🎶

Well, they couldn’t say Piers was never right about anything, since clearly he was correct here in assuming Leon didn’t smoke. Though he must have known that from some past knowledge anyway. Not that he could focus very long on being right, instead watching his cigarette fall to the ground, wasted. Great.

“They are terrible for you.” That was the point.

Oh Arceus, he was more drunk than he thought. Well. He set down his finished drink before the other could knock the glass out of his hand with that thunk to his chest, which makes him wince out of reflex. It had been a long time since he’d gotten rid of his... extra bits, but he was still wary.

Was Gabba lost in the Wild Area?

He thought he was trailing behind his trainer while they were keeping an eye out for Marnie, but instead, he got sidetracked by a berry tree. Boy has to eat. So now, the low key Toxtricity was looking about and trying to find his trainer everywhere, to no avail.

Trying to be supportive while also being incredibly awkward in a situation like this was HARD but the ex-champion showed no signs of distress, a smile plastered on his face. Yes, he was a master of many things, including hiding his emotions. Milo CAN’T KNOW how confused this is making him. Is he turned on? Jealous? He’s not sure! The support is genuine, though.

“Yeah, it all looks brilliant on you!” Leon says with a nod, standing up just in case Milo was about to fall. “The only heels I’ve ever tried were in boot form and they were nowhere near as tall as these. I’m impressed!” He can’t help it, he has to get a closer look, eyeing the corset and touching the side of it. “Is this really how small your waist is or is it an illusion...? It’s a bit like dynamaxing!” Leon laughs.

Completely and utterly oblivious to Leon’s mental tussle, Milo beamed. He was more than glad that he didn’t look too awkward in such an attire; he felt a bit like a lumbering giant. 

Especially the heels. The heels did not help. 

              piers sees and acknowledges your thirst. 

@yourchampion​

“I’ve been living on my own for the last, what, seven years? I don’t need to live with mum!”

Bob’s Your Uncle. While many foreigners - hell, even people simply outside of Circhester - thought the name both odd and hysterical, for Gordie, it was something warm and familiar. He’d often be found in their midst, ordering his usual: a big, fat slab of steak with a side of roast vegetables and Circhester pudding. Oh, and not to forget, of course, a glass tankard of beer.

Delicious.

Sometimes fans would linger here purely to snatch a photo and ask a question or two. Which pissed him off just a smidgen; he made those fan meetings for a reason. He deserved time for himself and himself alone.

Speaking of ‘me time’, he was there right now. His usual, slid in front of him, wafts of steam curling and arching skyward as though an incorporeal ballerina. The smell was simply extravagant. He was swift to prep his fork and steak knife, sawing into the thick cut of meat.

As he chowed down, he heard, faintly, over the cacophony of patrons: ‘Oh yeah, Gordie? He’s right over there.’ Gordie managed to stifle a groan and simply continued forking mouthfuls of steak and veg into his mouth. Maybe they’d get the hint. Maybe they just wanted to snap a picture from a couple of feet away. Maybe they’d just fuck off.

Then they sat next to him. Arceus, why. He canted his head sideways, cheeks bulging like a Skwovet’s, before he realised that it wasn’t just any old fan.

Leon.