[center][h2][b]Pokemon Day-Care - Route 117[/b][/h2][/center][quote]The precious Coral Pokemon approached the kind woman tentatively, cooing as she hobbled over on her stiff "legs." She wasn't any smoother than the average Corsola, from what Mrs. James could tell by the slight touch, but there was a softness to this one's personality that indicated to the aged Breeder that from where she came, at least, they were often farmed for the pieces of coral they would break off to polish into divine jewelry. The Corsola discovered a small treat in the wrinkled hands of Mrs. James, to which she cautiously retrieved and nibbled with a shy look on her face.
	Mrs. James' face never turned from the girl, however. Learning that two of her other Pokemon had returned from a day of mischief with the Egg made her slightly concerned for the owner of such a delicate form of life. "Thank you for bringing it here out of the rain, child," she said with another glowing smile and reached her hand to pat the girl's that was placed on her nervous knee. "Why don't you stay here the night and be on your way in the morning?"
	The elderly woman wrestled to her feet, bracing herself on the back of the mahogany chair on which she sat. Her hand reached out for the girl's who offered her hand in support. "What's your name, dear?" she asked as she slowly paced toward the egg.
	All others were usually "dear" to her, which didn't seem to bother strangers. Regardless, she'd often continue calling everyone "dear" if only because her mind was filled with names of Breeders she'd met throughout her life, and keeping track was almost impossible. She turned from the egg and said "Well, it's nice to meet you, Haven." Her eyes smiled as she led the girl into a separate washroom where the girl could bathe in privacy from the young man who'd entered behind her.
	"I'll be back with some dry clothes for you. I'll put your supplies into a bedroom as well," she told the girl as she opened the washroom and began to situate it for use. "Is there anything you want me to do with your things so nothing gets damaged?"
	She knew the girl was an artist, though never mentioned it earlier. However, Mrs. James made a trip into Mauville earlier that day and passed by the skillful young woman. She was equally concerned with her supplies as Haven must have been. "Supper will be ready when you are."

	Joy took the boy's clothes after he'd entered the shower. She whisked them away to the laundry room and searched for dry clothes that would fit the young man and dragged his pack on the floor behind her due to its weight. Looking through his belongings, briefly, revealed only more wet, or, at least, musty, clothing that she threw on top of the washer with the mind to clean them after bringing him fresh clothes. 
	She had the mind enough to look at the sizing of his clothes and attempted to match them with whatever she could find. However, they were not a thrift shop nor a charity where hand-me-downs were donated. She found a white tank-top and a pair of brown Dether (a material of denim and leather developed for both comfort and durability) shorts. Both were a size too small, but she believed his physique wouldn't condemn the discrepancy in sizing. With no proper underclothes available, she hoped he wouldn't be too uncomfortable. 
	She returned to the bathroom and knocked on the door with her round fore-appendages and a blushed face. She looked away but stretched out her stubs in a gesture for the boy to take the clean clothes when the door opened. She squeaked an apology, which he seemed to take well enough. 
	Joy remained outside the door until the boy was ready. For only two articles of clothing, he seemed to take too long to get dressed. When he exited, she understood why.
	 His body was wrapped tightly in the cloth, accentuating the athleticism of his body. She blushed again, realizing how provocative her choice of clothing actually was. It seemed his own clothes came from a different region where sizing was determined by differing measurements. She bowed her obtuse body in a kind of apology, to which she almost fell immediately onto her face. 
	She was never known for her grace and often put herself into awkward positions. This only took away what little grace she actually had. 
	Joy waved one of her stubs for the boy to follow her to a small bedroom with a twin-size bed and a small desk. The curtains were heavy and warm, the color of the walls were a light mustard cream. The linens were light and airy with some quilts, apparently hand-made, folded at the foot of the bed. There wasn't much in the way of amenities, but a bed was what most travelers required more than anything else.
	Joy cooed to imply she'd call him when supper was ready and then exited the room so he could situate what little belongings he'd had. His packs were place in the far corner of the room that felt more like a hallway cut in half in order to create a bedroom in such a small space. There was a pad of paper on the desk and an old pen that often went untouched simply due to the advanced level of technology on which their culture depended.
	Before he could really get settled, a tap sounded on the glass pane of the window behind the heavy drapes. A muffled "Hey, bro! Hey! Let me in," passed through the pouring rain and the barrier between them.
	When the drapes were pulled, a rather homely looking man in his mid-late twenties stood pathetically in the rain. A vest was the only piece of clothing on his upper body, which was pulled up over his head with long curly, almost matted, hair of a muddy blonde. His eyes were dark in the poor lighting and dark circles sank beneath his eyes. His muscles cut the only definition in his body, making him look malnourished.
	Perhaps he'd walked from the Lavaridge Mountains and this was the first building he'd come across and needed to get out of the rain before hypothermia set in. He looked terribly desperate on the other side of the window.[/quote]

[center][h2][b]Slateport Marketplace - Slateport City[/b][/h2][/center][quote]The rain made the non-locals frantic and rush to drier locations. Just behind a stall were a group of young trainers (judging from their gauntlets) shivering in the wetness of Hoenn's weather. The rain would probably last a few days, but they weren't quite concerned with themselves. They'd trained too rigorously earlier that day at the beach on Route 109. They thought themselves not worn-out enough to partake in a friendly battle with some other trainers. Though none of them knew each other, they all fell victim to some of the more advanced trainers. Caught in the rain, they were desperate to treat their Pokemon before checking into the Slateport Hostel just north of the Marketplace.
	Being in the Marketplace meant these trainers weren't fortunate enough to afford supplies from the one of the PokeStations nearby. They were hoping a keen eye, specifically charitable, would pass by and notice their sad states of being and take pity on them and their Pokemon for their own foolish behaviors. 

	At the other end of the Marketplace, where a young man sat on a bench under an overhang along, a small interaction occurred. They leaned into each other briefly and then walked away from each other in directions they weren't headed when they walked toward each other. They stood out rather noticeably to anyone attentive enough due to their apparent resolve to endure the weather without accessories against it. Then, they exited the Marketplace by the same path despite taking two different directions. 
	Following them was difficult for anyone. Either they were trying to keep ambiguous their destination or they believed they were being followed. Still, they took alleys into other alleys and behind buildings and in circles. A half-hour of walking lead them to a scrapyard near the Naval Shipyard, which was only a 15-minute walk from the Marketplace. Then the two disappeared behind a pile of beams and girders. They'd taken a secret passage into a bunker where other men, and a few women, circled around and watched Trainers and Pokemon brawl in a most barbaric and unsanctioned manner.
	They didn't take well to new-comers and were often skeptical that anyone would truly be interested in such a manner of fighting. They also always had to frisk, and sometimes cavity-check, strangers who thought they could include themselves in their "sport." They couldn't risk allowing wires or drugs into the ring for the safety of themselves and the sanctity of this "art."[/quote]

[center][h2][b]Briney Marina - Route 104S[/b][/h2][/center][quote]There was no real need to be so suspicious of a stranger who washed himself onto the shore. There wasn't a thug out there that "Mr. Briney" couldn't wallop into the ground in a few seconds. Having lived as a deck-hand and sailor made him tough and resilient, but also patient. 
	"Up the stairs, your first left is the washroom. I'll take your clothes and get 'em in the wash. There's a bathrobe you can use if you don't like my stuff," he said as he headed away from the man and toward the kitchen. "I'll have breakfast ready when you get done."
	His son was still asleep. He'd been traveling to Oldale to the Academy by himself for the past week and was clearly beat by the hike every day. Fredrick was proud of his son's determination and tenacity, but still worried deeply for his child's well-being. He hoped the stranger wouldn't awaken the boy.
	
	The bathroom door opened when the water was turned off and the curtain pulled. A small boy ignored the exposed adult and used the toilet without acknowledging that it was a stranger and not his own father that was using the shower. "Are you gunna go to the Academy with me t'day, daddy?" he asked with a silent yawn. He tucked himself back in and turned to the man in the bathroom, rubbing his eyes with his forearm to focus his fuzzy eyes.
	Though clearly no older than 10, it seemed the child was no stranger to hard work. There was some development in his musculature that most boy's his age wouldn't achieve for another three years at the least. His bare chest gave the illusion of soft pectorals and his arms had creases not commonly found in one's so young. His abdomen was cut with squares of thin muscles underneath. His pajama bottoms were the only thing he wore, but judging from the top, the bottom must have been just as toned. 
	The boy's hair hung in the air in a silly manner. He'd refused a haircut for the past few months and wanted to have it grow out. It was wavy and probably knotted to some degree. There was a bruise on his left elbow that suggested he'd taken a fall the day before. His arm fell to his side and he focused on the figure in front of him. His eyes widened and he froze where he stood.[/quote]