#oleasters

@oleasters​ sent:

"May I... call you by your first name?" (🙊for Rose)

“Of course,” Rose replies, without skipping a beat. “I’ve been calling you by your first name for ages now, haven’t I? It’d be only fair.”

"That is a sentiment you share with my Garbodor... Which ought to cause you some concern."

“What’s so bad about recycling?” Seems someone is missing the point. 

          QUESTION STARTERS. // @oleasters​

“ BECAUSE THIS PLACE IS HUGE !! ”

Standing in front of Wyndon Stadium, Willow was taking in just how impressive the place was, even only from the exterior. Sparkling in roses and reds and blinding lights showering atop a venue exposed to the sky, this was the place were legends were made.

“ And it’s sooo pretty ! I bet it’s even more impressive inside !  ねえ、ミス !! ”

"Bah humbug."

        It’d be easy to chalk it all up to just chance if she asks, but the truth is that he did follow her the moment he noticed her step away. Leon was never the best at reading the moods of other people, especially not someone like Oleana, but the way she had carried herself... felt familiar. The little subtleties in how she carried herself, her expression that seemed tighter than usual.

        He had been worried, naturally.

        What he doesn’t expect is this: Oleana sitting in the middle of the floor in a dusty old storage room, curled in on herself, hands in her hair. All alone in the dark, until the light from the corridor cuts across her. She jolts, and then freezes.

        Leon opens his mouth, trying to search for something to say, but failing, so he clamps his mouth shut and instead takes a single purposeful step inside. He doesn’t turn the light on just yet even when he closes the door behind him, shrouding them in darkness, but the dim sliver of light from beneath the door is enough to guide him to her side.

        He keeps a generous amount of space between them when he drops down to his knees. He’s silent for a few moments longer, and then, “You’re allowed to tell me when you’re feeling unwell.”

        What he wants to do is reach out to place a comforting hand on her back, but he worries it’ll end in him with a broken arm.

        After all, he had heard from his brother how... volatile she seemed.

        Working his jaw, he curls his hands on top of his legs.

In the dark of the cavern, the light cast from Oleana’s headlamp is nearly blinding.

“Ah... My apologies.” She makes a belated but quick adjustment, tuning the light down to a gentler glow. “No, but I thought perhaps you might be in need of assistance.”

The Galar Mine isn’t exactly a popular travel destination, after all, generally a thoroughfare only for the miners, wild Pokémon, and trainers seeking an off-the-beaten-path way to the next town. Oleana finds herself doubting that this woman is a Gym Challenger.

It’s official. After years of taming dragons, swimming around roiling whirlpools, and scaling windblown mountains, Clair has seriously injured herself...after tripping over an innocent, unseen rock.

Having taken precious time off to explore Galar, the Blackthorn Gym Leader was originally unimpressed by the region’s rolling hills and rustic cities--until she wandered into the Galar Mine. The sprawling cavern, marked with crystals and signs of industry, thrummed with an energy somewhat comparable to the Dragon’s Den. It didn’t take long for an entranced Clair to get lost while exploring the hollowed-out tunnels, and it predictably didn’t take long for catastrophe to strike...in the form of a rail-grinding Carkol. In her attempt to dodge out of the Pokemon’s way, Clair felt her ankle catch something and twist awkwardly before she crashed to the earthy ground. Now, here she is--upright, her hands scraped up and her knees bloodied--with some stranger shining a headlamp directly into her face. The turned-around dragon tamer could definitely use some help-

“I don’t need any help...I’m fine,” Clair mutters through clenched teeth as she braces herself against the cavern wall, tottering forward a few steps before white-hot pain knifes through her foot once again. Biting back a groan, the prideful dragon tamer pauses to let out a shaky sigh of surrender, hating everything in this moment. She must look absolutely pathetic. Clair turns back towards Oleana, arching an eyebrow and squinting at the other woman’s unusually proper clothing. She sets her jaw in resignation, shifting to take the weight off her injured ankle.