#rhq open

The base had been quiet for a while, all things considered. Archer was used to hallways filled with loud, rambling, obnoxious grunts, Proton’s shenanigans, the parties in the break room. All the years spent subjected to that level of energy rendered it all a comforting whiter noise, sounds Archer grew to expect and assimilate as part of his norm. Quiet days became simply uncomfortable; he’d have thought the lack of noise would have put him more on-edge. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have dismissed the sounds he did hear so easily.

Assassination attempts on high-ranking members such as himself were rare, but they weren’t unheard of; in fact, Archer could recall a small handful of attempts on his life from jealous, desperate subordinates, though none of those had left more than a scratch upon him. This time… Archer was decidedly less lucky.

He never saw their face—they were cowards. They attacked him from behind. But they were smart, because they bothered to requisition a firearm with a silencer, and Archer knew no one would have heard the attack. He, himself, had thought he imagined the sound in the split second before he felt the piercing pain in his shoulder, then again in his back. They were a terrible shot; yet, still, down he went, stars exploding in front of his eyes, and away they ran. For a good long moment, all Archer was aware of was pain, and he clutched at his shoulder as he tried to press past it, tried to get himself up and find help.

Aaaaaaaand, that was when the wheezing started, the coughing, the general pressure in his lungs. Not now, oh Lugia, now now, the executive found himself thinking. Desperately, he scrabbled for his inhaler, but simply ended up slipping and falling back, hard, on his shoulder, resulting in a pained whimper. Still, he managed to grab it, took a shot—it didn’t help. The more he struggled, the more it felt like he just couldn’t keep any air in. Oh, Lugia, this wasn’t good.

With a half-mangled groan, Archer let his head flop back onto the linoleum, cursing violently under his breath as he tried to keep himself calm. Someone would find him. Someone was bound to be around. Anyone. A few depths breaths reminded him quickly that he really ought not to be moving, but once again he attempted to push himself up along the wall, managing just to get himself sitting; that would have to do, for now. 

Lugia's soul, he was tired. He was so so so tired. He'd tried to go into the infirmary, but there wasn't anything wrong with him and he wasn't there to visit anyone or make any deliveries, and so they sent him outside and told him not to come back in unless he had business, there. With nothing else to do, Alexander had sat himself on the floor, back to the wall, chin resting on knees drawn up to his chest and arms linked loosely around his shins.

He'd been there for the better part of several hours, now, with lunch long since passed and still, what-- or rather, who-- he was waiting for nowhere to be found. He'd figured Lambda would have had to come out sometime, and when he did come out, Alex was going to make Lambda face him. In the meantime, he would simply sit there like an obstinate child and stare blankly at the wall across from him.

The worst part was always the waiting, and he was starting to doze off every now and then. This wouldn't do. He needed something to keep himself occupied. Occupied, and awake. There-- yes, someone was walking by. They would do. Conversation would work.

He needed more apricorns.

While the mountain the base sat upon was covered in trees that bore the fruit in all of its varieties, Archer could admit that searching for them at the start of winter was not exactly the best idea he ever had. He didn't mind the cold, of course; the cold never bothered him, especially not with Coyote at his side to keep him company. The fact of the matter was, however, that most apricorns he found were old and rotten, chewed through by caterpie, weedle, or rattata, and laying on the cold, hard ground. There were absolutely none to be found on any of the trees, which was what Archer needed, and he wasn't about to stop until he found something.

It was when his houndoom started barking that the executive couldn't help but give a long, suffering sigh. Wonderful, just what he needed: a distraction. He could only hope it was an underling, and not one of his peers; he wasn't ready to start openly discussing his new project with any of the other three, yet, not until he got back into the groove of things.

The relationship was improving. That much could be seen. Sneasel listened to commands and did what Iris said. However, it seemed like something was off. Every attack seemed to not be at full force. Every command took a second longer to be obeyed than it should.

It probably wasn't the lack of evolution, or at least she hoped. After all, she wouldn't know where to get a Razor Claw to evolve her. No, the issue seemed to be that hatred had gone to intense apathy and no further. No matter what Iris did, Sneasel refused to forgive her for her original treatment.

Which is why the two of them were sitting on rocks and staring at each other. Both were exhausted, partly from training, but mostly from dealing with each other. Sneasel had her arms crossed, with a smug expression, while Iris just blinked and focused her attention on the Pokemon.

"I don't get it." The trainer wasn't even sure who she was speaking to. "I've been working and working and trying to fix things, but you still disobey me. You still ignore me. You still hate me."

There was a problem with joining a big giant group of cool kids: if everyone was cool, how did that leave room for you to stand out? 

Venus had hoped for a while now that her position in the fungeon would help her out with the whole standing out thing. After all, most of the grunts seemed to be at least a little nervous about her fungeon-title grunt buddies. But for some reason, no one really blinked twice when she walked through the hallways.

It wasn't the pink hair, was it? Like, Venus knew that it was common and all, but she was pretty sure her face was different!

Oh, well. She had a plan to get herself back onto the grid, where she belonged. It involved her minimal set of fungeon keys (which mostly just got her in and out of the front door and the infirmary, shhhh), some cigarettes she didn't actually like to smoke, and some carefully-placed blood on the brim of her hat and cheek. Damn, she was gonna scare someone today.

When she walked down the halls, Venus had one word on her mind: swagger. She let the cigarette hang out of her mouth, took big steps, and swung her arms with deliberateness, displaying that she totally knew where she was going and that said place was important. Neither of which were true.

Problem was... these halls were really empty looking. She couldn't very well show off how much cooler she was than everyone if there was no everyone to show off to. Venus furrowed her brow and rounded a corner, hoping to spot someone along the way, and hey! What good luck! There was some poor sucker now!

It was very rare for Diane to venture out of the base after dark. She had developed a deeply ingrained paranoia about unseen dangers — and dangers were always hidden best after nightfall. Couple that with the vitally important fact that she was living in a base populated in part by known murderers (even if they were surprisingly pleasant Executives), and it was almost impossible to get her outside once the sun went down, even with the promise of company.

But there is an exception to most every rule, which was the only logical way to explain why Diane was outside well after moonrise, walking along the shoreline of one of the small lakes just a hike away from the HQ. A Clefable with dark burn scars around his eyes kept easy pace, hand in hand with the Scientist as they strolled along the water’s edge.

Diane paused, looking out over the moonlit water. The Pokemon joined her, stiff wings fluttering slightly as he looked between the lake and the Scientist. She gestured to the lake, giving him a curious glance. The fairy smiled in return and stepped forward, bouncing lightly out over the water.

But rather than landing with a splash, the Pokemon floated down, barely touching the water’s surface before he leaped again, leaving only a few fading ripples in his wake. For such a bulky, awkward-looking Pokemon, he moved with frankly shocking grace.

As the Clefable skipped across the water, Diane began to hum under her breath, keeping time with the Pokemon’s movements. He moved steadily, the rhythm of his jumps setting an easy time to follow. A waltz, or very nearly one. The Scientist smiled to herself as she followed along the water’s edge, a light bounce coming to her own step as she followed the fairy’s progress.

That is, until a rustle ahead caught her attention.

There were a lot of places in HQ that Mercede couldn't wait to see again. The breakroom suddenly looked very inviting, and her room... how she had actually missed that little shithole. The old woman zoomed back, excited as hell this time to be coming through the gates.

She landed soundly on her feet while she was indoors, setting her Ninetales down beside her. Whatever had come to pass over the last couple days had changed her, but only as much as she had allowed it to. She would work on reducing her Legendary hoarding problem, and maybe give this whole symbiosis thing a try- and not just with Mew.

Caring for and protecting one another. That was some deep shit she would have to think about later. But for now, her needs were far less existential. What she needed now was some hot soup, a sandwich, and some good, old fashioned human company.

Diane had a feeling the poor people running the supply requisition offices were never going to get used to just how strange some of her requests could be.  The blocks and rings for Carina's early obstacle courses, the punching bag for her later strength testing, and now...a set of tuning forks.

She'd actually been surprised to find that they had them.  Part of her was convinced she would need to find a specialty shop somewhere and buy them, and then she would probably manage to find only the musical ones...but they had been there, tucked away in a dusty corner, locked in a box and folded in velvet: from the ones used to tune instruments all the way through those used in hearing tests.  It had been exactly what she needed.

The array she had set up was quite simple, really.  Assuming resonance between keystone and mega stone was the force behind mega evolution, the mega stone must have an individual resonant frequency.  What better way to test it than with these?

The Scientist had set up the Blastoisinite Calem loaned her on a secure pedestal equipped with sensors to detect any vibration in the stone.  Taking the first tuning fork -- the one with the highest pitch -- in hand, she struck the tines firmly against her wrist and pressed the handle against the sturdy wooden box that had once held them, leaving the vibrating tines hanging just above the mega stone.

She glanced at the computer screen.  Though the actual pitch of the tuning fork was outside her hearing range, the computer could clearly detect the vibrations...but they were residual, at best.