Dirk catchall for this tournament

[uber_marionettist]

Who: Dirk Strider and You!
Where: Tournament event stuff
When: Tournament dates
Summary: As many "not a normal human" things to do as I can think of for him to be doing
Warning: PG 13 to R rating for suggestive language and profanity, probably


A. After Round 2!

Call him a shut-in (actually don't, he'll argue with you), but it's not until after his second victory that Dirk actually takes the time to start exploring the event. It's big. Busy. Alive, in the way any large venue that's successfully hosting anything is alive. There's just so many god damn people, is the thing.

Dirk may have moved to Saffron City to place his gym, but he did so with every intention of being hundreds of miles above it all. Down on the ground with the rest of the human race, he's quickly overwhelmed. Trying to find Heather after the match is a fucking nightmare. What makes this actually tolerable is the part that one would expect to send him packing: the weirdly nostalgic presence of fans. He's a Champion, a Gym Leader, and now he's defeated a fellow Aurora League member--it's almost like being a god-celebrity again. And he's visually distinctive, albeit... er, shorter than much of the crowd.

Not that this encourages his contrary ass to give these poor people what they want. He does not give autographs or pose for selfies, does not answer questions or permit handshakes or even look their way when they call out to him. Not even a single solitary thumbs up. He ignores them utterly, staring straight ahead with a flat and stony expression, indifferent to any badgering or squealing or even the odd Pokeball lobbed at his head (presumably with the intention of soliciting his autograph, but he doesn't ask. Sometimes he doesn't even dodge them.)

Is there some deeper ploy to his behaviour, some secret method by which he's decided that this is a completely not-insane person thing to do? Yes. Of course there is. Because despite being as big of a tool as he can possibly be about fan attention, he doesn't ditch them, either. He could quite easily hop on his Mandibuzz and Fly his ass out of there, or simply run up a wall and flip onto the roof of the nearest building, leaving all but the most intrepid enthusiasts behind on the ground below. But he doesn't.

The fact that this act coincides perfectly with the fact that he's a little... uh, overstimulated... is just a coincidence. It's fine. He's fine, this is just how he operates. It's functional.

He definitely didn't just turn a corner too soon and crack his head against a metal pole.

B. Finals

The day before the final match, Dirk is... surprisingly not hidden away from the world or holed up in his hotel room. This may be due to the fact that he shares his hotel room with two other people, neither of whom he especially wants witnessing him speedrunning a turbo crisis of character, performance, and public image.

See, when one gets down to it, being the villain has a lot of perks. One of them is that successfuly playing the villain demands one's eventual downfall. Losing is a given. The grander and more spectacular a spectacle, the higher the stakes and the more beloved or unlikely the hero to whose efforts the villain must succumb, the better and more memorable the story. A swift and brutal defeat is just as effective. Or a prolonged, gruelling, even tedious contest by which the villain might lose only by a hair, or else prove himself weak and worthless and wretched after all... it doesn't matter. As long as he, the villain, loses, he can't actually lose. It's honestly genius.

Here is where Dirk fucked up: he forgot, in his excitement to prove his superiority, to cast himself as the villain.

He was so preoccupied with raising the stakes, analysing and deconstructing the strategies of his opponents with machinelike precision to engineer another victory... that his character slipped. It--and he--became sincere. And now, faced with the prospect of losing here at the pinnacle of a tournament he hadn't thought to give his narrative attention to... well. It's not going so well for him.

He's hoping to use the fact that he's in a public place to discourage prying--and if the presence of potential witnesses to whatever conversation one might get from Dirk Strider isn't deterrent enough, the fevered intensity of the energy radiating from him borders on the deranged. He's occupying a bench next to a pop-up shop of souvenirs, seated more or less directly in the middle of it; normally this would be pretty impolite, especially with his legs spread the way they are. (Yes, Dirk Strider manspreads. What did you expect?) But even though you can't see his eyes behind the sick signature sunglasses, the deep furrow of his brows suggests something pretty serious is happening behind those shades. He's sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands folded over his chin like fucking Gendo Ikari--but so tightly that it looks almost painful, and while he's trying (no, really, he is trying) to look preoccupied in a cool, pensive way... his normally impassive, immovable exterior is marred by the way his leg starts bouncing frantically any time his thoughts wander. Which is pretty much constantly, because behind those shades is an abyssal whirlpool of catastrophising and overthinking. This man? Is spiralling.

Or maybe this... maybe this is just what he looks like when he's strategising. It's hard work, pre-visualising all those battle-specific mechanics and moves conditions in that overclocked brain of his. Yeah.

C. Closed to Emporio... I'm so sorry Emporio

With the finals looming over him and his intended opponent--the one battle whose promised potential motivated Dirk to sign up for this whole thing to begin with--eliminated in the first round, Dirk has but one other competitor in his sights.

And, true to form, he's chosen to pursue his interest.... er, literally. And secretively. Across rooftops and behind corners, in shadows and otherwise out of sight. Without his flash step, it's not as simple as it could have been, but he has no shame about abusing the skills of a well-trained Greninja. He spent three years training SIN, the least he could get out of it is the freedom to surreptitiously hound people across one measly city.

He's watching you, Emporio.

What are you going to do about it?

D. Closed to Emet-selch and Hythlodaeus

Dirk is not remotely surprised to discover that Emet prioritised booking at the fanciest and most expensive hotel in the entire city. He's not. It's just that sometimes it feels like his surroundings are a constantly swinging pendulum between his preferences and Emet's--which is to say, the most luxe, high-end examples of finery and taste that money can buy, or a chaotic mixture of poverty-adjacent asceticism and hyper-exaggerated indulgence jumbled together with inaccessible and sometimes hostile results.

It's not hard to guess whose is whose.

Anyway, this is just how Emet does things. Emet is like Jake when it comes to amenities and the so-called finer things in life. The difference is that Emet is actually possessed of some experience with culture and not just going all-in on everything in every way, so he knows what he's doing and isn't just making decisions on price alone. So it's not like he doesn't have the coin for it (as they say in Emet's canon.) It just never occurs to Dirk to do that kind of thing himself.

So, whatever, right?

Except that's not what's giving him pause inside the door to their hotel room. No, what's giving him pause is....

"....at what point was this booking for only one bed?"

Comments

A.

[crystalmaster]

Radley hadn't been positive he'd go; he's been very busy with breeding and the restaurant and eggs hatching all over the place. (The kitty family is a handful!) But in the end he decided to go since some people he considers friends are participating.

He hasn't been thrilled with Dirk's behavior, but he's not a sadist. He happens to be standing with folded arms when Dirk walks into the pole. He winces.

"And that is why you should always keep your mind on where you're going. Are you okay?"

He's brought his first four Pokemon, plus Lily and Cosmo. The Eevees all warble in unison, while Cosmo just hugs his leg as usual.

[uber_marionettist]

Dirk turns around much faster than the situation really warrants, and he's ready to argue. Even though there's not a lot he can say in his defence. There is no 'I meant to do that' when you're clocking your cranium against solid steel or iron or whatever. Actually, having clocked his head on it, he knows it's not steel. Which is presumably what his brain cells are actually busy with when he opens his mouth, because what he says is this:

"I meant to do that."

He doesn't even say whether or not he's okay, because (as far as Dirk is concerned) the answer should be obvious. And because he recognises the speaker now. It's... this guy. This fucking guy, who probably has a name. Jesus shitting Christ.

".... hold up. Do I actually know your name or did I lose it through blunt force trauma to the head when we landed in the middle of nowhere, several centuries ago."

[crystalmaster]

Radley actually laughs when Dirk says such a ridiculous thing. "Oh yes, I'm sure you did. Isn't that what all of us want to do, bash our heads into metal poles? I can think of few things as much fun as that."

He shrugs. "Honestly, I don't know if you ever knew my name. I'm Radley."

[uber_marionettist]

"If you don't think that's fun, wait until I tell you--" Dirk's mouth starts before the rest of his brain even bothers to catch up. It's probably for the better that he doesn't finish that sentence, though. There are very ways for it to end that don't suggest some kind of lethal misadventure initiated on purpose, and the ones that don't are just kind of gross.

"Radley? Like, Boo Radley?"

[crystalmaster]

Radley is glad that thought is left abandoned.

"Hmm, not exactly. Radley is my first name."

B to make this especially awkward

[gachatia]

[G'raha had been enjoying the tournament - well, enjoying watching it, at least. He wasn't so bold to assume his team of Pokemon who aren't especially interested in battle as a whole could go up against bonafide champions, nor would he make them do so, but it's fun to see the strategies competitors come up with and the vast array of Pokemon species at play. That being said, there is one competitor he's been watching more closely than all the others.

...Okay, not like, creepy obsessed watching, no no no, he's not doing that. Absolutely not! But when your hero, your inspiration, goes down in the first round to some guy, you kind of get a chip on your shoulder about the whole thing. You kind of want to see what makes him better than the person you have a lot of feelings about, and you sort of a little want to see what it would take for him to lose. You know, in a healthy way. I promise.

But ooph, those vibes, man. G'raha can feel them from across the souvenir pop-up, and he's actually surprised to see someone who's supposed to be going on to the Finals tomorrow just having a really tense thought huddle moment.

Honestly, he should just turn around and leave the other man to his thoughts. Let him be, he's obviously bothered by something or other. But G'raha Tia is not good at letting well enough alone. So after a few minutes, a redhead wearing more red has appeared in front of Dirk, holding out a frosty cold water bottle. Seal's unbroken on that baby, it's fresh from the cooler.]

Here. [An awkward pause.] You, er, look as though you need it.

[I mean, essentially this is a stranger offering another stranger an ingestible product, if he's turned down he'll understand, but G'raha would feel bad if he didn't try.]

Re: B to make this especially awkward

[uber_marionettist]

[Dirk, meanwhile, took more satisfaction in defeating G'rhyff specifically than anyone else he's faced down. Not that he found G'rhyff the most challenging, or expected to have--well, actually, he didn't even expect as much of a struggle as he did have with it. In all his planning and preoccupation with efficient victories and advanced tactics, he forgot the most basic, entry-level strategy in Pokemon battles, the one that practically every Trainer starts on. You know. "Use status effects."

But sweeping away the shard of Azem in the first round was good for the ego, and in a way, perhaps set him up to set himself up for this potentially catastrophic fall he's currently catastrophising. Food for thought.]

....

[Or... er, a beverage. He stares at the water for a good three seconds. G'raha has caught him a bit off guard. His head lifts approximately one centimetre.]

I look dehydrated?

[It was lucky that G'raha handed over a bottle that was still sealed. Not that Dirk specifically suspects him of sabotage or anything. He's just a paranoid man, and detail-conscious to a fault.]

[gachatia]

...Sure, let's go with that.

[G'raha will sit down next to Dirk, but like, not too close. There is respectable space between them.]

I've seen my fair share of scholars faint from much longer bouts of neglecting themselves - experienced it myself, even - but I would prefer not to see it happen to a participant in tomorrow's main events.

[uber_marionettist]

"I'm not--" Dirk can't say he's not a scholar, even though he is completely aware that is not the purpose of G'raha's comparison.

"I'm not 'neglecting myself.'" As much as Jane and the others might accuse him otherwise, Dirk maintains he is not only perfectly capable of self-maintenance, he excels at it, and self-maintains well within the limits of peak personal performance.

"I'm definitely not going to fucking faint. What am I now, a waifish lady overcome with a bout of vapours? I don't do that shit."

He does unscrew the cap of his water bottle, but--stubbornly, so as not to prove G'raha's point--he doesn't open it. Not yet. Too eager.

[gachatia]

You would be surprised at how easily just about anyone can faint, not just "waifish ladies". But, point taken.

[G'raha's definitely been stupid enough to do it himself, many times. Repeatedly. 99% of the population of Sharlayan has likely fainted from not taking care of themselves. And, well, even the Warrior of Light can get knocked flat sometimes. So even Gods need to practice self care, clearly.]

Still, even if you weren't going to find yourself indisposed, feeling unwell is generally something we all want to avoid if we can, yes? And hydration is a key factor in that.

D for...ok i won't finish that

[amaure]

"At what point was I required to inform you of such adjustments?" Emet says casually as he makes his way past Dirk into the room, setting his leather travel bag down besides the affronting bed in question. He turns to look at him with a smile, equally smug as it is heartfelt.

"Considering the fact that were I to pursue my original choice in separate beds, my sleeping hours would be heavily squandered, not to mention disrupted, by the two of you. This way you both might learn aught about sharing, and I might be afforded some rest."

As if he isn't already making both of them do that already...but the truth of the matter is that there would be (passive aggressive) fights over which bed he would be sleeping in, and so he might as well solve that issue with an easier one to deal with.

THIS IS PUBLIC, I MADE THIS PUBLIC. BEHAVE.

[uber_marionettist]

That's not a travel bag, that's a fucking purse. As Dirk has informed him before, and at least twice again on the way here. He unslings his own pack (a heavy cross-body tote) slowly, lowering it to the ground with much less force than he usually does. Because usually he just fucking drops it.

"Okay." Two syllables that preface any re-assessment, as performed by Dirk Strider. At what point in those negotiations did you make this decision." He's not mad. He really isn't. This is just upending a lot of work and a lot of previously-secure assumptions. Hours of effort spent that really tried his patience. But it's fine. He just has to devote all of his energy now to figuring out how to share a bed with Hythlodaeus. Which is the kind of thing he could have really used an advance warning on.

"I just want to know to what degree I've just been played for a chump specifically to waste my time. You know, going forward."

[hythlodaeus]

“Wasted your time? Doing what?” Hythlodaeus steps out of the bathroom bundled in a towel wrap about his head and a white terry cloth bathrobe, black smudges around his shoulders portending something amiss.

Well, there was more than a couple hints, considering his brows were now black. He sits on the edge of their communal bed to examine all of his nails. Outside of their little argument, Hythlodaeus has happily made himself home in the hotel room. He’s even claimed a side table for his Pokeballs and knickknacks.

“Have you two already done a meal? I ordered some room service.” If Emet-Selch wanted to get them the nicest place in town, he would be sure to be the first to abuse it.

[amaure]

"Nay, I have not eaten."

When Hythlodaeus chose to leave ahead of them he didn't truly question it. Granted, there was likely a reason for it, and that reason could have easily been that Hythlodaeus didn't want to bicker with Dirk on the way here, or he could have set up a trap. Emet is considering the latter now, seeing Hythlodaeus as he is now, the black smudges clearly indicative of...hair dye.

He narrows his eyes ever so slightly as he looks him over, before turning his attention back to Dirk.

"Don't be so dramatic, you did not waste any time nor were you played for a chump. Is it so cruel that I would rather spend every night with you in my bed than to divy up my time leaving you neglected for half?"

[uber_marionettist]

Dirk also stops, turning with almost comedic reluctance to stare at Hythlodaeus with that flat, blank expression. The black smudges attract his attention first, but therein lies the distraction--his first association is less 'hair dye' and more 'grey paint,' or--

"Hold up, c'mere a second." He puts up a hand to glance into the bathroom. Then he glances at Emet.

"You're not off the hook yet, either. Don't change the narrative. Four seconds ago it was about squandering your sleep."

oh boy oh boy

[seacub]

[Emporio is finally knocked out.

He'd been going in on hard mode from the start of course- only one pokemon gets the item, but the whole team was built around Eviolite, and from there it was all chance. Not normally something he relies so hard on, but once he started consistently facing off against type disadvantages it became something of a 'hammer to nail' scenario.

He's beat though, to say the least. Right now he's not even sure he has it in him to watch the finals so much as sit glaze-eyed in the stands with the rest of the others once he's back out of the competitor's end of the arena. But something feels...

...Off.

And Dirk might start to get the feeling that he's why. Emporio consistently starts glancing toward where he Definitely is- not even WAS.

Is.

Squinting sometimes. Ignoring others. Emporio doesn't run, but there's a new kind of exhaustion that sets into his frame as he adjusts his hood, gloved hand on a pokeball at all times. No move...Yet.

But he knows you're there.]

[uber_marionettist]

Dirk isn't a complete stranger to being detected. Or nearly detected. Sensed might be the best word. It's his policy to always be out of the frame by the time the surveilled party turns around--which is, uh, not entirely feasible here, especially since the lack of panels renders that principle textually incoherent.

He hangs back, lying flat and low on a rooftopp and watching the Pokeball in Emporio's hand. He lets his Greninja lead now--SIN's camouflage and speed are second to none, and on the off chance there's a Pokemon involved in tracking them, better to let the kid think he's being watched by a Pokemon than a person. For now, anyway.

SIN leaps across the road, over Emporio's head, nearly as fast as Dirk "Bro" Strider himself--splitting up like this, they've flanked him, giving Dio's spawn two pairs of staring eyes to prickle the back of his neck instead of one.

[seacub]

Dirk, perhaps, expects the sheer lack of surprise exhibited when Emporio doesn't really react to a greninja leaping over his head. In fact, he doesn't even try turning around or looking up to see what the hell just happened- simply stopping in place, and fidgeting idly with the ball in his hand. His hood is down. His hair, loose tie-back that it is, still relatively snarled and tangled from earlier events. There....are definitely two behind him, now.

And then....

"...You know... ...I don't think Team Rocket has grunts that are really this good," he hums, adjusting his cap with his free hand. "...Do they really want me to join this bad..?"

[uber_marionettist]

Dirk's eyes narrow sharply. Like an anime character's.

Team Rocket?

How--

No. No way. He doesn't know shit. He can't. Guessing, then... and lucky enough to graze the truth. Just barely. That's not what's happening here, though. He's not a recruiter. Christ's sake.

Better to end this phase sooner, then. Time to close the net.

With a quick hand signal--which has nothing to do with the action and everything to do with old Earth rappers--he cues SIN to close the distance using a move that Emporio actually knows very well. Shadow Sneak.

Because yes, he is planning to kidnap a child in broad daylight.

What are you gonna do about it?

[seacub]

Well this is just annoying!

With a sigh that speaks of someone far too put upon to treat this like a kidnapping, Emporio doesn't bother trying to get away from a Shadow Sneak. It's a Shadow Sneak, that's happening whether he wants it or not.

He's just tired really. "You couldn't just wait until after the tournament's over even..? ...You guys know how this normally ends right..?"

Anyway, the frog has probably bagged a teenager. While he's talking even! He's not even struggling when that frog grabs. Wow.

A

[foolishwren]

It is a nightmare to find Heather in a giant convention full of people-- especially because, despite not really having needed to do it in... years, she is actually extremely good at disappearing into a crowd.

And in fact, that is exactly what she did when the hubbub of Dirk Fans In The Distance(tm) reaches her ears.

Because no, despite her show of casual, comedic devastation in front of the audience, she actually is QUITE mad AND ALSO embarrassed. Not at losing. At losing to him, specifically. And she also, specifically, doesn't want to exist anywhere in the vicinity of a person who would shout the words 'DIRK TAKE A PICTURE WITH ME PLEASE', which she definitely just heard shouted about twenty yards to her left.

So she stands from the bench she'd been sitting at briefly, and melts into the shadows surrounding throngs of people.

Until he walks directly into a pole.

At which point she un-melts from the surrounding throngs of people.

"Nice."

She says this before any higher brain function can remind her that, wait a minute, she was trying to avoid him.

OH WELL.

[uber_marionettist]

At the very least, the whiplash (almost literal) of ringing his proverbial bell and then having Heather Mason manifest directly nearby prevents him from realising that she was avoiding him at all. It also prevents him from putting the scene together in a coherent way for a few seconds, leaving him staring blankly at her for like four entire seconds too long, his face as flat and unreadable as a parking space.

Nice? Nice what?

When did she get here, what is she commenting on? His crowd?

Oh. Wait. No.

Fuck.

Fuck again, as he realises it's too late to say anything in repartee.

Instead, he grabs the first available dunk he has, which. Isn't his best. But it's something. He's so thoroughly ignoring the people around him it would be legitimately impressive if the fact that someone is also yelling DIRK STRIDER!!!! directly in his ear didn't make his lack of reaction a little... unsettling.

"So. Five headbutts, huh?"

[foolishwren]

Heather Mason Sees All.

But, no, she was definitely remarking on walking into the pole.

To her credit, she looks, at most, mildly annoyed. She's not going to broadcast how sorely she's taking this loss, she knows that would be so much cringier than just taking it on the chin and moving on.

So those several-seconds-too-long pass with them just staring directly at each other in silence. At least until that person literally yells at the TOP OF THEIR LUNGS directly into his ear. At which point, she could react to his weird lack of reaction, or she could react to the screaming.

She goes with the latter. Because mad about losing to Dirk or not, that is just. Why would you do that. None of her fans have done that (possibly because of the somewhat-recent resurgence of that old video of her violent encounter with Officer Jerry, because no one wants to be on the receiving end of one of those kicks). Dirk what the fuck is wrong with your fans.

"HEY!" she barks sharply, leaning in to-- almost reflexively-- snap her fingers several times directly in their ear. "Where the fuck were you raised, in a BARN? Fuck off! Go take invasive videos from afar like a normal person!"

Then, assuming they don't immediately talk back to her or pick a fight, she looks back to Dirk and says, just as flatly, "Five headbutts, five flinches. It worked out."

ACTUALLY she had been internally panicking a bit and had temporarily forgotten about Thunder Punch. But Dirk doesn't need to know that!

[uber_marionettist]

Dirk's fans suffer from the same thing Dirk himself does: a dramatic lack of boundary enforcement coupled with a profound need for attention. It's at least somewhat on Dirk for letting his fans run amok, but in fairness: fans run amok anyway. He does look somewhat surprised when Heather does his job for him, and he managed to look still more surprised that it worked.

The fan also looks surprised, and doesn't recover in time for any retort not to be hilariously belated, so it's really sort of an embarrassing moment for everyone. Except Heather.

Which just about balances out the smugness of Dirk's win against her. Long before he was a Champion, before he even had more than half his badges to attempt becoming a Champion, he'd tried to crash the League during a critical hour in the fate of this world--confident in his ability to make it through them and to what he'd hoped would be his way out. Sure, he'd failed, and also sat through both his own birthday and the final culmination of that crisis in fucking jail... but he'd never apologised, largely because he was still committed to the principle of his purpose.

This has not made him a popular member of the League, but it has made beating Heather pretty fucking satisfying. Even if he had to endure the mortification of just standing there and watching as one of her Pokemon just pummelled the living daylights out of a fish without much in the way of daylights to spare.

"A little more luck and you might've had me."

[foolishwren]

That would be the difference-- Heather is more or less the living manifestation of Boundaries, Enforced, and had been before ever arriving here, much less becoming a minor household name.

Perks of having grown up perpetually on the run, she supposed.

She keeps her steely glare on the retreating fan until they completely disappear, then turns back to Dirk, still visibly annoyed... but that fan had given her a good outlet for that annoyance, so she won't suffer the supremely uncool temptation to say something bitchy and sore-loserly to Dirk himself.

So instead of that, she's able to maintain a nonchalant tone when she replies, "Yeah, I forgot my lucky socks were in the wash. Would've been a whole different story if I'd had them on, lemme tell ya."

She pauses there for a second or two, weighing pride versus professionalism, then holds her hand out to shake.

"You're tough. It was a good match."

Another pause.

"... Fuck Trick Room, though."