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Snippet #2645542

located in Kanto Region, a part of Pokémon: Absolution, one of the many universes on RPG.

Kanto Region

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Eryk Nero Character Portrait: Anastasia Asher
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The soft thrumming of a small chest was enough to stir Eryk from his slumber. Removing the arm that covered his eyes, he glanced towards the object and frowned slightly. His meowth seemed content where it was, giving no indications of moving or even waking at the moment, and Eryk resigned to sitting up. The meowth mewled in protest as she jumped from her spot, allowing Eryk to finally move his limbs. He glanced at the watch, fastened to his wrist, and allowed the frown on his face to deepen. Three hours had passed and he had a feeling he knew why. Meowth merely sat in her spot and smiled innocently at her owner, her tail twitching in its place.

"Return," were the only words he spoke, watching as the red beam landed on the meowth, and successfully recalled her to her pokéball. Fastening the ball to his belt, Eryk stood up from his concrete bed, righting the white coat over his person before making his way down the roof stairs. His employers had deemed it necessary to rebuild the Pokémon Mansion in order to set up a base. Why they chose Cinnabar Island, Eryk only had a slight guess. But this was his current residence along with two of his coworkers. It was where they were to set up operations and to keep tabs on a certain party member. He didn't understand what their interest was in the girl, but a job was a job, and he was here to do it. With that in mind, he descended down the final flight and stopped momentarily.

"Good afternoon, Ryk," a familiar voice greeted, and a ghost of a smile graced his lips. It disappeared soon after as he turned to fully face Cyrilla. "They want verbal interactions with her," she had stated, and he could hear the faint displeasure in her voice. He pursed his lips together as the information settled. "They want you on it first, though," she continued, causing Eryk to stiffen in his posture. He supposed he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. It's what they wanted, and he had to do it. But what would be a good reason to visit such a place?

"Any specifics?" he questioned, his voice a low kind of tone. Had it been any other person, she might have flinched at the bite it held, but he knew her well enough that she would not take it that way. She, instead, merely shook her head, her white locks spilling over her shoulder before handing him a folder. "Thank you," he spoke, a sort of softness filtering in before he walked away. He glanced at the folder in his hand, glancing at the information it contained. There was nothing specific in the details, and he narrowed his eyes slightly. If they wanted him to gather information on her, he needed to know exactly what they wanted. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he placed the folder beneath his arm, and walked towards his room. If he was going to do this, he couldn't show up in the executive uniform, now could he?

Once he was fully dressed, a plain white shirt with a black coat over and a pair of blue jeans, he left the mansion, making his way towards his destination, however; he did not account for his meowth to appear from her ball, and stare up at him with a glint in her eyes he knew too well. It was one his friend, Kasimir, usually wore when he was up to no good, and he narrowed his eyes at the meowth. Before he could get a single word in, the meowth darted off, earning a sigh from the man. He did not have time for this, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he should have given the meowth back to Cyrilla. He allowed his legs to carry him off to his destination, looking for his meowth as he did so. Perhaps the creature was a little more clever than he thought her to be, but she would return to him, eventually.

Had he paid more attention, though, he would have noticed his meowth curling up to the legs of the one he needed to speak with. What he would say to her, though, is something he did not know. Instead, spotting the signature pink locks of the girl, he approached, silent at first, before clearing his throat. He did not, after all, want to startle the girl. His appearance would do that well enough, though he would not blame her. "Pardon, but have you seen a meowth running by?" he spoke, his voice coming out a smidge awkward. He tried to tone it down a bit, knowing full well the effects it had on people sometimes.

The girl in question had a rather unusual look to her, not least of all due to the rose-colored hue of her ample sheets of hair, presently neatly braided around the crown of her head, with the spare foot and a half or so draped easily over her left shoulder. She was quite thin, almost frail-looking, and compared to him, her height was rather unimpressive, though this had more to do with his being tall than any especial shortness on her part. Her face was a rather artistic arrangement of delicate bone structure and fair skin, though the smattering of freckles gave it a distinct sense of youth and a much-needed hint of chaos.

She did not at first seem to realize that she was the one he addressed, starting slightly at the sound of his voice, but pausing for several seconds more before actually looking away from what she was doing, probably because she'd heard no one else answer in the meantime. It would have been quite apparent then that there was no one else he could be talking to, because she was the only other one around.

She had to be young—it was obvious from this angle. Somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two would be a reasonable guess, though there was something to the set of her expression that suggested greater age than that, somehow. It disappeared, though, when she smiled, the gesture only slight, but enough to melt away any hint of premature age. It didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was close, close enough to almost miss.

"Well, sir, I'm not sure,” she replied, and there was something in her tone that wasn't exactly straightforward, almost as though she were teasing him, albeit gently. "Perhaps if you told me what kind of markings she has, or how big she is?” The girl folded her arms behind her back, shifting the way she was standing slightly, though she moved no closer to him. Instead, the shift revealed just a little bit of a feline ear, making it obvious to the observant that the Pokémon in question was, indeed, hiding behind the young woman's legs.

"She is smaller than your average meowth, standing about yea high," he began, trying his best to describe his meowth. It took him a moment to realize that, when she moved, the meowth he was searching for was behind her, peeking ever so lightly from her hiding space. He glanced down at the meowth before lifting his eyes back to the young girl. He simply stared at her for a moment, furrowing his brows slightly before he realized that the young woman knew, and he released a short sigh. Why did they want him, of all people, to interact with her first? Why couldn't they have sent Kasimir or Cyrilla? They were much better at starting casual conversations with people—he was decidedly not. She seemed simple enough, though, and before he could reel his thoughts any further, he turned so that he was just looking at her, and not staring.

"Perhaps it is due a proper introduction," he finally stated, his posture straightening almost to the point he could no longer do so. They had occupied the renovated mansion for over a month now, and he had yet to learn her name. He heard Cyrilla mention it once, but he did not retain it to his memory. "Eryk," he simply stated, though one couldn't exactly say it was a proper introduction. Realizing this, he cleared his throat and corrected himself. "My name is Eryk," he continued, furrowing his brows at himself. To the onlookers, it would look like he was glaring at the girl, as if she'd offended him in some way, however; it was not intentional. For a moment, she appeared to flinch, but her expression smoothed back out quickly.

"I... we just moved here not too long ago. My cousin appears to have made acquaintances here, already," he spoke, and he did not doubt that she would have, being who she was. If he recalled correctly, she had made friends with the Gym Leader, Blake's Grandson, Drake. He did not approve of the man, but they were just friends as far as he knew. "She has mentioned that I need to do the same," he continued, partially telling the truth. Cyrilla had spoken to him about at least meeting people. He motioned for his meowth to return to him, and she did, jumping so that she was now hanging on his shoulders, staring with mirth in her eyes, at the young girl.

There was something a smidge indulgent about the young woman's smile, and her expression conveyed a sense of patience, as though she didn't find this half as awkward as Eryk did. “Well then, I am honored to be your first new acquaintance, Eryk,” she replied with what appeared to be good humor. Her voice was soft, and slightly faint, as though she were not especially accustomed to using it, but she showed none of the discomfort that he did, and indeed stepped slowly forward, making her motions obvious and unsurprising.

She lifted a hand, and held it out sideways, offering it for a shake. “My name is Anastasia. I've only lived on the island for about a year myself, but I think that's long enough for me to be able to welcome you to it. I hope you'll feel at home here.” Her hand was much like the rest of her—thin and fair-skinned, and a trifle delicate-looking, but all the same, there were slight calluses on her fingers, those gained, perhaps from manual labor of some kind, and her fingers were the long, elegant tapers of a musician. It would still quite clearly be dwarfed by his.

He stared at her hand for a long moment, as if contemplating whether or not to take it. Hesitantly, he offered his own hand. It jerked, albeit unnoticeably, before it fully connected with hers, and he took it with a surprisng gentleness he did not know he could possess. Perhaps it was because she looked so fragile compared to most of the people he dealt with. He left his hand connected with hers for a bit longer than was deemed customary, but he released it as slowly as he took it.

"It is longer than we have been here, thank you... for the welcome," he finally spoke, the awkwardness never leaving the tone of his voice. He nodded his head faintly before glancing at the meowth at his shoulder, who seemed to be staring at him with a hint of mischief, but he merely passed it off. "Perhaps I can help you with some of your chores," he spoke, but the way he stated it came off as more of a demand than a question. He meant it as the latter, and could only hope she took it as such. She did not appear to need his help, but it would mean their conversation would last a bit longer. He'd only learned her name thus far, and if he wanted to gain anything else, he would have to remain with her.

"That is, of course, if you desire it. I will not impede your work, Miss Anastasia," he decided to clarify himself.

She glanced down at the items laying next to her, which she had apparently been carrying beforehand. They looked like two enormous bags of Pokémon food, from the labels, and then back up at him, a curious expression coming over her face for a moment, almost as though he were some kind of exotic creature she'd never seen before. “Help… me?” she looked a little perplexed, blinking up at him, but then she nodded slightly. “If you have the time, I could perhaps use a bit of assistance getting these back home.”

Bending down, she picked up one of the bags, teetering dangerously to the side for a moment before she staggered and caught her balance again, hefting the fifty-pound sack onto one of her thin shoulders. It settled there, and looked stable enough, though it was a tough guess as to how she'd ever managed the second one, because she looked a little overwhelmed even with just the one. “I'm a few blocks down this way, if you could get the other one? I had to drop them when your cute little friend came to say hello.” She smiled softly at the meowth on his shoulder.

She started off at a moderate walking pace, her steps oddly graceful and light despite the awkwardness of her burden. Sunlight glimmered in the rosy strands of her plait, and given how fair she was, the brightness of the tropical day almost seemed to dissolve her at the edges. Her voice, however, remained pleasantly solid. “So what brought you to Cinnabar, if I can ask?”

With little effort on his part, Eryk hefted the other bag on his shoulder, but pursed his lips into a fine line when Anastasia took off with the other one on her shoulder. He hadn't missed the way she staggered, considering it was obvious enough, and contemplated whether or not he would help any further. The meowth gave a soft nudge with her head against his free hand, recalling herself into her own ball leaving his other shoulder free. Without as much as a word, in a few quick strides, he was by her side, taking her bag from her arms and placing it on his spare shoulder.

"I don't mind," he spoke as if to excuse himself of what he just did. His voice was barely above a whisper, though, when he spoke, and glanced down from the corner of his eye when she spoke. "Research," was the curt reply he gave. She probably wanted more than that, but he remained silent for a second, trying to think of what they were researching. He couldn't say We're researching you, unless he wanted to come off as some kind of insane person, however; the gears in his mind began to crank as he added to his comment.

"The Old Mansion is a house of lore, and there is a certain pokémon we are investigating," though he wasn't exactly lying about that. There were exactly two reasons why they rebuilt that mansion, and one of them was to study the origins of Mewtwo and Mew. It seemed like a harmless enough explanation since there were others in the world interested in the two. He wasn't exactly a researcher, but she didn't have to know that. "I suspect when we are finished, we will be leaving," though he really couldn't say for sure. If they actually found something, chances were they'd remain on Cinnabar Island for a good time.

Anastasia nodded, seeming to accept the answer, brief as it was, with equanimity. She rolled her shoulders, not appearing upset that her burden had been removed but rather wearing that vaguely-surprised look again, like he was something she didn't quite know what to do about. “I've never been in it, but I've heard some of the local stories,” she replied in the same thread of conversation. “They used to say it was haunted, but I…” she trailed off, pursing her lips slightly. “Well, it seems unlikely to me, anyway.” there was something about the way she said it that gave the impression that it wasn't what she'd originally meant to say there.

Another couple of blocks brought them to a comparatively large property, one with an arch over the gate and a white picket fence enclosing the yard. Two buildings sat on the grounds. One was a modest house, no bigger then the others in the neighborhood but cheerfully painted, meticulously-clean, and obviously well-maintained. It was a soft blue color, with white shutters and a matching door, a small vegetable garden just visible to one side of it. The second building was painted to match, but was much larger, and all on a single level, set on the back of the lot with a wide expanse of grass in between. There was even a little pond, one that burbled with a fountain, which produced a soft, pleasant sound.

The arch read CINNABAR POKÉMON REHABILITATION AND HOSPICE, and indeed, the yard was filled with pokémon, about five in total at the moment. An ekans sunned itself on a large flat stone near the pond, occasionally shooting aggravated glances at the feebas energetically splashing around inside it. A one-legged pidove pecked at a scattering of seed on the ground, along with a pidgeotto who seemed to be missing an eye. A very old-looking stoutland, his coat almost completely grey and white, slept on his back by the gate, his paws in the air at odd angles.

“Well, here's home,” Anastasia said, fishing around in her pockets for a ring of keys before fitting one into the gate. “It's not much, but if you don't mind, I could make you some tea? As thanks, for the help.”

He did not pursue the subject further when she spoke, instead opting to listen to what she had to say. He was, after all, suppose to collect information in any way he could, and if she wanted to speak, he let her. It was easier that way, and he could do what he did best: listen. He had heard those same rumors, the ones speaking of the haunted mansion, but he cared not for the superstitions of others. If it was haunted, he would have known it by now, but it seemed that it was just abandoned. When they approached her place of living, he simply stared at the simplicity of it. He glanced at Anastasia, back to the abode, and back at the pink-haired girl, blinking slowly in the process.

"That won't be," he began, stopping only momentarily as he contemplated her offer. He could use the opportunity to speak with her further, but he didn't want to overstay his welcome. Conversations with him were not the easiest things, and he knew he'd probably intimidate her if he spoke freely. As if on cue, the phone in his pocket vibrated, signaling the arrival of a text. He dropped one of the bags to his side, and fished the phone from its place before reading the message. He frowned slightly, but did nothing further. Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he turned his attention back to Anastasia.

"Perhaps another day? We will be here for a while yet, I assure you this won't be the last encounter we have," he spoke, not at all fazed by what he just said. If he'd known better, he would have known that it sounded a little stalker-like, but he did not. "Where should I leave these?" he finally continued, motioning towards the two bags he was still carrying.

She didn't seem at all upset by the fact that her offer had been turned down, glancing at his phone for a moment and smiling in an understanding sort of way before she was able to push the unlocked gate open. “Well, if you don't mind, you can just put them by the door there.” She indicated the front entrance of the larger building as they stepped inside the gate, the old stoutland rousing himself from sleep immediately and waddling over to Anastasia, who bent to scratch him behind the ears. He wheezed in what sounded like a pleased sort of way and leaned into her hand, which she used to pat his head again before straightening.

“You have my thanks, Eryk. Since you can't stay for tea, please at least accept these.” Her hand dipped into one of the pockets of her apron, and she pulled out a small burlap bag, tied at the top with what looked like a ribbon. “They're pokémon treats. I'm not sure if miss meowth is your only one, but they're popular with my guests here, so I hope yours will like them too.” From the packaging, it wasn't a difficult guess that they were homemade, since the sack was stamped with the same logo as the gate.

He would have refused to take them, however; somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his team would be upset with him. Sighing inwardly, he took the parcel from her hand and placed it in his pocket, careful as to not damage it. Retrieving the second bag, he hoisted them to their location and left them where she told him, turning to make his leave, after. He paused at the gate, glancing down at the shorter girl from the corner of his eyes before taking a step forward. "You're welcome," he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper as he made his way back to the facility. He'd learned only one thing today, and that was her name.

"Anastasia."

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