vehemence

         : [ 🐟 ] : – The thing that caught his attention from inside was the sudden yelp from the bedroom. The second was the thud that shortly followed. Of course M halted what he did and went to go investigate what was happening. The voice sounded like it game from Proton, but it was so strained that M wasn’t sure.                Stepping around the corner to the bedroom, M’s body collided with the trembling one’s. He couldn’t get anything out as he was too shocked, but he was able to make out the other’s words. Outside. Can’t breathe.                 Helplessness. That was the word that popped into M’s mind as he wrapped a hand around the other’s waist. He pulled the other towards him, letting Proton use him as support. M moved backwards, towards the door that lead out to the balcony. 

                              “Shhhh. Breath. We’re going outside. Focus on me.”

                 M tried to move as quickly as possible, guiding his former superior towards the outside air. Eyes never leaving the other’s face, he needed him to breath. This was all going so fast…but was it fast enough for Proton.

                             “Breath in…out. Focus on me. In…out…we’re outside.”

Vision blurring black, he leaned heavily against M for support. The rasping of his lungs scorched his throat for air filled his ears, so that he could hear only the sound of M’s voice - but could not make out the words.

Outside, the sky was a tapestry of muted stars twinkling far above, apathetic, while bloated, billowy clouds rolled idly by on a sweet, southern wind. A dreary peace had settled over the city, masking the dangers which lurked in the night and standing in stark contrast to the storm which thundered on inside him.

Knees weak, his legs buckled the moment the crisp, city air tore through his nostrils. The force of it dragged him down, down till his knees kissed cement and cement kissed back - hard.

Finally, words broke past the ringing in his ears. Breathe in. Out. Focus. In. Out.

Trembling fingers clasped tight at his arms still, he drank deep of the night - so deep he nearly choked on it. In. Out. In. Out. In... out... in...

Bit by bit, the shadows ebbed, fanning further from the edges of his vision until the world returned to him again. Though he regained the ability to breathe again, to see, the anxiety inside him was not yet quelled; it rumbled like a hungering beast.

Shoulders slumped, exhausted, he craned his neck to look upwards at the man who’d dragged him from that waking nightmare. What were the appropriate words in times like these?

Thank you.

I’m sorry.

He laughed. And laughed. Laughed until he was dizzy, because he could find no words for what he felt, because he knew he was a broken thing, because he felt so helpless, so hurt, it was the only thing he could do.

💖 @venemence. 

                 Oh, dear lord. Now—this is embarrassing. She realized, perhaps a moment too late, that the man she had snuck up on to give a hug was not who she thought he was. No, this was definitely not Aaron. This was some… other man with greenish hair.

                                                   “ Shit. Dammit. Fuck. “ 

█ █ » ☆。 This one’s heart seems less a song & more a war cry. He is tangled. Twisted. A knot of hurt & hope, both ropes pulling against one another fighting for freedom. It is fraying him. Breaking him. But he hides it! Hides it like it’s a game! A game he is very good at. A game he has been playing for quite some time. A long time. Too long. She sees where the hate burns. Burns like brands on his back. He is hiding those too.

She waits patient on her perch, rump lifted high & tail swishing out behind her as she keenly eyes the cushion upon Protons head. What silly pelts these humans had she giggles! With a  final cry she lunges from the rafters, pale arms outstretched as she falls flat upon the admin’s hat, clinging to the plush with all her might.

❛ — Mew ! ❜

@venemence

Sleep had never come easily to him - lately, less so. The months since the boss’ defeat and disappearance in Kanto had gone by in a whirlwind, tearing down the world he’d come to know, and stripping away the things he’d come to care about. In the settling of the dust, the rebuilding had already begun, and Proton had suddenly found himself with a great deal more responsibility than he’d ever had in his life. It all weighed heavy on his shoulders, but he held his head high and kept walking - walking down the corridors of the Johto hideout, emptier still than it had ever been before.

It helped bring his thoughts together, clear away any unwanted emotions, and bring peace to him - usually.

Perhaps the young man wasn’t a mere grunt, but it didn’t change the haughtiness in Maxie’s eyes as they bored red into green, posing an unspoken taunt that contradicted the verbal muzzle he’d essentially just put on Executive. 

“Well, then let us hope you are as competent as you seem, I may make use of you yet.” It was doubtful, in truth, that Maxie would be interested in having much to do with Proton, far too untrusting of Rocket’s hierarchy and the obvious loyalty toward Sakaki, but this wasn’t about semantics. 

Here it was bit before you could become bitten, and he would just as soon put the Executive’s nose to the earth to remind him of his place than find himself with a knife at his neck in the middle of the night for revealing a shred of kindness. Maybe Proton would prove interesting enough to offer both. 

“You may consider yourself dismissed, for now. I’ve no time for socializing at the moment.” 

A slow, frustrated exhale slipped from his lips as he fought to contain his temper, undecided on whether he should take the comment as a compliment or an insult. Regardless, he wasn’t particularly happy with the idea of being of use to this man, nor having his competence evaluated by someone so infuriating.

If only he had the authority to dispose of the people he didn’t care for.

“Hold on a second. I didn’t come to socialize,” something he should have perhaps clarified from the beginning. “We have successfully recruited and trained more grunts, four of which will be at your disposal. I have their files on hand,” albeit with sections blotted out, “and I will be in touch in case you have any concerns. I’ll also be making periodic runs into town, so if there’s anything you need,”

Bashou felt a swell of relief as they left the room for somewhere a little brighter; it manifested as a sudden cold sweat upon the back of his neck. He swallowed hard and pulled at his collar uneasily, hoping that he wasn’t giving too much away. Even though he was clean, there was something painfully tempting about the idea of filling a sink with cold water and splashing his face repeatedly - but he resisted. That could wait until he was alone.

For now, he was trying to concentrate, his gratitude for Proton’s advice fighting against a desire to just…lie down in a dark room. Not one of these dark rooms. Somewhere else. Somewhere soft and quiet.

“So, a lot of it is just…playing on people’s fears? Knowing how to use the power of suggestion, or something like that…?”

Bashou knew that he was paraphrasing, but it made him feel better to reduce the whole nasty business to something simple. If that was the case, maybe he could do this job - if he had to. He’d have to learn a few things about reading people, but perhaps that would come with experience, and once he’d mastered that, maybe he would never find himself in here, washing his hands.

At that thought, his gaze became fixated on the unusual scars that decorated Proton’s fingers. How did he get those? For the next minute or so, his colleague’s words became a muddy sea of noise that washed over him.

…they glaze over, like they’re not really there anymore…

“I think I would do that. Glaze over, I mean. Just kind of…check out. I don’t know.”

Am I doing it right now?

He forced himself to come back into the room, glancing at his own reflection in the mirror to ground himself.

Oh. There was something else that he’d wanted to ask.

“If you know what you can take - not just you personally, I mean, anyone who works down here - then does that mean you’ve been…? Has it ever happened to you?” Recruitment through interrogation. That’s what he just said. Bashou’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Is that…how you ended up here? You don’t have to tell me, I just…wondered.”

“Something like that,” he waved his hand, as if to signify Bashou had understood the point well enough. “Exocet, my direct supervisor, almost never resorts to violence in his interrogations,” in his voice, there was an unspoken respect - of admiration - for his superior, “it can make things slower, though, if you have the kind of person who will break with a little bit of... encouragement.”

His eyes flicked back to Bashou, the blood washed from his fingers and wrung from his gloves, “It’s a good way to be, as long as you get someone who doesn’t get impatient with it,” his gaze fixed on him a bit longer, searching.

The line of work wasn’t for everyone. Bashou, at least as he was now, was not among the few cut out for it. That was fine. He preferred to show observers the violent confrontations, see how much they could stomach. At least Bashou wasn’t throwing up, and he didn’t look to be much paler than he’d been before.

“Hm?” More questions, and this time personal. Bashou, he realized, must have noticed the scarring of his hands.

“No.” It was a reasonable conclusion to come to, he supposed, and he might have given Bashou the wrong impression with one of his earlier statements. “My experience came from... something else. Most did, I think.”

[ @venemence ]

  “Good Morning, Proton.”

   Generally Tuesday did her best to turn off those pesky psychic reaches into another’s mind, but around the higher ranking officers it was pertinent. The higher you go, the less someone is okay with those secrets being on display. 

 “You seem a bit disgruntled today.”

“Morning,” despite his agreeable reply, he turned on her with an agitated scowl. Tuesday was her name, a psychic by trade and one of the higher ranked grunts still in the organization. He knew his irritation was probably palpable, but being called out by a known psychic was still unsettling.

soft footfalls trailed behind him like that of a forlorn toddler seeking cautious guidance. while proton seemed appalled by his very existence, he did not seem to care much for being alone if he continued to pursue his company. however, sakaki did not find himself minding it.

‘ is that such an unusual thing? ‘ rummaging through his cabinets, trying to recall what he had brought back to the hotel after his last grocery run, he took the time to send a glance back to proton. it seemed his hunger for revenge had been replaced by a hunger for something better, settled down at the table and staring expectantly. sakaki could almost forget this same man held a knife to his throat.

‘ i may be a man of wealth and power, but i still enjoy cooking for myself. ‘ opening the fridge, waiting for proton’s answer, proton’s utterance of onigiri, plain and without hesitation, brought him to snort. ‘ of all of the unovan delicacies you could try, you want onigiri? ‘ it was a lucky thing that he, too, was indulgent in foods that reminded him of home, and shutting the fridge, he went to find the rice in the cupboards.

‘ training. ‘ setting the canvas bag of white rice onto the countertop, he reached back to the sealed container of nori. ‘ working. reestablishing my roots. i have many connections here in unova, many who can help me with rocket. ‘ he felt his participation in the unova world tournament was better left unsaid.

“Yeah, kinda.,” in the mind of someone who had grown up with nothing, who had known Sakaki only in the role of a superior, it was odd to see him doing something so normal - so human. Now that he was thinking about it, he didn’t see anyone around: no staff, no cronies.

All was forgotten when he heard the man snort at his request.

“What’s wrong with onigiri? I’m tired of Unovan food,” or the only kind he had been able to get his hands on during his time in Unova: the inexpensive, greasy crap that left him feeling nauseous. Anything that reminded of home was welcome. “And it’s easy to make, so what’s the problem?”

A scowl remained etched upon his face until he realized Sakaki had already begun to gather the ingredients. Gradually, he began to relax again - as much as years of stress and inherent distrust would allow.

arching a brow at the mention of there being trouble, even with proton’s added reassurance, doubt crept up on him. upon their takeover of aether’s mansion and technology, he had been diligent in ensuring nothing slipped out of what had happened. who truly knew how much time they had, before word would get out of what has become of lusamine and her organization?

visitations to the islands was dangerous, albeit necessary, business, yet still did he loathe that proton must march out. for him to be recognized would be devastating to their plans.

‘ they are quite literally out of this world. their power could mean the impossible for us. ‘ no one would be capable of standing in their way. sakaki yamamoto would not be so easily squashed as he had been when the boy with the pikachu astride his shoulder stepped into his arena.

quick to clasp the papers offered to him, flipping through with eyes scanning each line for key words that may signal some valuable scrap of information that could aid in their quest, he gave a low, acknowledging hum. ‘ this was good of you. smart, ‘ he murmured, oblivious to the tea brought in his absorption, pausing on a page that mentioned the island tapu’s.

‘ there has to be something, you’re right. it was simple enough to conquer mewtwo, who is capable of rivaling the power of gods. certainly, intergalactic aliens cannot be a far cry from the gods of this world. ‘

“As in another dimension? Like the one we came from?” He wondered just how many universes there were out there, how many alternate realities. Quickly, he pushed the thought aside; he wasn’t the sort for philosophical bullshit, and it didn’t matter. “Does that mean they’re themselves capable of traveling between universes?”

No wonder Sakaki wanted to capture them so badly.

He waved his hand dismissively, though he wasn’t entirely confident Sakaki was paying him the attention to notice, absorbed in the papers as he was. Despite his dismissal, Proton felt a touch of pride in having provided something of potential use to the boss. “Those old folk love to chatter on about old legends and the like... maybe one of them said something valuable,” though he would have liked to have delivered something more tangible.

“If anyone can figure it out, it will be you, sir.” Times like these, Archer’s absence was felt. Proton did not consider himself a thinker; his mind would not produce any grand revelations, nor offer any footholds of insight to elevate Sakaki.

“Mewtwo couldn’t be caught or controlled like a normal Pokemon back then, huh? Wouldn’t have even come into existence without Team Rocket, but now...”

Before she could apologize, she panicked at her phone hitting cement, stooping down to grab it.

..huh?

With a hand on her phone, she quickly lifted her head to look at the man, squinting. “….You’re Mister Proton!” came her voice when she recognized the man. She hurried to stand, pocketing her phone, before giving him a quick bow of respect. “Yes– I’ve had a cafe cleared out for this meeting, actually. It’s just a few steps away; good thing we ran into each other this soon!” literally ran into each other.

The woman offered a smile and nodded her head in the direction of said place. It was better to get this over and done with ahead of time.

“The very one,” he found himself growing less concerned with his behaviour, and more concerned with how this girl, tiny as she was, could be any of significance. Clearly, his superiors thought so, however, and Archer’s word was law.

He would play polite - or as polite as he could - for as long as  necessary. He dipped his head to her in return, appearing more awkward than begrudging.

“I should have guessed you had arranged a place in advance.” And an entire cafe, to boot. Seemed a little excessive to him, but he had heard of higher ups making similar arrangements in the good ol’ days. “After you,” he offered, and fell into step behind her.

           ❝ Interrogation and intimidation               ?! ❞  She didn’t just squeak. She most certainly did not. Nope. But if she did, well, that’d be totally acceptable given the shock that had rocketed through her entire body at that revelation. Interrogation? Intimidation? Sure, okay—Misty knows her temper is a little bit legendary and she knows she can be scary at times, but that’s when it’s aimed at freaking children! This guy doesn’t look all that scary, not like Archer had anyway, but he looks a damn sight scarier than Misty herself does. She’s probably the least intimidating human being in all of Team Rocket right now. They could line all the members up in a row and anyone with eyes in their head could see Misty didn’t fit here.

           She works to gather her bearings, to clear her throat and train her expression back into the carefully sculpted blank mask she’s been wearing since she walked into this place. She struggles to force the surprise from her face, to swallow her discomfort; Misty rolls her neck and shifts her stance, legs apart and her arms held stubbornly to her sides. Working her jaw after a moment of silence, Misty raises her head, the stubborn flare of the Waterflowers swelling in her chest. She can do this.

            ❝ Ah, no               no, sir, I mean. ❞  Misty fights to ignore the cold sweat that’s dripping down her back, fights the way her hands twitch with the need to curl into fists, and she clears her throat once again to try and control the pitch of her voice. Oh, geez… you can do this, Waterflower! Square up!  ❝ Agent Archer just sort of walked me here and ditched—I mean, uh, left. I didn’t even know what division I’d been assigned to. ❞

He cocked a brow when the girl squeaked, of all things, trying, for all he was worth, to suppress his irritation. There had to be some mistake here... or maybe the higher ups were trying to test his patience with this one. Either way, he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him snap over this one. The girl’s record had stated she was powerful in battle, and hopefully that would cover whatever weaknesses she had.

Ah, and she had adjusted, fixing her expression and posture to mask whatever was going on in her head. This one was a fighter, he thought, clearly uncomfortable with the hand she’d been dealt, but resolving to work with it regardless. This attitude, Proton could work with.

“Is that so... that asshole.” With a heavy sigh, he pushed his seat away from the desk, and leaned back to retrieve a package of documents from the lower level of a filing cabinet. He stood, walked to the other side of the desk, and sat back against it while he offered the package to her. “Review it later; don’t lose it,” another Executive had laughed at him, putting together something as ludicrous as an orientation package in a criminal organization. As far as Proton was concerned, however, it meant he would have no excuses from his squadron - ground rules, expectations, and even a map (of places they needed to know, and only places they needed to know) were all provided in writing. Nothing incriminating.

“You should have at least heard Team Rocket’s code before you entered, so I’ll go over my personal expectations as your direct superior. You don’t refuse a direct order, you don’t accept failure as an option, and, most important, you don’t rat out your squadmates. The things we do can get pretty nasty, so I recommend you think hard about what you are, and are not willing to do to get what you want out of someone.Is that understood?”