victory_road | WHO'S THAT POKEMON?

Ah, no worries, Sister. Just teasin' a little. [Good grip on that handshake, he notes. And in person he can really note how good she could probably wear particular hunter armor. Not that it matters that much in this place, as humans have considerably fewer enemies to worry about than the pokemon. But hey, a man can ponder outfitting someone up in some high-quality gear, am I right?]

[Though once that brief, barely perceptible glance is passed, he just looks up into the tree where Orin is battling.] Just tryin' to catch it. Figured if I'm gettin' on my feet, the money moves wouldn't hurt non to have. Orin! Use scratch already!

[Orin stars down, lifts a tiny paw, and lets her talons come out with all the grace of Robert Englund all while not breaking that blank visage.]

[Drifter looks away from the sound of the ensuing catfight, not because pokemon battles are offputting, but because Orin manages to be just as damn creepy as her namesake. It'd be different if she was a horrible invading space alien but no, she's got sweet kitten face.] So, Annie, where are you and your posse headed? Out to see if you run across anyone havin' a little bit of an outa body experience? Seems to be goin' around. Luckily I've not caught that particular bug.

[ Without perceiving any intent for attack, Annie is more relaxed and less twitchy; given the timing, she's also sourly aware she's in much less danger of damage now than the majority of the year. Unpleasant as regrowing limbs is, she can manage it now on her own, until the whole world remembers what they're not allowed to be.

Which this weekend, also included Pokemon. Apparently. ]

Oh, no, the truly out of body experiences happened a few months back. This is simply forced shape changing. Shitty either way.

[ She's had enough of shape shifting in her life, and being a Pokemon doesn't appeal to her in any way. Lute, at her side, breathes out in a soft chuff of air, while Fritz the Tentacool is fixedly watching Orin and the Meowth fight. Occasionally, her tentacle arms twitch as if mirroring a movement. ]

Haven't run into anyone I know, but it's a big city.

[ In a decently larger world than they might expect they could wander through, but she refrains from saying as much. ]

Well, Annie, since I got a job at this bar down the way, I could get you a good drink on a discount and I do owe ya one. What say you? Not too busy for a sit down I hope.

[Though he has to make sure Orin is doing her job, first, and he looks up into the tree at her. Just in time for the Meowth to plop out of it. And there is that Espurr, staring down again.]

[Drifter lightly tosses a ball to pick up the Meowth.]

I know somebody that's gonna have to get fixed up later. [He mutters, and Orin starts her way down the tree to join them down at the bottom.]

Make it something lime, and I say yes.

[ She's not bothered investigating lime + alcohol, but it seems reasonable to exist in some palatable, dare she think enjoyable, form. Libera snorts, shaking her head and dancing sideways when the Meowth hits the ground. Fritz watches Orin climb down. ]

... Good thing the PokeCenters don't charge. [ She breathes out in a sharp snort, shaking her head. ] Did Orin's name come from anywhere?

[ She only asks after a. having many friends who Do That, and b. /gestures to her own pokemon, overwhelmingly. She wonders if the names keep fitting even after initial meetings. ]

That I can do for ya. Make it just the way you want it. [And make it boozy, thank you. He starts leading her towards the bar where he got his job. And as there really can't be a 'bad' part of town in Pokeworld, as he's figured out, it's not exactly in a seedy place. It is, however, well away from the routes the kids usually take through so he's not meandering the direction of that Pokecenter.]

Yeah, I've been wonderin' about that. Tax coverage? Research grants? Hell if I know. It's been so long since I dicked around with traditional money management. Only just recently got back to rentin' some space.

[Orin toddles after at a little quickstepped gate, still staring, still as off-putting as she could be (to most passerbys) in her unwavering look.]

Orin? She uh... Yeah. [His constantly showman attitude wavers, again.] Decided to go make a mess of her life. Creepy as hell now. Talks in your head now instead of to your face. [He leaves out many of the important parts. That she was someone that he cared about for centuries. That she'd been his best friend, that the best parts of him wanted to help. That he resented deeply he'd been her excuse for throwing her life away when he'd actually been trying to do better with his (maybe not much better, but better). But it's there, and it hangs behind his expression.]

[ It gives him more practical experience than she's ever had. Military covering costs, or else covering nothing and surviving hand to mouth because that's what the mission required. She's practically amassing cash here, which is not so useful to her since her plans haven't clarified into needing anything all that expensive. Hell, her only big purchase was the transportation pass between regions on the electric rail.

She suppresses a shudder. The idea of only being spoken to in her head is not... pleasant. Nothing much in her head is pleasant. ]

... The choices people make. [ She says at last, offering a shrug as her hands slide into her sweatshirt pocket. ] Still matters enough to keep her around.

[ She says, because she knows there are truths in names. Including the ones all around her. ]

[It's said that guardians are especially prone to talking to themselves because they spend so much time alone. But Drifter's got a real issue with it, not because he's talking to himself, but because he's had several different voices chattering around in his head. The Nine. Orin. Ur. It's pretty damn annoying.]

Yeah, I guess it does.

[He briefly shifts around that medallion he wears, does it without thinking about it. The snakes were something to remember her by, too.] It's just down here.

[And he leads her into it. Nigh on a dive bar, as far as dive bars can be in Pokeworld. It's one of those places with coated concrete instead of a wood floor and stools and chairs that look battered and beaten. He heads to the bar to grab down a bottle of lime rum.]

So you want just lime? Or should I make you some sorta citrus mix?

[ His moving the medallion draws her gaze, but she doesn't ask about it: she's not the sort who would, even if she liked accessories. Investigating people's secrets only matters when she's tasked with it; here, she has no reason. It's liberating, in its own way.

Ah, look. Close to the kinds of bars she hadn't enjoyed walking into as Military Police, but still smelling much better: the stench of alcohol, sweat, and vomit, with a touch of urine, is largely missing. Run down here is still better than Paradis, she supposes.

She chooses one of the stools at the bar, sliding into it and casting another look around. She'd started assessing the place when they walked in; even how she sits means her back is to the least accessible corner, and if she twists just barely, she can see the front door and the one off to the side. ]

Anything citrus is fine.

[ She likes the tang. Sweet things to eat, sure, and sour things to drink. Probably says something about her nature, but no real need to examine that right now. ]

[He puts down the lime rum, grabs pineapple juice out of the fridge to add a small touch of that, some triple sec, and another lemon-flavored light rum, so the color filters down. Those are put in a cocktail shaker with ice, and after prepping her a salt-rimmed glass he puts the drink in that with a slice of lime wedged onto the edge and a straw to drink it out of.]

[He takes it to her chosen table, along with a beer for himself.] Back exit is to your left. [He takes stock of her positioning, and chooses to sit in the prone position across from her.] There's roof access through the kitchen. You can actually reach the next building without bein' beyond human. A man's gotta have hobbies besides playin' with his little pesky animals.

[Orin, in the meantime, looks over the edge of the table, eyes fixed on Annie as usual.]

Or am I jumpin' to unnecessary conclusions that would be helpful information?

Thanks.

[ She says when the drink's there, and it's an appropriate response for the rest of what he's saying, she supposes, though it is not a response to any of that. She ignores the straw, one finger holding it to the side as her hand rests on the rim of the glass, feeling the salt rough under her touch.

He merits a more thoughtful look, blue eyes darker in her quiet before she picks up the drink and takes a sip, appreciating the way the salt cuts through the rest of the citrus and alcohol. The lovely layering shifts as a consequence, but holds better than she expected. ]

It's helpful, but a canvas of the neighbourhood would be, too. If one were truly concerned about escape.

[ And she's not, not after being here for closer and closer and closer to a year, but she is enough. Those instincts don't stop directing her actions simply because the environment no longer needs them. ]

Haven't needed to know yet while I've been here.

[ And yet. ]

If I didn't have this creepy little demon at my back [He means Orin] always aware of people, I'd be sittin' where I could face the door too. I know what watchin' your back is like. Been there for a good hunk o' my life.

[He takes a drink.]

From some asshole or another. Or from what I was, so people wouldn't give me hell over it.

What are you lookin' out for?

[ She looks at Orin again, Lute not visible at the table, having hunkered down at her feet. He's alert too, but he makes himself smaller when indoors, both his horn and the reputation of Absols lending a certain delicacy to interactions. Unearned as the reputation may be, it's still present and enough to merit startled looks and suspicious glances.

She takes another drink. When she sets her glass down, hand curling loosely around it, she settles on an answer. ]

Most recently back home, those who resented Military Police presences or authority in places they felt were meant for themselves.

[ The implication being the organised underworld of crime, rather than just citizens feeling the usual mixture of condescending and resentful that led to altercations with drunks and the mob-minded. ]

Here? Nothing. I suppose I could pretend to be paranoid about the Rockets, or any of the small criminal organisations that exist, but why bother? No one's planning to shoot me in the chest and dump my body in lime, so things are looking calm even if someone's idiotic enough to think to make off with any part of my team.

Sounds like you're a little bit jaded on the idealism that usually comes with police work, from everything you've said.

[He takes another drink of his beer.]

That's good though. Means you won't be played for a fool, and you won't get yourself killed by someone tryin' to show off.

[He's not too worried about the Rockets, so he just chuckles at that in that wry gravel of his. Yeah, even the part about being shot and obliterated. He's spent so long running from the Man with the Golden Gun he gets it. Only Shin Malphur wouldn't leave anything behind. The last guy he shot ended up a smear of soot against rock.]

[Drifter's gotten good at being the last man in the room, either through strategy or by murdering everyone else in it that's pulled a gun.]

[ Certainly, being part of a corrupt, bribery ridden police force in a military other than the one she'd first been enlisted into? What idealism is she supposed to hold onto at that point? She takes another sip of alcohol, savouring the flavour. She'll need to take a drink from a different part of the lip in order to get salt next time.

Lute leans against her lower leg, and she leans sideways to run her fingers through his fur. ]

Doesn't prevent people from trying.

[ She says dryly, because really, if she didn't have her healing factor and ridiculous regen as the monster she'd been made into, she would be dead. Granted, she also played things dangerous because she knew she could survive what should kill her.

Recklessness is measured in various ways. She chooses to believe her calculated risks paid off, until letting Armin live didn't. Alas. ]

[Right now Drifter has access to his ridiculous regen. Were he aware, he'd be more inclined to point it out to her. As it is, he's just happy that there are some doctrines that she didn't buy into.]

[If he knew, though, all the weight of her story? He'd slowly be trying to convince her to keep that power for herself. Not to be a big damn hero for anyone, her side or theirs.]

'Tryin'. Let 'em keep tryin'. Let 'em keep failin'.

[He leans forward, both hands around his beer.]

Probably not what people are gonna want to hear here, an' I'd prefer it be kept between us, but if somebody did try it on you? I wouldn't suffer them another chance to try. [He figures he could trust her enough with that opinion, and the vague implication that's how he's dealt with it in the past. He's never been real forgiving of people that tried to kill him.]

[ Meanwhile she'd smile and look as sardonic as ever: she has no interest in using her power for anything but seeing her father again. Then she'll die, like she always knew she would: either under the teeth of her own nation, or under the aggressions of a nation that doesn't want to submit to the great and powerful Marley.

What he says when he leans forward actually pulls the ghost of a smile out of her. ]

Generally speaking, isn't that the wisest idea?

[ Her hands aren't clean, and while she doesn't derive any sense of pleasure out of it, killing those intent on killing her? Is... natural, to an extent. Scaring them off if it isn't personal is another option, but not always an option.

Annie would prefer a world like here, where killing isn't necessary. But she wasn't raised in that kind of world. She's just luckier in having few personal enemies, and a world full of impersonal ones. #joy

There's no judgment, at least. She taps a finger against her glass and lifts her shoulders in a small shrug, as if to say, that's the way things can go. ]

The ones who really want you dead don't stop just because you say please.

Some people don't see it that way. Live and let live, even if the other party ain't particular to that mindset. Mine is more, "You do you." Now, if 'You do you' ends up in them tryin' to do me? Well, I'll do what I gotta do.

[And he's been in a lot of gunfights. He's also stepped out of the way of a lot of gunfights and watched two sides kill each other off in a magnificent fit of stupidity before finishing off the job with whoever was left.]

[It could be cowardly, it could be conserving energy. But it hardly matters when he comes out the one still alive, and not murdered as a result of someone else's wild hair up their ass.]

But I'm ashamed to admit... it's pretty nice not havin' to worry about a gunfight.

[ Annie had to be beyond the matter of not meeting force with force. She will never like killing, and not seek out situations where she can kill, but she sees it as being part of the brutal reality of the world.

Of so many worlds.

She's noncommittal to what he says, simply listening, until that last part: ]

Are you just saying that, or are you wasting energy on shame over something that should be common sense?

[ Asked with a lifted eyebrow. Not having people go gun happy, kill happy, or in any way murder happy is one less thing to worry about, even if the worry doesn't just waltz right on out of her head. ]

Genuinely. Not because of your standard guilt, because I come from a world where some unique people can't die and a lot of the best competitions involve fatal shoot-outs. Because death doesn't stick unless you kill someone in a very particular way.

I know a few people who know how to take out someone like that permanently. I'd love to see him here. He'd be useless and he would hate that.

[He'd out Drifter as going by a name that's... well... Drifter has no real name, just what he calls himself at any given moment. But it would be worth it to watch the guy scramble for useless purchase.]

[He'd maybe even start calling himself 'Dredgen' just to spite him. He's enough of a shit to pull that stunt.]

[ She sips her alcohol, closing her eyes. ]

Sounds like a world filled with Titans who have functioning brains.

[ Death not sticking without killing in specific ways? Check. Super-check. Pure Titans will not die at all until the nape of the neck is properly severed, cutting through whatever exists of the human being resting inside. ]

I can imagine for him this whole world would be a strange kind of torture.

[ She looks vaguely amused. ]

I think functioning brains could be debatable, given the decisions some of 'em make... I'm gonna trust you to keep a secret. Probably not much of one. You seem pretty good at doin' the math.

[And he's been more open with her than most people.]

[He gets up and goes over to his bar, coming back to the table and settling down. He holds up a steak knife with one hand, glances one way, looks the other, makes sure that the stragglers inside are in their own little worlds.]

[Then he slowly lowers his hand onto it with a heavy grimace. Both Fortune and Orin look at him in surprise. But when he pulls his hand back up, it heals quickly.]

[ One plus one equals: the hard to kill people, of which he's one, do have healing factors as intense as certain aspects of Titans. She watches the whole demonstration without blinking, knowing the pain of knives going through skin, to the point where he pulls his hand up off the knife again, and it heals.

Now, he could have aimed between bones and ligaments, or he could have not. That's an aspect of healing she wonders about: if they did the same to her, it wouldn't matter what was injured, all of it would repair. Only with a little heat involved, which is why she holds out her hand to him, looking at his hand, and asks: ]

May I.

[He aimed between, but less because he can't heal- he can heal there just fine -it's just less of an inconvenience to push through.]

[He gives her the knife, assuming she wants to see if it's real. Which would be justifiable with Drifter's frequent slight of hand. No one would be too out of line to assume he'd pulled a stunt, he even used to use it for that back when he pretended to be a human all the time.]

Have at it.

[ She takes the knife, passing it to her nondominant hand in order to test the blade by pressing it down against the table's surface, but she doesn't watch: she's still looking at him, and still has her other hand extended. Pointedly, her eyes drop to his hand, flick up to his face, then back to his hand.

What she's really curious about is the how's of his healing, because she didn't think this was a set up in particular for a sleight of hand (hah) display. ]

[He offers his hand over, finally, and there's no sign of it being injured.]

[Then splays his fingers broadly.]

You can do what you want.

Though I usually avoid showing off my weak spot for obvious reasons. [It's kind of a bitch anyway.]

WHO'S THAT POKEMON?

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