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With cities come pests, and Uberrime has its fair share of annoyingly domesticated Pokémon. Pichu and Elekid form strange social packs, working together to rifle through the bits and pieces left outside of diners and cafes. Helioptile, originally introduced to feed on the massive Pichu infestation, are now just as big of a nuisance, sunning themselves on the stone sidewalks and occasionally snacking on the overweight Pidove that flock to Uberrime. Pawniard trained by the local branch of Rangers work to keep crime - at least, the obvious kind - to a minimum. Uberrime's official bird is Pidove.
The very definition of opulence, Uberrime is packed to the brim with shining metal buildings, bustling shopping centers, and the latest in technology from researchers around the island - and even from other regions. Far and away the most advanced city for miles, Uberrime boasts a multi-story gym, highlighting and -type Pokémon, along with an alternative route through which those less inclined to fight can answer puzzling questions to advance. Those with scientific interests will be right at home, especially researchers, who will no doubt find work in any field they please. Breeders, however, may find themselves up a proverbial stream without a proverbial paddle, as Uberrime's population is inundated with the latest in pure blooded oddities and attractive award-winning Pokémon. Oddly, Uberrime seems to have no discernible culture, nor has it ever...
E.T. Crowley posted at May 18 2018, 05:56 PM
The monstrously large motorcycle that growled to a lazy stop (one that somehow conveyed the impression it was looking for a fight) in the UPRC's neat, graveled, side lot wasn't exactly obscene in its proportions - in the eye of a certain beholder, after all, the leviathan's low-slung bulges of engine and crenelations of sullenly gleaming chrome it could even be considered a thing of beauty - but next to the compact, military-green, all-terrain sidecar Ural nestled in the space alongside it, what was nearly half a ton of cruiser looked like an Aerodactyl roosting on a wire beside a Fletchling.
The bike's rider swung off to the opposite side, pried its helmet off with both hands, in a tangle of matted hair and a clinging cloud of sweat, and regarded the smaller, more maneuverable, bike like someone studying an optical illusion.
"Slim's all over, tha' is," E.T. grunted at last, and harrumphed, before hefting the helmet in one hand and dangling it over her shoulder.
A squashed blue feline face, dominated by a pair of reflective green goggles and a lolling pink tongue, peered out of the flap of her knapsack, and knowingly squirreled out of the way, climbing bonelessly onto the enormous girl's shoulder as she buckled and laced the helmet lopsidedly to one side of the bag, and adjusted the straps.
"Parp!" the Sneasel announced, clearly pleased with herself, and E.T. wrinkled her nose, showing crooked teeth.
"Aye, well. Still a Ranger club'ouse, so y'r ta lay low b'fore somebody asks where y'r leash is, you grok?"
Bootsie huffed, and made a sort of raspberrying sound, but snuggled under the collar of E.T.'s jacket, concealing as much of her obvious handheld cutlery as possible. E.T. pulled off the little Ice-type's goggles and stuffed them in her pocket, adjusted her jacket's lapels, rolled her shoulders, and finally blew out an exasperated breath of her own.
"No big deal," she murmured to herself, skirting along the well-kept lawn to the front steps, just past the bright, welcoming, banner reading, 'Uberimme Pokemon Rescue Center - Rescue, Rehabilitate, Rehome'. "Beats t'hell out've tryin' to ring th' doorbell at ruttin' Ranger HQ, don't it? Ain't doin' nothin' wrong, 'tis open to t'public, this place is. Just lookin' for someone, isn't a crime to go lookin' for someone."
She inhaled, as if gathering wind into a clipper's sails, and pushed through the surprisingly-heavy front door, to the cheery jingling of a silver bell.
The waiting room was lined with some threadbare chairs and a secondhand coffee table that was stacked with at least somewhat-up-to-date magazines, and while it felt dim after the noonday brightness of outside, it clearly strove to look homey on what had to be a shoestring budget. The open, helpful, smile on the volunteer behind the front desk faltered a little at the admittedly hulking silhouette that practically filled the doorway, but he rallied quickly - and wasn't wearing any stripes, E.T. noticed.
"Good morning...!" he prompted, and he barely seemed to realize he'd stood up until she was practically looming in front of him. Definitely a ranger, though, she thought; she could see the relaxed ready stance, the practiced calm in the face, and the way one hand was very subtly in position to snap for for a belt clip, the way off-duty cops twitched toward hip holsters.
It wasn't a threat, though -- at least not a conscious one -- and that was promising.
"I'm - uh - I'm not actually here lookin' for a Pokemon, I'm lookin' for somebody works here...?" E.T.'s voice trailed off uncertainly, and she waved one gloved hand vaguely toward a window, smudging at her nose with the other. "Saw his bike out front, is all, an' I'm, uh. Here droppin' off a Christmas present."
The volunteer's mouth pressed into a thin line that didn't quite ask what purpose there was in delivering Christmas gifts in April, but definitely thought it very loudly.
"It's a little late," E.T. added, lamely.
The Ranger cautiously eased himself back into his swivel chair, expression carefully neutral.
"Do you know their name?" he asked, politely. "I can see if they're scheduled on today."
E.T. colored over the bridge of her crooked nose, and stuck out her jaw.
"Not... exactly, but he's about this tall?" She jerked the side of one hand just under her chin, in a gesture uncomfortably like signaling to behead someone. "Pointy nose? Little bit of a beard? Got a little dragon with a big fin on it?" This all seemed insufficient, and she hastily nodded toward the window again. "Drives a teeny little green bike with a sidecar on it?"
"Why don't I... see who's here right now," the volunteer behind the front desk offered, his smile faintly strained, as he rose slowly again.
(Hitmen were rarely so sloppy as to provide a public place a good, long, identifying look, to his knowledge, but this was the big city, after all, and if the new modus operandi for removing witnesses involved giant hairy Sasquatch women who sounded like they might have driven a monster truck into the parking lot -- it seemed to merit erring on the side of caution.)
"Aye, righ', I'll jus' -- I'll jus' wait," E.T. grunted, mostly to herself, as the other man vanished into a door behind the desk.
After a moment or two, she exhaled hugely, and endeavored to slouch on the desk as casually as possible, before immediately knocking over a stack of clipboards with her elbow.
This post has been edited by E.T. Crowley: May 18 2018, 08:20 PM
Sirhan Saifuddin posted at May 21 2018, 04:25 PM
The stream of potential adoptees who thronged the foyer and kennels over the weekend had slowed down to a trickle as the start of the week rolled along and while Sirhan was elated at the warm reception of their rehabilitation and adoption program by the public, it would have been a bald-faced lie to say that he wasn’t appreciative of the momentary respite the busy workday afforded the Rangers and staff who volunteered here.
Where the guests who passed through their doors looking for a potential adoptee saw the polished facade of a well-oiled machine at work, not many prying eyes were savvy to what it took to keep the shelter’s inhabitants clean and healthy behind the scenes; The smell of Pokemon excrement mingling with the chemical scent of floor cleaner hung thick in the air as he profusely scrubbed at the floors of a section of kennels with a bristle brush, its inhabitants having been moved to the playroom while he laboured over their sleeping quarters.
“How’re they doing?”
Sirhan called out to the Lucario who returned from the playroom and looked as though they were battling with a potent migraine.
“Averted civil war between that Cyndaquil girl, Bouddica and the leader of the dogpack for now. She corralled the rodents into an uprising, woulda been amazing if they hadn’t squared up the hall into battle lines and I had to play mediator. Got Sri in there and my scan on ‘em for now in case someone decides to renege against the peace agreement.”
Saladin replied with a long-suffering roll of the eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck ruefully though dwelling on the sociopolitics of urbanized Pokemon took a back seat to the pungent smell of the area and the condition of his partner.
“You look like a hot mess. And smell like one too, Arceus.”
The ranger held out his hands and shrugged with a resigned half-smile before catching the towel his Lupine partner flung his way which he used to wipe his body with. Tolling in the kennels had left a fine sheen of sweat all over him where the grime hadn’t touched; There was no way his ranger uniform would have escaped this ordeal unscathed, so they hung dry safe in the locker room in contrast to the simple black slacks he had on which were completely ruined. The work gloves and boots fared better however though that they were industrial grade certainly helped.
“Hey, it’s the job they all pass up, someone’s got to do it. We have to figure out why the Glameow and Persian in kennels five and fifteen wet their beds and we’re going to need new beds because these—-“
Sirhan gestured dismissively at two large cat beds he had moved to a corner of the kennels next to where all the Pokemon droppings had been haphazardly piled up to be stuffed into compost heap which were torn to shreds and smelled rank with urine which had soaked into the stuffing spilling out of their sides.
A deep rumbling from his stomach made him wince and double over slightly as he leaned on the raking board’s handle for a few seconds; There were times he forgot he was fasting but tasks like these had a vociferous way of reminding him that he hadn’t eaten or drank anything since six in the morning.
“Man, maybe you should take five.”
Saladin frowned as he crossed the threshold between the dry corridor and the kennels floors which were inundated under an inch of murky water mingled with crud from between the tiles and foam from the cleaning liquids.
“I got it.”
While Sirhan had slaved over the stalls, one aide seemed unperturbed by it all; a little Alolan Grimer who was steadily consuming the waste that floated her way and as he pointed out the ruined cat beds, she grinned toothily and slopped over to them, making a series of hopeful whining grunts as she gesticulated at them eagerly.
“Yeah girl, help yourself.”
The Ranger raised his eyebrows and waved his hand at the beds dismissively as he sat down on a stool to catch his breath and slung the towel over bare shoulders like a cape.
“Save the garbage disposal unit some work.”
There was what sounded like a gleeful chirrup as she began voraciously chomping down on the garbage like was an entire pot roast and while Sirhan’s stomach lurched at the sight of such gluttonous consumption of something he could barely stand to smell, he couldn’t help the morbid fascination as well of a creature so well-adapted to living alongside humans that droves of them had been warmly welcomed and adopted by towns across Alola in their drive to keep their beaches clean in the wake of the onslaught of tourism.
His thoughts were interrupted by the slam of the door leading to the reception hall as all three in the room whipped their heads around to the source of the sound and there was the man who should have been at the reception counter, pale and panting for breath and looking vaguely constipate locking the door from the inside.
“Jiei, what’s going on?”
Sirhan was at his feet immediately and there was an urgency to his tone as he watched the receptionist push up their glasses higher upon the bridge of their nose.
“You need to go.”
Said the man curtly as his lips were pressed in a thin line of tension.
“Back door. Now.”
This post has been edited by Sirhan Saifuddin: May 21 2018, 04:28 PM
Sirhan Saifuddin posted at May 23 2018, 05:08 PM
“What do you mean out the back door, Jiei, who’s out there?!”
Sirhan demanded, bewilderment rising as each second passed and he curtly nodded at Saladin who placed a finger to the side of his head and whose features immediately scrunched up concentration so a cursory scan could be performed.
The Hoenn native waited with bated breath for any signal of an impending threat from the Lucario—-raised hackles, bared teeth, bristling fur—-but Saladin conveyed none of this and instead looked just as perplexed as he felt.
“I don’t know alright?! Maybe someone from your misadventures with freaking traffickers or whatever else you’re getting into off-hours but someone who could make toothpicks out of this door in five seconds flat and break me in half to get to you from the looks of it, so just go damnit!”
Jiei blurted out red-faced as he barricaded himself up against the door like he was about to perform a heroic sacrifice though his sense of urgency was nowhere shared by the Ranger and hulking hound who stared at him and then each other.
“I’ll buy you some time! Call for backup!”
Even though they didn’t have any answers, one thing was obvious from Saladin’s scan and Sirhan trusted his partner’s intuition over the times they had solved cases as brothers-in-arms—-whoever was out there had no ill intentions.
“Does my glare say ‘Overreaction’ clear enough, or do I need to look at him more incredulously?”
The Lucario inquired, gesturing at his face with a deep frown and the mute measurement between a forefinger and a thumb his friend gave him made him scowl at Jiei even deeper in hopes of getting the message through.
“Look, if someone wanted to kill me they wouldn’t do it in broad bloody daylight in a place surrounded by CCTV cameras and a stone’s throw away from the Ranger HQ unless they were exceptionally stupid, ballsy or both.”
Sirhan gesticulated wildly with his hands as he tried to reason with the man who was clearly on DEFCON 2 before pleading frustratedly,
“At least tell me what they look like.”
“Big hairy woman. Orrean accent thick as a yard of lard, might have driven a monster truck into the parking lot.”
The receptionist attempted to explain and regulate his breathing at the same time as he pulled out a Buneary’s Foot from inside his shirt and held it firmly one hand, wincing at the memory of the sound of the engines roaring away outside which he almost mistook for an entire gathering of Hell’s Angels.
“I’m not sure, whatever it was, it was loud.”
There was a pregnant pause in the rapidfire conversation as Saladin narrowed his eyes and Sirhan massaged the bridge of his nose when the shadowy picture in his mind finally had a familiar face and a gap-tooth grin to go with it.
“.......I’m going to see her. Sal, if you please?”
Saladin nodded and gripped Jiei around the arms, easily lifting up the smaller man like he was a marionette and setting him aside with a dismissive pat on his head for the trouble as Sirhan unlocked and opened the door leading to the front of the building.
“Wait wait wait, not without a weapon take this with you!”
Came the breathless yelping as Jiei grabbed one of the brooms next to the door—-the first thing he could reach for—-before flinging another at Sirhan in hopes of the man catching it neatly only for it to inadvertently hit him in the back of the head. It clattered to the floor noisily as all three of them haphazardly spilled out into the foyer area scrambling for the visitor’s hall next to it just as a young couple who seemed like prospective adopters waltzed through the entrance in time to see one Ranger brandishing a broom like it was a sword, the other shirtless and covered in grime and a Lucario dragging them both to their feet like hefting potato sacks.
“We’ll.....come back later.”
The flustered woman backpedaled swiftly with her beau as the door slammed shut in their wake.
Jiei muttered a curse under his breath but Sirhan was preoccupied with one thing and strode over to the chairs where the titan of a woman was seated looking completely out of place.
“Hey! Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting a social call here of all places.”
His tone was bright and cheerful, strained with a thin thread of exhaustion though honestly he was just glad that this wasn’t an ill-planned assassination attempt as Jiei had suspected and behind him, Saladin attempted an awkward, friendly wave.
“So......you’re here, I’m here, what can I do for you?”
E.T. Crowley posted at May 26 2018, 12:35 AM
E.T. sprawled in one of the secondhand chairs beside the coffee table like a sulfurous fart expanding in an elevator, filling all the available space and practically spilling out the sides.
She'd unzipped the padded leather jacket (which was spotted with some unidentifiable stains), but the faded black T-shirt underneath bore a logo for "CONTAMINATION ZONE WRESTLING", with the huge blocky letters wrapped in barbed wire, and a drawing of a blood-splattered chunk of chain-link fence barely containing the words "NITRO CAGE NINE" behind it. One scuffed, blackened, hobnail boot was balanced on a stack of old magazines, beside a gently-ticking incubator containing a dusty lavender object a little smaller than a basketball (she wasn't wholly sure how to translate the readout, but she could recognize a dial near the top that now sported a wedge of solid yellow between what she'd call twelve o' clock and two).
There was something of a kerfuffle at a door on the far side of the room, as the skinny man from the nighttime raid on the souvenir shop all at once stumbled into view, as if he'd been struck by the broom handle that clattered out after him, and the bespectacled Ranger from behind the desk hovered in the doorway, until both humans were hauled up by a huge, blue-and-black, shape she recognized as the Lucario from the other night, his pointed ears quivering with what could either have been irritation or subdued amusement.
Two prospective customers who had peered in the door and seen what must have looked like a bookish damsel clutching a broom, a half-naked man who smelled like a dozen catboxes, and a werewolf quickly excused themselves back outside.
"Hey! Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting a social call here of all places.”
There were sagging little lines of exhaustion under the smaller man's eyes as he trotted up, but they were still bright and alert, and he - most mysteriously of all - seemed not only not alarmed, but was even managing a reasonable impression of being pleased to see her.
She'd known he must have had a hell of a poker face, but it was still impressive to see up close.
"So......you’re here, I’m here, what can I do for you?”
"Would y'listen t'the officer?" E.T. barked a merry, smoky, laugh, rising from the borrowed chair like a Beartic emerging from a snowdrift, and yanked the smaller man closer by the forearm, with a macho, bracing, squeeze of a handshake that practically ground the bones in the elbow together. She glanced downward to the remarkably ugly threadbare blue stole coiled around her neck. "T'inkin' I came all this way ta ask him f'r a favor!"
The "stole" opened protuberant, glassy, eyes from under Crowley's chin, and there was a friendly, conspiratorial, churring sound. One oversized pink ear flicked from somewhere behind E.T.'s jacket collar.
The bigger woman jerked her arm, and gave the Ranger's bare back a companionable swat after hauling him into range, at which point she seemed to comprehend - if only by the sound - that he wasn't wearing a shirt, and she showed her teeth in a broad, wolfish, grin with gold in one corner.
"Practicin' for t'fire rescue brigade centerfold calendar?" she asked, unashamedly bouncing her eyebrows. Bootsie chirped again, looking similarly interested. "Be a good look for ya! Long's it ain't scratch-n-sniff."
(Which was a bit rich, coming from someone who smelled like a road flare dropped into a barbecue pit.)
With one gloved finger automatically moving to scritch Bootsie under the chin, E.T. scrutinized the pair of man and bipedal wolf for a thoughtful moment longer, and at last replied, as if tasting the concept, "I mean, thought about gettin' in ta see you at your proper job, sure, but weren't sure what I wanted ta get arrested for first." She tipped a horrible wink, leaning fractionally closer, and lowered her voice. "Y'know how it is, ya see th' menu for the buffet an' everything looks good 't once."
She straightened again, and tilted her head toward the lumpy knapsack occupying the chair next to the one she'd practically knocked over upon standing up.
"Ya good ta take fifteen, Slim? Brought yeh somethin'." She paused. "I mean, mostly brought th' little petal somethin', but, y'know. You an' the little petal. Candlemas, an' all."
This post has been edited by E.T. Crowley: May 26 2018, 12:37 AM
E.T. Crowley posted at Aug 10 2018, 05:47 PM
Crowley had already shouldered the bag again, and there was a muffled little burping sound as Bootsie uncoiled behind the enormous girl's back to gently take the handle of the incubator in her mouth, then retracted like a cast fishing line.
"A'course I was gonna tell him you picked it out -- I mean, we both did, wouldn't you reckon?" she reasoned, archly, and flexed her fingers over one shoulder, grabbing the incubator's handle without looking as Bootsie squeezed between her cheek and the collar of her jacket again. "Don't get stroppy, petal, 't'isn't in th' Aprilmas spirit."
She hadn't waited for permission, and was already stumping toward the door she'd seen the skinny Ranger and the enormous wolf stumble out of - along with the bespectacled man behind the desk, who had just hesitantly sat down again, and almost immediately, stiffly, stood up again as she meandered past, still holding the handle of a broom in a somehow martial-looking way.
"At ease, chuckles!" Crowley grunted, showing a lot of teeth. "Hold t'fort, eh?"
She paused just long enough to bump the weighted door into the corridor - mostly with her hips - as if she'd been doing it all her life, and saunter unsupervised into the wide, linoleum, hallway containing closed doors to a bright, bustling, playroom, a few offices, a row of two or three examining rooms, and a long wall lined with recently-scrubbed kennels.
"Whew!" she barked, after another moment, with another rippling laugh, and theatrically waved one broad hand in front of her nose. "You and th' pooch order up for Mexican, Slim?" There was, somehow, definitely, faint approval in her voice. "Good on ya! Got t'live yer best life, eh? Chase tha' beany, cheesy, bliss!"
She took another deep, considering, sniff as the door whumped closed behind her, and paused, meandering toward the line of kennels almost without noticing it.
Because it didn't smell like mammalian farts, if she was honest with herself. There were definite notes of something smokey and sulfurous, and something else, like a mixture of charcoal and a litterbox that had fallen in acid.
Something - the acoustics made it difficult to tell who, or from which direction - burbled and smacked like a clogged drain, and she peered into the playroom immediately on the right, with some concern. Apart from a few roly-poly rodents snuggled in a pile to sleep, and a brief scuffle for a stuffed toy between a fluffy Eevee and a Poochyena with patchy fur, though, the playroom seemed curiously peaceful. The tiny Gible she recognized from the alley in the snow (who was getting big now, flames and frost; she had to be the size of E.T.'s motorcycle tires) waddled out from behind a plastic slide.
Only narrowly resisting the urge to knock on the window (upon spotting the frantic, pleading, printout taped to it -- "PLEASE do not tap on glass!" -- that suggested it happened a lot), the big Orrean paused, and waved instead, showing crooked teeth.
This post has been edited by E.T. Crowley: Aug 10 2018, 05:48 PM