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Current Don't be a part of the problem, be the whole problem.
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Isla Gill

Location: Route 1 - Ancient Grove
Mentions: @Pyromania99


Isla breathed out a long, long sigh as she watched the Heracross flee, moving through the foliage to quickly disappear among the forest. A moment passed there before a realization hit, she took a deep breath in for it all. The whole of that encounter was over, sure, and there the bug Pokémon was, fleeing off and away, but…her own had just sort of jumped in with no regards for it. Isla breathed out again, long and hard, eyes flickering up at the pair of Pokémon among the settling mud and dust and shrubbery. No, not just a pair of Pokémon…a pair of her Pokémon. Hers, who had jumped up in their defense, who hadn’t needed the question or the command, who had moved forward. Hers.

Was this what Pokémon trainers felt?

A wave of pride, joy washed over Isla, kneeling down as the pair made their way back to her. Both seemed fairly nervous about the whole event, facing the forest to walk back a moment before turning about. Swiper practically began to run back while Dancing…didn't. She watched with a far more concerned eye. Had…had more attacks landed than she'd thought? As the two returned, Yasu started to talk, breathless almost.

“Ha…I-I’ll be fine. I’m just…really not fond of wild pokemon.”

“I wonder what made it so hostile…Hatty can heal your pokemon if you need it. Thankfully it seems to have fled for now…”

Of course, that was right about when Swiper ran into her left arm and, a little while later, Dancing to her right. Hoisting them up on her shoulders and slowly, perhaps a little unsteadily getting to her feet, Isla suddenly….well, she stopped feeling the whole of that pride with the mention that it had fled for now. They hadn’t gone all the way through and the Heracross somehow didn't seem to be the sort to take that and move on. They could see it again, especially just on the way back.

Of course, doom and gloom was set aside as both of her Pokémon cuddled in close about her head, leaning in and threatening her precocious balance. She stopped moving again, leaning down a moment to let it pass, trying not to smile.

Then though the young girl thought of the actual question. Well, what had made the bug type so angry, what had made it suddenly attack. It seemed to be…protecting something, maybe? Dissuade them from pushing on? It wasn’t trying to actively harm the trainers or steal something, and really didn't seem to be the sort to try to steal…Isla’s eyes went to the side of her vision at Swiper with that thought…but it did seem to be trying to stop them from going on to the grove. Something connected to Celebi, to the grove, to that central worry that had brought them there. She looked at Yasu, head half-hidden by her fluffy Pokémon.

“Probably the same thing that makes you concerned about Celebi. Something happened. Also, thanks.”



Don Remo Lattanzi, Julia Kray, Xiang Min Purnama
Co-Written between Thayr, Silver Carrot, Kumbaris


He smiled as she made her way over, not stopping for any sort of invitation before seating herself down in a free seat at the table. The Don hadn’t brought quite so many as to take a whole table, and some hadn’t seated themselves, though made men's eyes drilled into the woman as she did so. They knew who the lady was, generally speaking. Associates of Black Maria, and more specifically Regia Maria, were told to carry themselves a certain way, talk a certain way, and she didn’t fit the profile at all. Of course, meeting with an associate would never have been done by the Don himself, so that pointed the way from such a possibility easily enough. He stared, too, smiling thinly as she spoke.

A pause passed, Remo motioning with a casual enough gesture, and those men seated stood, took a few steps away. He didn’t need them for the conversation, that was true enough. Only his Capo remained seated, hands hidden under the table.

“It has, it has. I’d always hoped we would find ourselves in a situation like this. Talking like this. It would mean someone has finally won, or at least won enough. And…thank you. The promotion has been most interesting.”

He studied her again, taking a sip of his wine. It wasn’t great, but also wasn’t odious. The smile remained on Remo’s lips as he considered her. “How’s the real world, ragazza? Good?”

Julia’s smile was strained. She wasn’t just pissed off because he’d stated that them talking like this was a sign he’d won their blood feud. She was even more pissed off because he was absolutely right. He was the winner. He is even more powerful now than he was then. Julia may be much better off after reaping the rewards of her deal than she ever had been, but she no longer had power within E-street hierarchy, and was short two limbs. Even so, she was a strong believer in respect, even among once-enemies, so she answered cordially.

"Considering the Spire as the real world is still novel to me. Compared to prison, it’s….very quiet at night," was her hesitant, bizarre answer. Trying to make small talk with Remo was seemingly a challenge to her.

Meanwhile, Xiang Min was silently observing the situation as it unfolded. The Don and Julia meet each other, seemingly sizing themselves up, before sitting down and talking, the CEO silently commands her gauntlets to be on standby mode, in case anything were ever to happen that demands her intervention, but she doesn’t think Julia nor the Black Maria Mafioso are stupid enough to start a conflict in the Spire out of all places.

Still, while she has dealt with her fair share of gangsters, she hasn’t dealt with one with this much prestige and position. She’s dealt with some mercenaries and E-Street thugs that rivals hired to kill her, and she tended to be on the winning end of that situation. She was a little bit surprised though when some Black Maria gangsters left the tables in Vivian’s, she never even thought that there were more Black Maria gangsters here, the muscle near the man in the White Coat is still sitting there however, unmoving and a rock, most likely insurance in case things go south.

The blonde-haired woman could only give Julia Kray a nod as she stood by. So, a bunch of gangsters, and a muscle right next to the head. Would need a distraction to keep the other gangsters occupied while I gun for the Muscle, a uppercut with my gun firing should knock him out for good, and at that point, the rest of the gangsters should be easy pickings. Hopefully the old man wouldn’t choose to fight himself, but if it’s necessary, a sharp knock on the head could KO him for the moment while we do a fiery escape. Xiang Min thought as her mind wracked over potential exit strategies for the current situation.

Normally she would have Mingfan and some SDS personnel assisting in this situation, but she doesn’t have time to call for assistance should things go south, and she doesn’t want to take her attention off just to call for help.

”I imagine so. Bars aren't good for souls. It breaks them down too much…and what is left is bleeding.” He paused, considering, contemplating, taking a sip of his wine. There sat a former foe who could fight no longer, knew it, and though he understood and knew that the feeling one should feel was elation, the Don struggled to grasp at that emotion. No, instead he just saw a broken, broken woman who lacked strength. In a way, there was pity to be found in that image. In a way, there was pride. He had done this and no other, no other could claim it as their war to be won. No, Remo couldn't crow over the victory like a child, but he could at least quietly appreciate it.

His gaze wandered a shade to the distance, to the woman standing some ways away in fine Spire clothing. The way she was studying his bodyguards and the Don clicked in the man's mind, a careful enough study for issues and threats. A thought sent and received over his link and he knew one of his men had already tensed, ready, waiting to put a bullet in the woman's skull. An issue or another would be stupid, but so would not taking precautions. He made a point to look long enough before looking again at Julia. ”The Spire isn't quite real either, that is true, but I am glad you are making not quite real friends in it.”

Julia’s jaw clenched and the muscles in her neck visibly tightened. She was staring at the table in front of her. She could not listen to what he was saying. Especially not him being the one saying it. She had made friends. A lot of them. Some of them died by his command. Other deaths were her own fault. She couldn’t think of any retort that wouldn’t get guns drawn on her, and not make her look pathetic. She had to resist both the urge to jump over this table and snap his neck, and had to hold back tears.

”You’re better than making remarks like that. Or, you used to be.” was her eventual, quiet, serious response. Her mouth was dry. The look in her eyes when she raised her head to meet his gaze again would be a familiar one. Hate. A flame betraying her explosive, violent nature. So, the fire hadn’t entirely gone out after all.

He watched the immediate reactions, the hate, the movement. Clearly enough, there was something to be had there as she bore holes down into the table, and as the woman spoke Remo let out a long, long breath. There was flint there in that voice, flint and the taut wire about the neck. The Don's eyes didn't leave from her as he watched the performance, calculating over it.

”I'm sorry - you misunderstand me. New friends is what I mean. New friends like the one you have over there. Your old friends…” He paused, letting the words hang as he considered the next well. There wasn’t any more pity to be found there, that was for certain. She still had a fight in her, a fire in her, not quite fully beaten down and away. ”They were good people. They really were. Honest enough, skilled enough. Worthy opponents to the end.”

Xiang Min continued studying her opponents, from their clothes, their weapons, everything. The situation was so tense that one could pull out a knife and cut the tension wide open, one wrong move from either of them could spell disaster, and Xiang Min was pretty sure everyone knew it.

And so the woman, already assessing her threats, decided to do something unexpected, her weapons were still kept on standby, but she relaxed her body, outstretched her arms forwards and then upwards, and just continued watching the conversation unfold with her hands, her arms grabbing her tea and then drinking it. A silent nod towards the Mafiosi that she meant no harm, but a message that, if they did anything. Xiang Min would protect her erstwhile Gym Partner from whatever aggression they would inflict upon her.

I could only hope the Black Maria received my message. Xiang Min thought, silently drinking her tea as she still watched Julia and Remo talk in the distance.

Julia sighed, her anger dissipating as she realises that he’s trying to cheer her up. This was a weird situation. She didn’t want to fight. She wasn’t prepared for the consequences. But every second in front of this man was a test of her self-restraint. And she definitely didn’t want to bury the hatchet and become friends. Hearing him overcorrect and start praising her friends brought out a single snort of laughter from her, though she still wasn’t smiling.

”They were punks. Gangsters. Kids who shot other kids. I appreciate you calling them skilled and worthy, though.”

There was a thoughtful look in her eyes. All the bloodshed on the streets of Metro City and now look at them both; Old, alive ,rich and talking peacefully over drinks in the Spire. She didn’t know whether to give credit to the blood she spilled to get her this far, or wonder what it was all for.

”If they weren't skilled, my men wouldn't have died to them. If they weren't honest, I would have bought them. It is just the truth. You were the same. There's a reason you have chrome instead of a suit.” He frowned, then, tapping briefly against the table. A number of thoughts came and went, though none of them were solid enough to wholly grasp. Some part of him still wanted to relish in the victory, other parts of him wanted to talk more candidly in one way or another. A question still tickled at the man's curiosity since she'd mentioned such people. ”Do you visit them?”

Julia looked down at her arm. She could have gotten something shiny and fashionable, but she wasn’t an heir. It would in some way have felt like a betrayal of herself. Maybe that’s what he meant by honest. E street would lie, cheat and steal, but they knew who they were. They knew that they were street scum given value by pledging loyalty to Heir benefactors. That’s why they had a strong sense of respect, and lived by the mantra of ‘E street for life’.

She looked back up when she was asked if she visited her old friends. She shook her head with a deflated face. ”From time to time. The new blood don’t want me to work for them, but they still respect me. It’s a strange position. E street members never stop being E street.”

Remo snorted, that thin smile finally reaching up to twinkle in his eyes. The ragazza still didn't understand, didn't always reach his full meaning about the facts, about life, about all of it. He spoke of the living, new friends, and she thought he spoke of the dead. He spoke of the dead, friends made and lost during that feud, and she thought he spoke of the living. The girl was right, though, right about all of it. E Street never did stop being what they were, enforcers given meaning by what they offered up to those in the high towers who wouldn't know loyalty or sacrifice or decision if it was choking them awake. They were enforcers who didn't grasp that whole picture, built from the decisions of those before, their blood and skill, who saw only the next day. That new blood, if they were smart, wouldn't waste someone with experience…but they weren't smart because, E Street never changing, never learning, didn't know. They saw her failures against the whirlwind Remo had once unleashed that so many had been torn by, not the successes she had born which forced his hand to create such monsters. They were, in short…E Street. It amused him, that grand joke.

”Maybe so, maybe so. Maybe one day you'll find something that better fits you, here, now. Maybe one day a seat will welcome you with open arms. I hope you'll find it.” A glance at a watch, then, casual as may be in the motion. That brief frown visited the Don's face as he looked back up. He spoke as he rose, fixing his coat as Iacopo strode off to pay the bill. ”I hope every visit might be as pleasant as this one, but I must cut it short. Other business to attend to. If you are ever in the neighbourhood…please, I'm sure the Star can find a table for you. Good night, Julia.”

Don Remo Lattanzi

Location: Vivian’s, E Street Territory, Spire District
Mentions: @Silver Carrot @Kumbaris


The bouncer hadn't been much trouble; like many of the Spire denizens, his loyalty and actions were tied to others who were far, far more indecisive than any member of the Black Maria. As such, the man hadn't asked many questions when Remo had entered into his view. He hadn't asked much of anything, just shifting out of the way for the Don and his entourage to atride past the line as a whole. It wasn't hard to tell the man's concern about a good lot of things. Remo thought little of it.

Enter into the bar, pause and take a good breath in while eyes scan the residents. He spotted her, unsurprising really considering the description Remo had received and the lack of obvious prosthetics in Vivian's. Those others who had such things were the sort to embellish their metal, blacks and golds mainly in muted wealth, while hers was suspiciously clean, basic. Otherwise…he tried to connect the face with his memories. The lady looked about as old as might be expected, though far more well worn compared to Remo. Time hadn't been gentle to her, not at all. She sat with another occupant of the Spire, though the Don didn't quite recognize her. The other was young enough she couldn't be an old one, one from back in the day. A new friend, really Julia? Remo chuckled freely at the thought.

The group was seated some ways across the floor, Remo ordering a bottle of white wine for himself and his, a bottle of red for the woman across the way. It was cheap to be generous, and the Don somewhat smiled at that thought.

⛼ A7 - The Ever-Burning Mausoleum ⛼
Co-Written with ERode

"The Black Ledger."

The man nodded, but only in understanding.

"Those who bring such bodies, their family or their companions, remember such deeds. As for us, Flame grants purification so that an unshackled soul may rejoin the cycle without regret."

The gravekeep stared for but a moment, nodding when he was finished with such brief internal deliberations. It was clear, to some degree or another, how such an order - the believers of the Flame-Face - treated with death. They saw it as another part of their cycle, a cycle of souls from one life to another to another. They saw souls as malleable, that they would come back into life after a moment in the black sea beyond. He had not considered this, for souls had always seemed evidently abounding in that sea beyond. It did not seem that the soul of a screaming hellion might find themselves transformed from one state to another, to that of a peaceful being, yet then again they had passed through the veil of the most severe transformation of all, that of death.

And yet, it did not seen to change his holy writ. The recording of those who had passed was a holy mission by its association with those who were living, those who would read the names and the deeds and be able to know again the dead. Thus would the soul be kept and saved, not forced to be left abandoned in the sea beyond.

"Who writes in the Black Ledger? What do they record?"

“Of its record, one takes the name and the dates, the cause and perhaps their occupation.” He peered closer towards Lethe. “Are you not of that flock? Few concern themselves otherwise, except those personally involved.”

"I am a recorder of the dead. My ledger is my own. In recording those who have passed, their souls are preserved and protected from oblivion, and the living profit by knowing those who have come before. This is what I have held for truth. Should you be correct, or should I, it does not alter the impact of the record. Do those who so record in your Black Ledger want for aid in their holy task?"

"Curious."

The older man folded his arms.

"The Black Ledger is a denomination separate from this Mausoleum, though their work finds greater purchase with those who have lineages storied or wealthy." He gestured at Lethe's appearance. "If you wish to join them, they can be found in the Royal Road...though I suppose their practice is not one that aligns well with your faith."

A slow cock of the head followed, questioning, contemplating, marionette-like almost. That the older man did not comment on the clashes of his own reasoning with the gravekeep, yet felt the need to do so when comparing the man with the Black Ledger, was something of an insinuation which he did not enjoy. "Why so?"

"Their's is a belief that there are lesser and greater lives. Through records, legends past dwell within the present, while the chaff are scattered and left behind."

A quirking of the lips. The flames consign all to equal oblivion, whilst the ledger separates those with pasts forgotten and pasts treasured.

"You don't strike me as the type to extoll the virtues of an unbroken lineage, though your work resembles theirs."

A snort came as the response, a mouth wry with the sour thoughts that came from such blasphemous statements. The Black Ledger truly did not sound like an institution which would agree with the gravekeep. "All souls have worth. Those who could accomplish greatness have been snuffed away in childhood while those who do not stretch their lives away. I make no judgements to the dead, only service so that they may be spared oblivion."

He paused, considering. "Would the Flame-Face give men toil? Would it patron a ledger in exchange for men at the fire?"

"We worship but differing Faces of the same Deity, who dwells amongst us even past their demise. So long as your labour is honest, I've no reason to refuse you and yours. Mind that the pages don't burn though."

Don Remo Lattanzi

Location: Lattanzi Estate, Regia Maria Territory, Red Light District
Mentions: N/A


A kettle whistle in that far distance, green tea for a sister at bed. The click...click...click of a clock, hand at play lightly scolding. The muffled footsteps down the hall, socks on carpet smothered by walls.

Eyes slowly open. He could smell the coffee in that far distance; his father lacked any inclination at all to sleep to the reasonable time of five, it seemed, as artificial as that time might ever seem. His mother was nearly worse, though she had diverted her interests to retirement, it seemed, as much as a Don might. Remo could find her painting as often as he could find her getting information from a Capo, sending another out, and so forth. He rubbed his eyes briefly before sitting up in bed, sweeping legs out with some difficulty. Thick, honest blankets had smothered Remo away.

That look to the side, another shape huddled away under the red checkered blankets, black tresses crowning out from the edge. He couldn’t help but smile, leaning just a shade back to hook the edge of the blanket with his finger. Pulling it down slowly, cautiously, carefully, the man nodded with some semblance of satisfaction. Cora still looked just as beautiful as when he first met her, olive skin and all, snoozing away. A snore seemed to rock the room. Remo froze as it passed, moving the blanket back to where it once lay. She snored just as when he first met her, too. It’d been one of the great conflicts of life when they had been young, though now he couldn’t help but make jokes over it. Moving off the bed and into plushed slippers, the old man began his day in earnest.

In the shower, steam rising above the curtains, he thought through his day. Hot water cloaked him, waterfalling from a hung head as hour to hour was thought, shifted, considered. Remo had a schedule, true, and a man to manage a schedule, to manage meetings for business, but he still enjoyed the practice. It’d been something he’d come to get used to, a little practice of thinking the day at the day, not a week before the day. Things changed in a week, but this week…not so much. A thought, and he’d connected to the estate’s systems. News shifted here, there, news not from the Spire but from Regia Maria’s own information-movers, own reporters, own informants. Nothing shifted under red lights without his knowing, or at the very least without someone friendly enough to his knowing and speaking. It all moved behind his eyes as soap turned to lather, semi-abrasive particles scrubbing away any hint of blemish.

A man had died in the Spire, one of the Sk8te couriers who had taken a job but had been found with no job to show. It was interesting enough, true, and spoke something of the interior conflicts among the puffed pricks who sat there, but did not say much. Sparse details spoke who he was, save for those a surface search might find. A name, a relative age that was roughly correct, a contemplation to be sure. It did not say much, because he was inexperienced…he may have died before the job had even begun, the package - whatever it may be - not at all being in the hands of the murderer. Yet…if he had been murdered for it, and murdered at the Spire, that meant that one Heir moved against another, had a good enough tool for the job, and good enough in this instance meant that the crew would not be foolish to kill a messenger who had no message to steal. They would have waited, and if compromised there, killed him on the rooftops. Couriers were good, true, but Remo had not met many who outran bullets, drones, and worse…and that assumed the courier was good. This one had not been. The package would have been stolen. So, then…interesting. A smile touched the corner of his face.

Remo looked closer. He had been Afterburn, people the Don had worked with before on one occasion or another for specific items…he knew that leader, too. Digging had been digging had been digging, yet he’d found enough information about that kid to know what there exactly was under the exterior. He was a scared little boy, would be the first impression Remo ever had, one who was in over his head. There had been some uses for him, though. Some.

More news…more news…there had been so, so much going on while he had slumbered. He would have a busy day ahead of him. He would have a very busy day indeed. A free hand grasped at a high speed razor as the man considered it all.


Location: Vivian’s, E Street Territory, Spire District
Mentions: N/A


“Sir, I still don’t recommend this.”

“Why?”

The steps down the street weren’t taken in hiding, or behind the tinted, bulletproof windows of an armored vehicle, nor was Remo’s entourage exactly inconspicuous among the other crowds of the Spire roads. No, black suits strode the earth, and a path was carved before them as ancient sages once carved a path through an ocean for his own. Remo felt light on his feet, heavy coat shifting in the slight winds as he felt the gaze of those on the street. They were a great many types. The buzz of drones shifted overhead. The Don knew those cameras saw him, too.

Some knew him for what he was by image alone, by his face. He could see the flash of recollection in the eyes, that such was a Don of the Black Maria. Others took a moment, a click of a thought to access a database for a face, a motion, something or another, and they had that look of knowing too. They moved a shade quicker along the street, though Remo could see which ones considered their loyalties and which ones did not. The latter did not make to move to the other side of the street, the former simply moved about their day at that faster speed. They didn’t want to seem to concerned about the Black Maria. People would be watching.

Across that street, Remo could see shapes gathering, too. Some of them were agents from E Street, gold-gilded thugs who wanted to see if the man would offer any sorts of insults for them to act on who weren’t old enough to remember blood spilled before could always spill again. Others were men with cameras, vultures who haunted Heirs, who wanted their own little scoop about things. He was glad that reputation made them keep their distance. Such vermin would not be fit to waste bullets on.

“Because it’s not safe. Because you still haven’t told me exactly the reason, sir.”

“Of course it’s safe. If I get killed, blood paints these streets, washes them red. They know that. If some thugs, off-shoots acting on their own who want reputation, begin after us you can kill them and we’ll simply send condolences to the other side…along with a payment, true, but…rendere pan per focaccia. But they have every interest in keeping such off-shoots far, far away from me. I die and they pay more than they can ever afford.”

A moment passed as they walked. The Don knew Iacopo wouldn’t ask the second question again. It would seem too needy. The wind seemed to whistle between them as the group continued down that street. Finally, he broke the silence, smiling as he spoke.

“And I have heard things. People moving. Even the flies around here talk…and I want to meet someone here I have not seen in a long, long time. Memories, Capo, memories. And some new ones to make.”

Color briefly drained from Iacopo’s face before he composed himself. The man had been old enough to recall when things had finally come to a close. Such early scars were rooted deep in a person’s soul, deep enough to still let fear grip you.

“Ah, fuck. Sir.”

And there was the door.





⛼ A7 - The Ever-Burning Mausoleum ⛼

The heat, waves lapping at the gravekeep's exposed skin while burning all the rest, a constant motion like waves, like a breeze, like a natural order which was not to be interrupted. Stark shadows were cast by the flames, the crematoriums, turning the half-clothed shapes into mere black shapes in motion, an imitation of a shadow play of such gravity. The canticles and chants seemed to roll and clash against one-another, overlap, overlay. The church was a vast machine, one of immediate motion and structure and method, one of prescribed system and universal application, a devouring thing, a needy thing.

For a moment, he felt small. Heat dashed against his eyes and the gravekeep could near feel his shovel turn red amid the forge-heat, imagined as may be. Such feels were quickly shaken away when he was addressed.

"You appear to not require our services."

"Are you followers of the Flame-Face? Or have you come only to watch our ceremonies?”

Lethe gave to the man a half-bow, studying him for but a moment before speaking. “I am merely a recorder of the dead. We journeyed to this city on a holy mission, to bury the dead and record their deeds that their souls thereafter may be saved in memory. I find the first of my writ to be…difficult to apply, yet seek to at least provide for the second. Tell me, do you record the dead you burn?”
Isla Gill

Location: Route 1 - Ancient Grove
Mentions: @Pyromania99


Isla watched her plan come to fruition, breathing out just a tad as she watched the attack just evaporate, the bug type becoming more enraged at the dirty tricks. Well, what works, works. It didn’t seem likely the wild Pokémon was going to be deterred, though, engaging with another furious attack that seemed halfway to strike at Dancing, halfway to release its clear frustrations. Her Eevee moved left, right, shifting among the attacks as it kicked up more than enough dirt to obscure her view. Amid it, though, Dancing’s frantic motions threw pieces of the underbrush at the Heracross’s face, about as afterthought as one might get.

Swiper, meanwhile, began his own advance from the side, urging the others on to join him as the little fox began to charge in.

Dancing uses Sand Attack!
Swiper uses Beat Up!



Isla Gill

Location: Route 1 - Ancient Grove
Mentions: @Pyromania99


“I’m…fine, thanks for…asking…”

Looking back at the fight, her two Pokémon having jumped in with the Heracross’s long, long horn now growing blue as it eyed Eevee with some amount of intent or another, Isla’s eyes went wide. They’d just jumped in on their own and, suddenly, she felt like she had to run in there and get them out. Yet…Yasu gripped at her as tightly as she could, wrapped there. Looking back, she could see Camila helping up the little psychic, though…where was her Pokémon?

A wave of annoyance passed over the young girl at the…just sheer inaction about things. What was she doing, just waiting things through. A few other things went through Isla’s mind, on just what was going on and how to best stop the whole thing, as she snorted out. Roughly shaking off Yasu and running up a few steps, a number of options came and went…not all of them good. The Heracross was clearly not even with her own but she could, maybe, even the odds a little bit. She searched through her pant leg pockets for a moment before drawing out a Pokéball.

“Dancing! Swiper! Get ready to get rid of it!”

She threw the ball.

Isla uses a Pokéball on Heracross!
Dancing readies an action: Burying the Pokéball!
Swiper uses Helping Hand!



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