it's strong; the heavy, rock pokemon that stands in the water, battling the constant tides of the ocean. she's sat on the sand, under the cover a stray palm tree provides, shielding away the hot rays of the sun. shadows cast over her bare legs, and as the wind blows, causing the trees to sway, so too do the shadows. the beach is seemingly vacant; her eyes only see the two in the water, but yet, there's something that's making her anxious. she's not too sure what, but she's sure there's something. so she keeps her eyes peeled.

the man in the water trains unconventionally, she knows as much. putting a pokemon in an environment where it would be inherently weak in could be seen as tough. maybe even vicious. but the more she thinks about it, the more she starts to realize: conditioning a pokemon against its natural weaknesses only makes it stronger. throw a rhyhorn into the ocean and what fear would it have against a small stream of water?

her hands linger, tracing the outline of the pokeball as she watches. a tide comes in and crashes against the rhyhorn, causing it to dart away from its trainer only to be scolded. was she like this with her cacnea? she rises to her feet and swipes at stray sand on her leg. clad in swimming attire, she strolls down to the beach, eyes mindful of the trainer lurking in the water.

once close enough, she sits down on the wet sand, edging on the border where the waves came in. she's directly behind the two, or in front of, depending on whose perspective. "don't mind me," she calls out, "just watching." and learning. her finger pushes against the single button on the pokeball, calling out her cacnea. the grass-type stretches, blinking as it relishes the strong rays of the sun. she often forgot how much lugh craves sunlight.

"please, continue, darling."

VICTOR LEE

oddities come in threes - remember that.

the first is a woman-- fair on the eyes but harmful to the intuition. the bronze of her skin makes her the finest exotic trophy, shaming the bronzor in name. but the better the looker the harder it is to stay away from judgement. a baboon like victor has no finesse. his years were spent growing in a jungle of steel cells and testosterone. this monkey cannot comprehend that women are no different than men. there's no way ava could be interested in his training. no, only men liked to fight. so what was she interested in?

the second is a pokemon-- it travels not by sea but by air. little does victor expect to see a magnemite on the ocean side, much less the package it has in tow. bronzor is unfamiliar to him but he remembers magnemite's evolution line. he's also aware of how little he knows. his time may have been taken from him but the world went on. it's entirely possible that this a new pokemon. but that doesn't change anything. the solution is all the same. "run it through."

the third is an attitude-- from cuck to cucking, rhyhorn is no longer timid. the presence of another trigger the beast's innate aggression. territory is something set in stone and this rock will not have it. a snarl exhales from shitter's snout as he paws the sand in anticipation. no one is allowed to approach, neither magnemite nor bronzor, neither ava nor cacnea. victor's orders is the only thing that divert's shitter's hostility. he steers it to the wild ones and the rhyhorn charges forward, sharp as a STONE EDGE.

a temper that's rock hard is stil brittle under the pressure of steel. shitter's first contact is met with resistance and his attack is reciprocated with a thunderSHOCKING welcome. a follow up HORN DRILL really drives the welcome home, hurling the conjoined pokemon back and inadvertently closer to the trainers. tossed and tumbled, the duo are left CONFUSED, trying to gather their bearings before rhyhorn starts another charge.

AVA FAIRFAX

only now does victor have the chance to realize the repercussions of his actions. not that he cares. a nonchalant "eh" is all that he can muster. insults mean little to him and goading him is near impossible. not that he can differentiate between her well deserved anger and jealousy. it's not like it matters. there's more important things to worry about, like the gastly rises from aron's shell.

now that's a pokemon he's familiar with. since coming to johto, it's been all new species left and right. ava's cacnea is no exception. however, victor's comfort is short lived. for a gastly to appear, and here of all places, could only mean a few things. the most obvious guess was that he had been too thorough with handling that aron. oops. guess shitter doesn't know his own strength. oh well, if they did it once, they can surely do it again.

"shit."

ghost pokemon were immune to plain physical attacks. victor knew that much. EARTHQUAKE wouldn't be any better either. just by eyeballing the pokemon, he could assume that ground attacks wouldn't work on a pokemon that's airborne. LEVITATE was such a pesky ability. so what did that leave him? just his pokedex, one that he leisurely scoured as rhyhorn sat there awaiting commands.

"SMACK DOWN?"

it's a new move but going by what the pokedex said, it's perfect for this situation. imagine his surprise when rhyhorn rushed toward the vengeful ghost, expelling a large rock from its mouth. no MEAN LOOK could SPITE shitter enough to stop the projectile from crushing the gastly, burying it into the sand. from there, shitter could give ava a nice encore of EARTHQUAKE. each impact dug it deeper into the sand, literally BULLDOZING the pokemon deeper into a newly made grave. maybe it'll stay down this time.

AVA FAIRFAX

that sneaky little bitch! a single side swipe leaves shitter battered, beaten. a distressed cry escapes from a pained exhale, pulling itself up with significant effort. "what the hell?" victor's accusation does little to reassure shitter. it only leave him anxious - afraid.

but there's no rest for the wicked. victor anticipates an ENCORE and is already scrutinizing his pokedex for a solution. "grass type? damn." on paper, there's none. victor's left without an answer.

"guess you're fucked, rhyhorn." under the current circumstances, victor is nothing but a spectator, isolating himself from responsibility. with his limited knowledge, formulating some brilliant reversal is all but impossible.

until he realizes what he's watching.

"run away!"

in a head to head battle, shitter loses every match up. no matter how they rotate their moves, cacnea has too large of an advantage. the only upside rhyhorn has is its bodily structure. actually, it's cacnea's anatomy that provides them a chance. those tiny, little nubs cacnea calls feet can't hope to catch up to a quadruped's speed.

shitter's frantic sprint away buys victor time to question ava's intention.

"what do you think you're doing?"

AVA FAIRFAX

"i don't pick at leftovers." his expression darkens. it's clear that he's annoyed but there's nothing he can do. pride is a terrible vice and one victor won't be caught up in. from his current spot, he tries to recall his rhyhorn. tries.

shitter won't stop. he can't stop. it's their only advantage and the rock type knows better than to try and defend from another NEEDLE ARM. a few more meters turns the rhyhorn into a grey oval. one that seems to get smaller as it bleeds into the horizon.

victor can't win but that doesn't mean he loses.

AVA FAIRFAX