#zavander

The Grovyle sat before his Pastle and Mortar, grinding away at some berries, back turned to the fire type. "Alright cool, you can just throw it on my desk."

"It doesn't say who it's from though... It just has this black seal on it that looks like an orchid."

“Zavander, we’re here to gather supplies, not provoke people.” Jelrin commented, standing behind the Grovyle, glancing about the room. The peculiar rock spire, spiraling up towards the ceiling was just the larger of several formations in the room.

“Lighten up, what’s the worse that could happen? This isn’t like Shiftstone pass, where everyone was just thugs squatting on the higher floors.”

Jelrin simply sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, just don’t poke an eye out or something.”

“Oh come on, how exactly would that happe-” Zavander began, before he was interrupted by a swift, slap to his left eye with the spoon. The Barboach could put some considerable force behind the swing, for having such a small body, sending the Grass type tumbling backwards twice over as he slapped a hand over his eye. “Oh my god! Oh god, that’s gonna bruise!” he groaned, rolling about in pain

"How the hell can you do that so easily?" Zavander asked curiously, watching as the Quilava stood up straight, then leaned back to form a bridge.

"Do what?" Jelrin asked, straining slightly as he told the bridge pose for several seconds, before rolling off to the side.

"You're really damn limber. You could curl up into a ball if you wanted."

"I can, actually."

Jelrin sat himself down, tucking in his legs and wrapping his arms around them, then tucked his head in as he curled into a ball of dark blue fur. The Grovyle smirked with amusement, advancing on the curled up Quilava and rolling him about with his foot.

"Haha, holy crap! It's like you're a Sandshrew or something! That's amazing."

Jelrin allowed himself to be rolled about for roughly a second before he uncurled onto his stomach. He stood up and calmly dusted himself off, fixing his fur afterwards.

"Well, my Mother's father was a Sandshrew, and my father's father was a furret."

"So your family is just a bunch of noodlemon?"

"I’m not weapons master. But I’m good with most bladed weapons. Polearms, Lance (Those are heavy as fuck though. Don’t like them.) Glaive." The Grovyle began, perched atop his workstation. "But I shine really well with swords. I love swords, just the right weight for me. Well, swords like Ninjato are my go to when it comes to dicing things."

"Unorthodox, eccentric, sleazy... That's Zavander alright, one of the most important Pokemon in my life. How I ever became friends with him- I'll never know. But I don't regret it for a minute. 

-Jelrin, on his relationship with Zavander.

Zavander only laughed, sitting on his makeshift throne, a maniacal and twisted smile stretching across his face. "I'm sorry, Bradley. But you killed me months ago. I just thought I'd come back from the dead and pay you a visit, is all." He replied nonchalantly, resting his head against his fist.

"Months ago, huh? Ah! I get it now, you're talking about your Typhlosion friend. That's too bad." Bradley laughed, attempting to lift his heavy body with his remaining arm. "So what's a little blood on my hands? He added. "That probably isn't anything compared to how you've slaughtered my family."

The Sceptile's smile took a wicked turn, his eyes wide open as he sat up and leaned forward. "I have the blood of several on my hands. But. Blood from your family? From these... pile of rocks, no. You see, I would have their blood on my hands, but Rocks types don't bleed, Bradley."

The Quilava scratched the back of his neck, glancing over at the piece of wood for a moment. "I'm not really sure... Probably smack someone over the head with it, I guess?"

"And what? Get splinters?" Zavander joked.