even the tallest in Steven's team. Renaissance art lined the thick walls of pure alabaster plaster along with carefully painted works of his past Mother, whom he still kept cradled lovingly in his heart. Maids lined the large oak doors and butlers accompanied them in their silent vigil of watching over their young master.

Crossing a thinly, yet muscled leg over the other, Steven eyed the gourmet assembly in front of him. Never would he ever shout to the heavens that he did not miss the food of his Father's chef. He automatically recognized the soft and gentle morning foods of a light and airy soup along with the assortment of fruits organized in a way of a well choreographed dance. The smoked ham and eggs that were suited with the easy to swallow Pecha berry juice and the frothy cup of Moo-Moo Milk to warm the stomach.

A man of considerable height handed Steven a manila folder, inside were the contents over maybe over 100+ profiles of different people with different backgrounds. Still not being able to piece it together, a thin light blue eyebrow lifted in curiosity. The butler pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his swallow tail coat and tucked it into Steven's cravat, spreading the cloth so the male's suit wouldn't be spoiled.

"Candidates, sir."

"For?

"Protection, sir."

"Why?"

"The increase of threats towards the Stone family and the declining of your Father's health, sir."

"Ah."

The problem was exacerbated by her inability to tolerate any of her teammates.  The vast majority of them were either crazed environmentalists bent on remaking the world out of some ridiculous belief that more water was necessary for the survival of Pokémon (Zinnia personally thought there was too much water already), or muscle-brained thugs looking only to fight people and beat them up.  She needed a partner that didn’t fit into either category, preferably.

Passing by one of the break rooms, Zinnia spotted a blonde-haired member of the team, idly toying with her Piplup.  She’d heard of this girl - Marin, she thought her name was.  Apparently, she was rapidly becoming Archie’s favorite recon member, as it kept her out of the base and away from battles, which she was reportedly horrible at.  She seemed much nicer than the other dinguses in this team - maybe she would be willing to go on another recon mission, with company this time.

Zinnia stepped into the room and stood over the girl for a moment, trying to make herself look as intimidating as possible.  It didn’t work very well in standard-issue Team Aqua clothes.

Loki slid his fingers up Clint's arms, tracing the veins with avid interest.

“I’m going to bleed you dry,” He crooned into Clint’s ear, watching as his captive shivered, skin already hypersensitive from the frost. He raised his head to level a tired but defiant glare, at which Loki smiled almost lovingly.

He dug blunt nails into Clint’s jaw, watching the ball of his adam’s apple bob and constrict. He slowly squeezed his fingers into the sides of the metal gag and into Clint’s mouth.

He breathed out a satisfied laugh when the archer struggled, clenching his jaw as if to bite but was unable to.

He started move and thrust the fingers inside Clint’s mouth. The archer gagged, blue eyes wet, tearing and narrowing in revulsion. Loki hummed in approval.

“I think I do prefer you in your muzzle.” Loki murmured into the nape of his neck and chuckled softly when he felt Clint’s skin break into gooseflesh.