WAKE UP

The sounds flew over Octavius’ head. He was, after all, in a chase with his own phone. He knocked into pieces of furniture, almost toppled on his face at once point, in his bid to catch the little bastard.

“She’s replied!”  his rotom sputtered out between bursts of mechanical, jittered laughter. Octavius paused and growled, a sound that was far too guttural for a human to muster. His brows knitted, carving an ireful furrow between them, as he could feel his teeth starting to elongate. Heat brewed and bubbled within him like a witch’s cauldron, just needing the slightest ingredient to overflow and burn everyone and everything in his vicinity.

Thankfully, for both of them, in a sudden feat of athletics—scaling of his couch and thrusting himself into a leap, he managed to catch his phone mid-jump. Swift the little ghost was to separate from the machine, giggles spilling aplenty. Octavius huffed. He felt his teeth retract.

“Stupid modern fuckin’ pokémon…”

Octavius plopped himself against his couch. He grumbled, squinted, and read the message. Apparently, she found it hilarious. Now, he couldn’t be quite sure if that was hilarity with or without scorn, but …

He tapped at his screen slowly with a single forefinger.

no sorry. that was my rotoms faultt. it hates my ass because im bad with tech and ask it too many questions. very opinionated

Sent.

Eventually does she wander back to her abandoned phone, seeing a few messages. She flicks through them in a bored fashion, until she sees that the man has answered. She swipes it open, eyes scanning over the message.

Quite immediately she can tell this was typed by him, the spelling mistake, the sheer amount of time it took to craft the message at all. Her eyes settle on a specific part of the message: I'm bad with tech.

"No kidding," she murmurs. She assumes the photo to have been taken by himself, but perhaps out of embarrassment to blame it on the rotom. Not that she particularly cared, it was funny... And also now his photo in her phone. Every time he contacted her, that lovely selfie would pop up, tickling her funny bone each time her eyes laid on it. Even now her mouth is curled into a grin at the sight of it.

Suuuure it was

She types back swiftly, unable to help but to poke fun at him.

Anyways! Did you have fun at the event? Truthfully I assumed you to be one of Richie's fans not mine.

Red heart shaped homeware

Leon was quick to pretend like that thought hadn't crossed his mind at all, covering it up with lies he told himself every time those words were uttered either in the loneliness of his flat or in his mind where no one but he could hear them. That he loved being Champion, that he wouldn't trade it for the world, that the thrill of the battle and the rush of adrenaline and the pride he saw in his mother's eyes was all he needed.

Those were much kinder stories he told himself when the truth stung just a bit too much.

He clapped the flats of his fingers against his cheeks, as he did when he was preparing for a battle, the action enough to snap him back into the moment.

"Yeah, you're right about that if only because it wouldn't exactly look very good for me or him if I got dropped right after that mess." He exclaimed with a broad grin that betrayed none of his momentary lapses in confidence. "He'll smooth things over no problem." After all, it wasn't his fault that things went badly from the start. Maybe Rose wouldn't be that upset after all, he told himself.

Be optimistic.

Leon sat up straighter, eyes vibrant and full of life once more. It was as if he hadn't been troubled at all with the way he perked up, even if most of it was an act. A well-practiced mask of "fake it till you make it" that was almost indistinguishable from his genuine smile.

As if they had been friends for years, he leaned over, bumping his broad shoulder against Rogue's. "I think the only thing he'll have a hard time smoothing over is if I'm caught while executing your grand escape, haha."

He grinned playfully, gold eyes filled with mischief as if hopeful for the chance to cause a little trouble.

"In all seriousness though, I appreciate you cheering me up. So I'll be cheering you on. And if things go poorly, well, then there's a pub down by Champion Crossing station that I hear is a good place to drown your sorrows at. Piers has sung the praises of their fish and chips, and praise from him is pretty rare." Piers had also sung the praises of the stout there, but Leon wasn't really much of a drinker.

In fact, it's exactly why Piers remained a gym leader.

"It's quite a safety net, to be as popular as you are you know. Use it to your advantage. You likely have far more power than you realize in these things."

Her laugh sprouts like a Cherrum in sunlight, bubbly and bright as he bumps into her playfully. It really is no wonder he had been such a popular champion, perhaps even the most popular of them all— at least that she is aware of. He really had it all, from an outside perspective; good looking, kind, funny, powerful. She could go on, but she wouldn't.

"My grand escape? Well, simply don't get caught." She teases back, giving him a bump back with her own shoulder. She's quite petite, so she hardly moves him in the slightest with her bump back. She gives another bright bout of laughter, eyes half mooning and dimples appearing on her rounded cheeks.

“She’s replied!”

His phone zipped in front of him, showcasing the message. A simple reciprocated greeting. Okay. That was a start. A small, blue bubble appeared beneath, alongside rolling dots that disappeared then reappeared.

“She’s preparing another message?”

“Yes, she’s typing.”

DING!

Rotom read the second message faster than he did.

Before he had the opportunity to even part his lips, it thrust itself almost flush against his face. A flash, blinding, prompted an eye to narrow and brows to furrow. His vision blurred and swirled, a churn of colours before everything readjusted, becoming sharp and defined.  

“What was that for, you fuck?”

A giggle that edged upon the mechanical bubbled up and out from his rotom, its eyes nigh squinted as amusement left it positively snickering. Octavius heaved a hearty sigh, scratched his thick lining of stubble, and reached out for the phone again.

“Whatever. Can I read that second message at least?”

It flashed the screen at him. Not only her second message, but his second message—a photo.

His heart, his stomach, his pride plummeted.

She laughs reacts at it, grin stretching wide across her features as she stares at it. Surely he meant it as a joke, right? Then again, he hadn't struck her as a joking type when she had first encountered him...

LMAO

It's truly the only thing that came to mind when she saw it, but she knows very well that she can't leave it at that. No, she had to give more than that...

That's a very... Photogenic picture of you lol

Deft fingers tap away at a fast speed, and she saves the photo to her phone before setting it as his contact photo. Pearls of laughter keep spilling from her lips as she stares down into it. It's utterly hilarious, to her at least. Truthfully she finds it a bit endearing, many men would have taken that opportunity to be a creep.... Instead, she gets a Facebook worthy old man selfie.

❝You shouldn’t bother beautiful women.❞

Indie, selective, Raihan/Kibana from Pokemon SW/SH

Post-game verse main but timeline flexible

AU friendly

7 years of rp experience

Get me out of here.

Get me out of here.

Eyes of molten gold languidly watched the way her hand moved in fluid, precise strokes. No time wasted; each line instilled with a confidence some might murmur as masterful. However confident she was, it certainly didn’t rub off on him. Nervousness gnawed at his gut, feeling brittle and stabbing.

She asked him if he was a fan. He spent too long thinking about an answer before she chimed in, gratitude feathering his innards. Intensity still enveloped his shell.

“Uh-huh. Uh, thank you—”  he pinched the new cigarette loosely between fore and middle finger and his eyes flickered down at the glossy print, where she’d signed her name. Rouge.  “—Ro …”

He trailed off. It took him a moment to realise what the collection of numbers at the bottom was; he’d been caught off guard. She flashed him that blinding, playful grin, and—memories whipped him sharp and clean, remembering her. Not the woman before him but someone who shared her face down to a T.

“Hah,”  a modest, lopsided smile, showcasing a flash of sharp, sharp teeth,  “thanks. I’ll get out of your hair; you looked busy so probably not looking for a big chat but—be in touch.”

Would he be in touch?

Who knew. The words slipped past his lips without wholly meaning to.

He cocked his cigarette in adieu, and slowly turned heel and made his way back to his office. Her smell lingered on the insides of his nose, refusing to disappear.

—

Later in the evening, when he’d since retired to his modest apartment in Postwick, he stared. He stared so much, so long and so hard at the print.

“Rotom?”  Octavius shifted in his seat. It groaned; a sentiment probably shared by exactly that whom he called upon. The smartphone zipped towards him, floating and jittering.

This rotom was probably the hardest working rotom in all of Galar.

“Call—no. Text Rouge.”

“Octavius, you don’t have a contact titled Rouge.”

“I—no—I,”  he stammered, fumbled, and gauchely held up the print to his phone, pointing at the numbers down the bottom,  “here. Can you text this number?”

“Yes, I can, Octavius!”  It floated closer to the image, narrowing its gaze at the numbers before promptly spinning around, showing the phone’s glass-finish front to Octavius.  “What would you like to say to Rouge?”

He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Maybe something simple, friendly, as opposed to … well. How would the average woman react to some stranger divulging that she looked like a long-lost friend from centuries ago, that he’d became drawn to because of her smell from across almost half the city away? Yeah, probably think him delusional and lusting for her demise, and rightly so.

“Hi.”

His rotom typed in, all lower case, ‘hi’.

“Octavius here. Are you busy? Fuck, no, that’s so fucking … Eurgh.”  He dragged his hands down his face, feeling the scratch of stubble along finger and palm.  “Fuck it. Let’s start again.”

Rotom erased everything.

“Hi, Octavius here, from earlier. Hope you’re having a good evening.”  A beat.  “Add a smiley face at the end so she doesn’t think that I’m being weird. Can you make it seem friendly? I don’t want to be … a fuckin’ weirdo.”

The message popped up on the screen, though swiftly edited at Octavius’ behest, and read:

hi! octavius here, from earlier. hope you’re having a good evening :)

“Would you like to send?”

No, this was a different sort of awkward, stammering and grunting his way through the conversation. It's certainly preferable to others, but soon it seemed his confidence came back, paired with a hooked smirk. She catches a flash of those sharp teeth, and something in her stomach twists uncomfortably for a split second, but it's gone just as quickly as it came.

She's dimly reminded of Raihan with his sharpened teeth when she sees Octavius'... Yet this man's seemed more wild, sharper somehow... Or perhaps it was the sheer number of elongated teeth that brought such a visceral reaction, riddling his mouth like jagged mountain tops.

"Ah, of course." She says as he excuses himself from the conversation, but she has to admit she is a bit pleased with herself. In fact, Scarlet can even feel her rivals eyes behind them burning into her back. It only heightens her appreciation for this encounter, she truly loved to get under Richard's skin just as much as he did her.

Ozzy slips from the conversation easily with a tip of the cigarette, like a gentleman might have a hat, and then he's off. As he slips into the crowd he would hear rapid, annoyed Kalosian from her rival, met with ringing laughter.

—

Hour passed, Scarlet retired to her cabin-like home on the outskirts of Turffield by the time her phone pings. The day had worn on her, makeup and fancy clothes shed for face masks and baths, to ultimately robes and wine. Everything after the autographs had been such a whirlwind, she almost entirely forgot about the handsome man from earlier. Perhaps she had simply assumed he wouldn't reach out, but she was certainly wrong on that front.

Her own rotom zips over, and she takes the phone with a gentle word of thanks, watching as it flies off to occupy a new electronic. Plush lips meet the glass as she sips the red wine, eyes flickeing over the message. It was simple, direct as well. She had to admit, the manor of texting is not what she had ever expected from the man she had met, specifically the exclamation points and smiley face. He had smiled a total of one time, at receiving her number, otherwise he had been cold and stoney.

Just to be sure, she would have to make sure she was talking to him truly. What a shame if he had pawned the autograph and her number was out there... Number changes came on a regular due to overreaching fans, she would hate to have to change it all again— and Richie would surely never allow her to live it down.

Hi there!

The message is sent with a wooshing noise, and she purses her lips. She would have to ask for proof, sooner rather than later, and so she simply bites the bullet. She's sure he would understand the sentiment behind her checking, and, she imagines he would want confirmation just as much as she.

I hope this doesn't come off as rude (or weird) but can you send me a selfie just so I know it's you? You wouldn't believe the number of weirdos that get their hands on my number lol

And when that last question came up, unscripted, he froze, then floundered and every word he stammered out just made it worse. He'd never felt so small before in his life, and Rose was going to be so upset with him later.

Maybe that was what he was dreading more than anything.

Leon looked up at Rogue, his gold eyes full of worry and shining with unshed tears. He tried to smile at her as if he hadn't just been torn apart on national television, but it just fell flat. He couldn't even find the will to fake a smile like he was used to doing.

The gentle pats to his hand and her words were somewhat comforting at least. He just wished he hadn't needed comforting in the first place.

"Haa... Well, being Champion, I probably should have expected something like that... Raihan though. He causes all sorts of trouble, but that's a charm point for him when he's on the air." Leon chuckled softly, gaze dropping back to the floor as he hunched over his knees, arms curling slightly around himself. He tried hard to look as if he weren't hugging himself, not wanting her to feel even more sorry for him than she already did.

She had her own interview coming up, right? He sincerely hoped hers went flawlessly and without any of the tears and anxiety like he was dealing with.

Leon sniffled, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes with the back of a hand. "Thank you though. For trying to make me feel better. I'll be okay... just have to survive the chewing out the Chairman's going to give me, haha." He gave her a grin, this one a bit stronger than his last attempt.

Each laugh is squeezed from his lungs, like attempting to get the last drop of toothpaste from the tube: forced and hollow. There is no genuinely behind it, just dull anxiety. Luckily it seemed her words were able to soothe, like cool water over a burn; not enough to heal but to certainly take the initial sting away.

"One can hope I be so lucky," she murmurs, large brown eyes flickering to the heavy door separating them from the set. "I am not quite so popular as yourself, I'm sure all will be well. I have far less interesting things going on in my life than you, it seems." She seems to appreciate the sentiment though, and she can't deny that while her words were true, there is some nervousness surrounding this up and coming report.

Truthfully, her mind races with thoughts. If they would do that to the champion of the league, why would they not to her as well? Was there any drama that had been circulating she was not privy to? What had her own rival been spewing to the paparazzi? Richie always was opening his mouth and spewing, sometimes, genuine lies just to get under her skin, or to throw the reporters for loops. Half their fans think they're dating secretly because of this, and she gets the feeling she's about to be sprung with the same level of invasive questions as her current compatriot beside her had been.

His words snap her out of her momentarily lapse in attention.

Leon's smile is quite lovely when genuine— not the stock photo smile they two give the cameras, the one splattered on ads and online accounts. It's more crooked, boyish even, though he is far from a boy these days.

"I appreciate the offer of help," she says with a gentle laugh. It would be quite the bold move to cut power in a live interview, but much like a battler she is not one to back down from a challenge, physical or verbal. "If things start to go poorly, I will prepare for lights out." The mental image was a funny one, workers scrambling to get the cameras and lights back into working order. Unlikely however, even if Leon himself is offering.

💗 - How long does it take your muse to fall in love?

💐 - What small things go a long way for your muse? What small favors can someone do to get on their good side?

💝 - What's their love language?

🍨 - What are expectations your muse has had about love that either was false or impossible to live up to?

💘 - What traits personality-wise are attractive to your muse?

🍓 - Do dates matter to them? Do they often put a big focus on anniversaries, partners birthdays, Valentines day etc?

🌸 - What's their idea of a perfect date?

💖 - What traits does your muse find physically attractive?

❤ - What's something you feel like your muse needs to work on for a relationship to happen or for a relationship to be healthy? Do you think that's possible? Or is it something that'll likely never happen?

💞 - Would your muse ever be opened to a polyamorous or open relationship?

❣ - Are they secretive about their romantic relationships or do they not stop talking about it?

🌹 - If asked to define love what would your muse say?

🎀 - Do they aim to impress their partner often? If they do, how so?

💓 - What are some signs your muse has fallen for someone?

🌵 - How toxic would a relationship be with your muse? Would it be able to be fixed?

💔 - Their first heartbreak?

🌺 - Would they be willing to change any part of them for a partner? If not how far would they be willing to go

💮 - Is your muse the possessive or super jealous type?

💟 - Was there ever a time when they had fallen out of love? What was their reaction to it? How did they handle it?

🥰 - Is your muse good at telling when others have feelings for them?

💌 - How would they confess to their love interest? Would they wait on a confession?

🖤 - What's something that will instantly make them dismiss someone as a romantic partner

🌷 - Are they ever been scared/are scared to fall in love?

💄 - Is there a past relationship your muse wishes they could have changed?

She wasn’t Ruby. While, to him, it was like looking into the mirror of his past, to her, he was just some stranger scrounging for an autograph. There was no recognition in her eyes, no shift in demeanour—he was just a fan. That’s all.

Also, her voice was weird. Held a strange, foreign lilt to it.

He felt pathetic. Like a sopping wet hound trapped in the rain, blinking its eyes piteously at its trainer through the glass. Octavius was sure his expression was as lively as a boulder, tension shifting throughout his jaw; he took a moment to take a short drag of his cigarette, depleting its worth to a narrow stub in an effort to shuck this whirlwind of emotions.

It did little to aid.

“Uh…”

Gods. Fuck. Hells.

That one sound spoke volumes, far more than anything else did. She can tell quite immediately from that that this man— Octavius he called himself— did not come for an autograph, even if he didn't deny the offer. She pops the cap to her marker, a glittering silver, and the felt tip kisses glossy photo paper.

"Octavius?" She repeats, marker scratching against the paper with each stroke of her hand. The signature is practiced, signed more times than her own name by this point. "That is a very bold name." Uncommon for certain, she's met loads of fans but she can say she has never met an Octavius up till now.

"A big fan, are you?" Amusement curls her words at the edges just as much as her lips, and it's quite obvious that she can tell he had little to no interest in her celebrity status. In fact, she's not sure he knew who she was at all with the stare she's receiving. Most fans fawn, were overjoyed to so much as catch her gaze, let alone speak to her; but this man did none of those things, he simply plucked another cigarette out and popped it between his lips the moment the first was discarded.

His eyes however seem to burn into her skin, an intensity that she can't quite explain... Intimate, almost. Her skin prickles under it, yet his face remains stoic and unreadable, causing a churning of her stomach. It's not an unpleasant feeling, but it was a feeling she couldn't pinpoint the origin of, the emotion it elicits dancing just beyond her reach like a Quaquaval. He wants something, but she isn't entirely sure what, so... She makes a guess.