Penny Lepiter; Trainer Ranking—Unranked
June 10th. Union Cave, 2nd Floor.
Although she had accepted her friend's hand to the dry safety atop of Reina's Tauros, King, Penny gave a bit of an indignant frown. At first she considered saying it, even, though the red-heads hot-head cooled enough for her to let it pass; but did people need their Pokemon to do
everything for them? Bad enough everyone obsessed over using them as fighting machines already. She figured if she wanted to go on an adventure, she'd need to do far worse than get her
socks and shoes wet. How many pairs did she carry on her anyhow, or keep at home just in case?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The poachers - though a bit annoyed not everyone in the group had chosen to cross
over water - figured they had a better chance than ever. The orange-haired man poked his head over the boulder with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face, slinging the PokeBall like a catapult toward the edge of the water. The black-and-yellow electric-type popped out in a flash of red light.
"Electa!" the Electabuzz declared.
"Thundershock!" the orange-haired man commanded.
Not wanting to miss out on the fun, the scarred poacher rolled around the side of his cover, tossing a PokeBall near where the floating Aldon was landing. A massive Raticate with a matching scar emerged, its fur matted by dirt and muck, even missing in some patches. It snarled and chomped its buck-teeth, seemingly unafraid of Aldon's Sigilyph.
"Bite!" the scarred man shouted out.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At first she'd thought she was dreaming, the PokeBall coursing through the air and plopping down on the side of the river like a falling star or something. But when it popped open in a violent, flashing beam of red, Penny realized it was far from a dream.
"Electa!" the menacing Electabuzz declared, matter-of-factly.
"Get out of the water!" Penny yelled. King had crossed close enough that she felt she could expedite the process.
Thrusting herself off of the Tauros's back, the red-headed teen reached out for the other side, climbing onto dry land just as the Electabuzz fired its directed jolt of electricity at the water between the crossing adventurers. Penny reached for Theseus's PokeBall.
Cobel Timpinia; Trainer Ranking—Unranked
June 10, Modern Day. Coumarine City Port, Kalos.
The private detective had returned to Henri Brignac's
Slouching Pelipper bar—but this time he'd arrived via the rooftop of a parallel building; an old waterfront shop with a second-story apartment, the shop looked as though it had only seen ghosts for a dozen years, and the apartment was either a drug den of some sorts, or completely abandoned.
Cobel knew the sailors from the
Ablestar were compulsive gamblers; he'd seen them playing cee-lo on the ship back in Johto, not to mention the fact they were in and out of Brignac's books, according to the bookie himself. If the
Pelipper was the spot to place your bets, he felt safe betting it was the sailors' place to be.
It wasn't until night was falling, darkness overtaking the city of Coumarine, that Cobel's bets paid off; the Kalosian city seemed to come alive at night. With all its daily business on the docks and elsewhere done, bodies and bodies seemed to pile onto the waterfront in droves. And the
Pelipper was the most hopping bar of them all. Sure enough, sailors from all sorts of ships sauntered through the saloon doors, ready for a drink or a game or a drinking game. Although all of them wore the same, basic uniform, Cobel had figured out that sailors from a certain ship rolled their sleeves a specific way, often pinning the symbol for the ship on either arm; for the
Ablestar, they all rolled their sleeves high up the triceps, their symbol a nighttime star under the outline of a cargo freighter, as if the star were lifting it up like Sisyphus and his boulder.
As the night got quite rowdier, Cobel felt his patience pay off in spades; the alleyway dice games picked up close to ten—almost four hours into the detective's stake-out. He'd expected action on this side of the bar because the other side was a lot busier, with an employee's only door that filtered workers in and out for cigarette breaks or to take out trash and the like. If the sailors valued privacy, they had to use the other alley, which the detective figured would give him the best chance for a quick escape.
Though almost always sailors, some other Coumarinians passed through for a round or two, or more if they started out lucky. The sailors though, seemed to remain stagnant no matter how they rolled. In the dim light of the alleyway, Cobel peeked out to look for people from the
Ablestar. One had seemed to start the game—at least his sleeves were rolled just-so, and his pin seemed the right symbol. But that one came and went with a swagger, sometimes with cronies, sometimes simply with friends who wanted a roll or two in the dice game.
Their conversations varied from hushed and rushed to loud and proud, crude shouts and roars of triumph or despair. Cobel seemed to always know how well a certain person was doing, even if he wasn't always certain
who that person might be. He was almost shocked at the consistency of the dice game and its dedicated participants. In fact, it seemed to get stronger as the night grew darker; and he felt the same of Coumarine. He always felt hard-pressed, trying to find safety in a city that came alive at night. It took another two hours before Cobel made a move.
Around midnight, the high-rollers came to take a break; of the six people engaged in the game at the time, only one was not a sailor—and at least two of the people who were there
were crewmen from the
Ablestar. The group paused in the alley, sharing a conversation, although one of the five sailors quickly ushered off the last Kalosian back toward the bar, where the two disappeared together.
"Decent pool tonight." one of the sailors said.
"I did shit-all though, couldn't roll to save my life." another groaned.
"The fuck else is new?" the first sailor laughed. "You keep this shit up I'll
definitely be able to pay off my mortgage."
"Damn, I was gonna buy a bike." the losing sailor sighed, wistful.
"One with a little bell attached to the front?" a third sailor laughed. "Maybe you should stick with a tricycle, yeh bastard."
"Aw shut up, man." the losing sailor hunched over in defeat.
"You grabbin' the pot?" the fourth sailor asked, counting another stack of bills in his hand as he did.
"Yeh yeh I got it." the third sailor offered.
"Half for Henri," the fourth said, like it needed saying. "We're lucky he lets us run this shit right out here."
"'Course," the first sailor replied, annoyed at the reminder. "'Course, half for Henri."
"What about your stack, boss?" the third sailor asked, indicating the bills in the fourth man's grip.
"This is goin' straight to Lumiose," the sailor leader said, waving it in triumph. "An' I promise you—I'm comin' back with
quadruple."
"Aw, boss, you never win at that fuckin' thing..." the losing sailor groaned. His boss wheeled on him, reaching out with the same wad of bills to smack the man on the side of his head. "Aw c'mon, boss...I just mean—"
"Last time ain't this time, Rube'," the boss growled. "What, you fuckin' doubt me?"
"Naw, boss, nothin' like that..." the losing sailor - Ruben? - sighed.
"Take your cut and fuck off back to the ship then." the leader of the back-alley dice game said, turning his back toward the Coumarine street.
The three sailors that remained paused, looking at each other. Having collected the stash of bills on the ground, the third sailor set about counting it as quietly as he could, while the other two took to watching opposite ends of the alley—though they still stood together, almost back-to-back, trying to hover over the money counter.
Cobel pulled Bruce's PokeBall from out of his coat, consulting the fighting-type through the translucent glass of the capture capsule. While he held the device up to his face with his left hand, the detective used his right to signal the situation. Three fingers, then two pointing down, jabbing down with the two fingers, holding up one finger, spinning it around in a couple, lazy loops, thumb pointed at his chest:
Three of them. Take two on the descent. Whirligig. Follow me.
He was jumping down a second later, both feet first, angled directly at the sailor on the left (the losing sailor,) while releasing Bruce from its PokeBall as he began his descent. As the capsule broke open with a metallic clang and a red light filled the alley, the sailors finally turned their attention to the duo dropping in on their game.
The private detective crashed both his feet into the sailor on the left's shoulder, sending the large man stumbling back and crashing into the money counter, both men
thudding against the wall of Brignac's bar. Cobel could only hope the thumping noise inside the bar would mask that, or he had a lot less time on his hands than he'd wanted. He felt his back slam against the ground, a shock of pain passing through him even as he hopped back up to his feet.
Hitmonlee had dropped directly overhead the sailor on the right (the one with the mortgage,) kicking down faster than Cobel could ever hope to, extending its legs for a flurry of spring-loaded kicks that slammed onto the man's back, his right shoulder, then a couple times in his chest before Bruce landed gracefully on its feet, reached out with its right hand, grabbed the sailor by the back of his hair, and slammed his face into the ground with the brutal
crunching of some kind of broken bone.
Dazed by the impact of the larger man slamming him into the wall, the third sailor still managed to get to his feet, not even bothering to reach for a PokeBall—instead rearing back one hand to throw a punch in the direction of his closest assaulter.
Cobel and Bruce both moved to either side of the sailor, leaning back on their heels as they spun into a synchronized roundhouse kick—the trainer with his right foot at the sailor's left side, the Pokemon with its left foot into the sailor's right. As their attack connected, they could see his eyes close as he lost consciousness before he even dropped to the ground, sliding down against the wall and finally onto his side.
The sailor who'd absorbed Cobel's first hit (and subsequently slamming into his friend against the wall) moved, half-heartedly trying to crawl away further down the alley. He seemed to gain bits of strength as he pulled himself away, but Cobel and Hitmonlee didn't let that go on for very long. The fighting-type picked the man up by his clothes and
tossed him like a bag of garbage, letting him slam down against the ground again with a pained groan. Cobel scooped up the money partially scattered in the attack by the wounded counter. He didn't spare the time to count it himself, but it wasn't an amount to scoff at.
Still, paranoia clouded over him. He couldn't dally. Cobel crossed over to the sailor, who was now pinned to the ground under foot by a triumphant-looking Bruce.
"Good job, buddy." he said, giving Hitmonlee a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. Bruce seemed pleased.
"I don't have a lot of time to make your acquaintance," Cobel said, his voice turning cold as he stooped down to look the frightened and injured sailor in the eye. "What's on your ship?
"...l-lotta stuff, we're a c-cargo freight—Agh!" the sailor's confidence drained when Bruce put pressure on his chest with a heavy foot. "I-I donno it's computer parts or some shit. I-I don't fuck with it, I just play d-dice!"
"Where is it?"
"The cargo hold, t-the fuck y-you think—god
damn!" Hitmonlee pressed harder. Cobel figured ribs that hadn't already cracked were well on their way. "I-I'm serious!...but it's h-hidden, I don't...I don't know!
"How many of you are on the ship right now?" he asked, taking that for as closest to sincerity as a tortured man can get. "How many are
in on it?"
"W-we're here for a c-couple days?" he sounded unsure, but like he was wracking his brain. Cobel gave Bruce the cue to ease up a bit, let the man breathe. "Maybe half-a-dozen? N-no more'n t-ten of 'em. We ain't a-all in on it but we r-roll
togeth—shitshitagh!"
His confidence drained again as Hitmonlee squeezed a bit harder, shifting its foot further up toward the man's chest.
"What's in Lumiose?"
"More bets," the man seemed to grin at Cobel, at the thought of putting money down on something. "F-fights. S-sometimes...jobs..."
Cobel pulled the money he'd scooped up from the sailors' dice game, cutting the stack itself in half, still without really bothering to count it. The private detective slipped the cash into the man's front pocket, and with his free hand gave a similar pat to the one he'd offered Hitmonlee—except on the man's cheek, like a proud father might.
"Now you can tell your buddies what really happened, but I don't know how much they'll care to believe the person carrying half the score and a grudge in their pocket," he said with a friendly smile. "Or, you can put it toward that bike. Shit, a stolen score
doesn't have to go to Henri after all—promise."
He returned Hitmonlee to its PokeBall, unbending his legs to stand his full height over the injured, intimidated sailor.
"Toodle-oo!" Cobel said with a grin, disappearing into the alley.
"What the hell's going on out here!?" he could hear bar bouncers finally making their way out, toward the alley, but the private detective had planned his exit route accordingly.
The sailors used the alley opposite to the bar's employee entrance to maintain privacy, meaning that Cobel could exit through the other side of the alley and out onto the street on the opposite end of the block from the
Slouching Pelipper, all while anybody who caught on inside would have to either pass through a sea of bodies toward the entrance, or head out the employee's only door, loop around one alley out front and into the other. And their game had been held deep enough into the alley that only the people passing by on the street who would see were the
really curious ones. Most people, it turned out, had a tendency to turn a blind eye to anything that might get them wrapped up in serious trouble—even if there stood a chance they could help
prevent it. People loved to keep their hands and noses clean.
Slipping away out of the alley and into a passing hoard of pedestrians, Cobel followed their wave onto the next group of people, zig-zagging blocks away in a random pattern, trying to keep his eyes trained for any unwanted attention. When he figured he was safe, Cobel adjusted his route, and headed straight back toward the docks—it was now or ever to try his luck on the
Ablestar.
Vamon Quint; Litigative Investigator, Unova District Attorney's Office
June 10. Grey Gant's House, near Coumarine City, Kalos
"AH C'MON MAN—" Grey cried out.
Drywall and stone shattered into dust and rubble as shotgun shells shattered the innocent archway into Grey Gant's living room. Along with that, the blast from the shotgun had torn off a chunk of the ex-Trainer's left foot—his heel now a shredded, red mess of flesh that Grey could only drag behind him in a shattering howl of pain. Vamon could only pull his old friend by the collar of the wounded man's tattered bathrobe, tugging at a PokeBall on his hip as he did.
"GAH FUCK—" Grey screamed, wincing as he tried to hold his bleeding heel with both hands. "—they shot me, those fucking dicks
shot my fucking foot off, Quint!"
"Excadrill, Rock Slide!" he commanded. The excitable mole popped happily out of his capsule and went to work, using the very archway that had absorbed the shotgun shells - and a chunk of the ceiling - to cave in that route toward the two men.
"My
house!" Grey shouted in despair, ignoring the fact he'd been shot for a moment.
Vamon could hear their attackers curse as the room was closed off from them while they rushed down the stairs to finish the job.
"Where's the exit—" Quint asked in a hurry.
"—my
foot is fucking
gone!—"
"—Grey god
dammit where is the exit to your stupid house!?" Vamon shouted. "I can teleport us outta here but we need to be
outside."
The ex-Trainer held a shaking hand out the other side of the room, saying, "K-kitchen, under the staircase up, there's a b-back door."
"Can they go that way too?" he asked. Grey nodded. "Do they know that?"
Grey shrugged, and Vamon cursed. He took an unbloodied section of Grey's bathrobe, ripped it in one swift motion, and tied it tightly around the bleeding ankle.
"Best I can do right now," he said, weakly. He grabbed at two more PokeBalls, releasing Alakazam and his trusty Zangoose. "Ex, Zam, Zan, you three up front—they should have the jump, so always protect, then hit them quick and hard after. I'm going to carry Grey with me."
With four heads nodding back, Vamon slung his old friend's arm around his shoulder and lifted up, Grey trying to support himself on a single foot.
Excadrill, Alakazam and Zangoose pushed forward out of the living room, the next being a tiled floor with a staircase leading up to the next floor (although without a balcony looking over the first), a door on the left and the door straight ahead leading into the kitchen. Forming a tight triangle, Ex took the left door, Zan took the kitchen door, and Zam had his eyes on the the staircase.
Sure enough, an aggressor unseen previously came into view overhead, taking a step onto the staircase and moving to aim a pistol. But Alakazam reached out with both hands, his spoons pulsating telekinetic energy before the man could get his eye down the sights. The gun metal shrieked as the barrel twisted off to the right and then
broke into two, all while the man himself was lifted off his feet and tossed down the stairs with a definitive
thud.
Excadrill, its eyes on the left door, heard the knob as it twisted; one of the shotgun men from before opened the door just slightly, poking the barrel of his shotgun through, pulling the trigger with reckless abandon. But Ex had done as Vamon said, throwing up a protective barrier as the slug slammed into the shield where his head would have been, absorbing the brunt of the blast, pushed back a bit by its force. Without wasting a second, Ex charged forward with its head held low. The mole Pokemon's body caught speed fast as it tucked into a spin, pulling its legs off the ground as its drill charged forward, splintering the door into a million pieces, Excadrill's head slamming directly into the gunman's chest with a
shhnk and the sound of pierced flesh.
While Vamon and the limping Grey followed behind Zangoose and Alakazam, pushing forward into the kitchen, Ex took the initiative and kept moving through on the other side. Having caught the shooters off-guard with his drill charge, Vamon could hear the sound of Ex's claws as it sliced through metal and skin alike.
There were five men in the kitchen when they opened the door, but Excadrill had entered on the other side at the same time, drawing plenty of attention in its own right. A pair of shotguns opened fire, but Zan and Zam protected as Quint had said, the two humans ducking safely behind the defensive wall. When Vamon Quint looked up, he saw his three in action—
Zangoose had leapt up onto a counter to meet a man eye-to-eye, slashing all four of its sharpened claws across his face with a ruthless, double backhand swipe. Without wasting a second, Zan was jumping onto the back of a thug aiming a pistol at Excadrill, while Ex slashed through the barrel of a glock and slammed its right arm into the side of the man's stomach with a gross
squelch. Alakazam took the last two men (one being a shotgun wielder from earlier, another holding a revolver) and turned them toward each other.
"Nonononononono—" they cried out in unison.
BLAM—
BOOM—
Flesh shredded apart in a rain of blood and dropping bodies, the revolver-wielder taking a shotgun slug to the chest and the shotgun man taking a bullet, though only to his right shoulder.
"
Jesus christ!" he yelled out in pain, his joining the cacophony of the other (surviving) attackers.
"Are you allowed to do that!?" Grey asked as Vamon dragged him desperately outside and away from the action.
"Typically when people
shoot at you in an assassination attempt." he shot back, even as he gave Alakazam the signal to Teleport them the hell out of there.
