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Volkner doesn't expect anything different from his standard routine in sorties. Mission completed, verbal reports offered, credits exchanging hands, and soon he will be on his way to the hangar, refilling ammo and repairing any present damage while he idly scrolls by sorties and requests to pick his next few missions. Maybe hearing the off comment or two if anyone other than the liaison is involved and his reputation has somehow reached this far, distaste for his cold, distant demeanor, or his reckless piloting, or how he would either bite back too hard or hardly ever pay attention. Just life as usual, right? Rinse, repeat. It's just his job, after all.

That's how it should go this time too, right? And maybe a tiny part of him is hoping this will get the painfully bright little ray of sunshine that is Roark off his back for good, realizing he's just not worth being talked to, not good for people. It would be a relief, a burden off his shoulders, allowed back to his stale, little world of loneliness and steel clashing against steel. Just as it should be... and then, when Roark speaks to him again, it's not the vitriol Volkner is used to. There's no bite, no bitterness over his stubborn refusal to clip his own wings and fly lower, slower just for them to keep up, no anger at whatever undesired consequences his lack of care for his own life might have for anyone else. It isn't open praise, no, he would never even dare dream of that, but... it's not bad.

And Volkner doesn't know how to reply to that.

So he doesn't. That's the only logical conclusion he can reach in such a short amount of time, even when his reflexes are supposed to easily outclass any regular human. This is nothing like what he's used to, nothing like how his life is supposed to be, and no amount of skill in piloting or split second decisions he's able to make when his life is on the line really prepared him for such a simple, naive little interaction.

He will simply have to pretend it didn't happen, and move on with his life. Pilots don't last long in this line of work, anyways, it's hardly something worth fussing over.

Unfortunately, as he should've expected by now, the next sentence is also enough to give Volkner pause, once again, right as he was ready to distract himself with louder notes blaring in the cockpit and a neverending list of job after job. He wants to ignore that too, ignore that more than the awkward words from mere moments ago, Volkner is the last person anyone should be inviting to anything, really... but. Augmented or not, he's still human, at least as far as most of his body goes. He still needs sustenance, be it cheap packs of snacks and rations or whatever dubious drink can claim to keep him going the longest. Generally, he does need to save up and spend as little as he can, the unfortunate consequences of frequent AC damage to repair, ammo to replenish, and hangar fees to pay up... free food is, sadly for him, free food.

( maybe whatever atrocious attempt at ignoring small talk and blocking off any interactions happens over a meal will be finally enough. hopefully. )

"... Fine."

( he's kind of serious, but not in a... passionate about piloting kind of way, isn't he? ) Roark takes a breath, settling himself. The mission is complete, now. Just about everything's blown up, MTs smoldering—a glance in the general direction of the open roads into the compound show an array of black smog from each one, speckled sites among the dusty, flatten earth. "Oh—let's bounce." WILDVOLT doesn't leave him much time to say much else, already turning heel to head over to their rendezvous point.

Roark hits a switch, toggling over to another frequency, encrypted communications with Balam's mercenary liaison. "WILDVOLT and STONE EDGE are heading back for pick-up. Mission was a success. About, uh... seventeen casualties from surrounding guard posted. ETA is about ten minutes." An affirmative and a confirmation on payment, and Roark hops back to the frequency shared with Volkner. The coral generator hums beneath the AC pilot seat, and soon, STONE EDGE is off to catch up with WILDVOLT—such a light frame is truly flying through without issue compared to his own heavy frame, but at least the sheer output of coral helps him stay afloat.

Visual markers aside, Roark can see the gleaming blue from WILDVOLT's thrusters before inevitably they reach the rendezvous point, cliffs whose edges are littered in trees, mostly concealing the ACs from the naked eye. Of course, the time doesn't pass without Roark being annoying.

"That wasn't too bad at all!" He's slowly coming to realize there's no point in waiting for Volkner to reply, mostly because he never will. "I'm not sure why other pilots say you're hard to work with, though. Independent, sure, but I don't really get the point. You're not malicious," Roark hums, kicking back in his cockpit while STONE EDGE idles, awaiting their cargo taxi back to the initial starting point. Admittedly, this was the kind of mission that didn't need much coordination, aside from the tetrapod. Even so... Volkner wasn't a problem to get used to. What was spoken of him, however, seemed more like a exaggeration of the truth more than anything. Well, it's not like he should believe everything he hears, anyway, but this was the perfect opportunity to verify the rumors, or, well, disprove them.

STONE EDGE's head turns towards WILDVOLT, but Roark's hands aren't on the sticks. "Hey, wanna get a bite to eat or something when we get back? I can pay."

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Volkner just... stares at him, listening, processing what vague words he's hearing right now. Somehow, a lot and nothing was being said at the same time— he's far too familiar with this roundabout way of talking, and being on the receiving end is hardly something he likes.

"The... other thing." That's one way to try and obfuscate matters. "But not the... first thing." Volkner can't help himself, a heavy sigh slipping out. He's dealt with enough over the years for his patience to thin out plenty by now, but by arceus he's trying to hold onto it. "I hope you realize how very much not reassuring you're sounding right now." What are the odds he'll manage to get the story out of him? Hopefully good enough, because Volkner cannot simply patch the guy up and send him on his way without a proper explanation— that would be maybe the most negligent he could ever be of his own duties. That will have to wait, though, knowing that pushing right now might very well give him the entirely opposite result of what he's hoping for. Hopefully while getting any sort of medical treatment...

"No—" What comes out of his mouth is part groan, part sigh, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Volkner should've really known better than to expect enough cooperation to get that far, even as hypocritical as that may be of him. Is it really so hard to ever have to handle someone with more mundane issues that won't refuse a professional's attention? "You're insane. Fine— fine, fine. Just remember you're asking for it— I'm a gym leader and engineer, not a doctor." One with far more first aid knowledge and experience than he should've ever had, but still!

But there isn't much he can do about it— he agreed to these terms just as much as this stranger in front of him did, he won't back out now. There's a deep breath, a heavy sigh, Volkner's best efforts to hold onto his patience and manners, and finally, he's as prepared as he can be to continue, eventually gesturing in the direction to go with his thumb.

"Come on, then. The gym has a first aid kit we can use." It isn't far, at least, maybe he can try to squash down the pessimistic in him and hope for at least something relatively normal to come out of this. Preferably with no actual threats to the city or region, that would be great.

"Are they safe to walk on?" Judai asks next, he's well aware at this point he cant walk away without the other following him. Or worse, with the amount of authority this one looked as though he had.... He could get into a pickle rather quickly. "It is pretty cool you did great." there was no lack of genuine to his tone. He meant every word of it despite his tenseness.

A small sigh, he'd bristled but for a moment. He really couldn't blame the guy with how he himself looked. But he appreciated the brutal upfront approach. For that, he sighs. "Look I don't know how or why I'm here. All's I know is that the threat that did this." Here he gestures to himself. "Is dealt with. There's nothing to worry about on that front. Its the other thing I'm worried about."

Because really, he's gotten people into enough trouble as it is in his time alive. He'd rather it stop. Just as he's about to take a step back he pauses at invisible hands on his shoulders. 'Take a chance' .... Right. Like that was easy right now.

"... No hospitals." he grumbles out, the only term to whatever the fuck this was. "And we've got a deal."

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The shift is so quick and sudden, Volkner is honestly surprised his quite painful to look at attempt actually worked at all, let alone this well. He really is not supposed to be good at this, the softer kind of words and softer tones, gentler gestures and hands not trying to hurt, and yet... maybe there's still some hope for him, then? ( who would've thought there would be more people in the world to find him to be a comforting, maybe even helpful, presence. he would've never believed this just a few years ago, bitter and tired with such frail, flickering hope left. )

Ah, but it's not the time to get lost in his own thoughts. There will be plenty of that later, in the quiet of the night while he counts the blemishes littering his room's ceiling.

"They'll certainly appreciate it, especially knowing you put all this effort into making it from scratch." And isn't that an understatement, after seeing how excited they are over Roark's cooking? "Do you want to be the one bringing it to them?" Just a thought, an offer to help the steadily growing friendships, if they so wish.

As for the other matter, though—

"We could always give it a shot— maybe try with some other store-bought treat first so she doesn't... attack the results of your hard work again?" It shouldn't be offensive to put it that way, right? It's hard to find kinder words to describe her relentless pursuit of innocent food, really— "How does that sound?"

     it’s a brave endeavor,     pretending to not be as affected by the happenings they speak of,     of the terrible crimes their companion had committed when left unsupervised for just a few seconds     &͟.     such the case would have rung true,     were it not for the barrier that comes down when around volkner,     how it is instinctual now to bare their true emotions in his presence,     opposed to keeping them locked away forever.     the pout that graces mien is short - lived but it leaves residue behind in the form of a sharp frown whilst they fixate on the missing chunks of what was meant to be a gift     /     a gift he’d worked damn hard on too,     only for his efforts to be wasted.     it’s been infected with the germs of a foul beast,     of a treacherous monster from hell but an angel in her own right.     he should throw it away,     it’s been contaminated,     destroyed by the beast that haunts his home,     albeit exceptionally cute of a creature.     (     with that adorable of a face she can do whatever she wants,     nothing is off limits in that regard.     )

     it takes a moment to register the touch of shoulder,     the way a palm is awkwardly placed ‘pon their person because they’re much too entranced by the horrendous aftermath of the pound cake,     all mopey     &͟.     dejected.     sure,     they can easily remake it in their spare time but     …     that isn’t the point nor the principle.

     oh!     great idea!     from left field!     the change in his demeanor is immediate,     the sudden appearance of a grin so wide it nearly hurts,     the revival of gleam to normally dull eyes     &͟.     the nod of approval.     why hadn’t he thought of that?!     ❝     that way it doesn’t go to waste and your friends can have a treat,     ❞     hell,     they wouldn’t be against eating it themself,     as odd of a prospect as it is——     surely there’s worse things on earth than ingesting something a pokémon had gotten to first?     (     it’s cannoli after all,     that’s his daughter.     )     ❝     i——     uh … have never tried to keep her from things before,     ❞     not a surprise,     with as spoiled as she is.     ❝     so i cannot confidently answer that,     it will most likely be very touch and go.     she isn’t particularly     …     good with not getting everything she wants.     ❞

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which rare human emotion are you?

Kuebiko

A state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence. There is so much pain in the world, and sometimes it feels as though it must all rest upon your shoulders. Take a breath and remember to be gentle with yourself - you are but one person, and solving the problems of the world does not fall solely upon you. Create space to grieve for those who suffer, but do not lose yourself to their pain - you cannot help those who are drowning if you sink under the water yourself.

tagged by : @midokai 😀 tagging: i don't have anyone to tag here actually my moots did this already SJNGKSE

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// swear to everything i'm trying to lock in

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// MY LITTLE GUY IS HERE

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// brain is refusing to put words together rn so i will return to metaphor wish me luck

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// btw its a friend's birthday so im not home today :)

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canon is bad but i know 100 fic authors who could do it worse

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The more he takes in, the less Volkner likes whatever the current situation is. Whatever this guy was involved in, it hardly looks like it was pleasant, and he refuses to believe that 'i'm fine' is true in any way. He's got more than enough personal experience to tell that much, you can't fool him or try to get him to nod and walk away!

But first—

"They power the entire city up. We see the most sunlight in all of Sinnoh here, so it felt like a pretty obvious move." to He clearly doesn't know about the city he's somehow found himself in, but how much does he know? "I designed it— pretty cool, huh?" And still, Volkner can't help the preening. He's worked really hard on this, it just feels a little nice when people do notice!

Neither of them is here to make small talk about the views or green energy, though.

"Listen." Diplomacy has never been his greatest skill, and Volkner can only hope his bluntness doesn't come off as a rude, or worse, a threat. "Forget all the small talk or whatever— you got fucked up by something, and if you don't know where you're standing clearly this is cause for concern for me." You don't just get to a city you don't know without all sort of unpleasant things being involved, one way or another. "I'd like to make sure nothing's gonna be threatening my city, you know? So how about we get you patched up and go from there?" He'd just like to not have to deal with another world ending threat! Or the eldritch horrors touching back!

Sunyshore city..... Yep.. Toto they're not in Venice anymore. His gaze shifts from the city to the blonde that stepped up beside him. Weary was an understatement the moment. His hand clutches his bag a little tighter at the motion and the tone of confusion.

The scarlet jacket he wore was burnt, frayed at its edges. There were holes along his shoulders and sides. While he had changed his pants and shirt- the previous having very obviously bloody holes within its confines; something he'd have to figure out how to patch up and fix later- in the nearest place something he'd found to be called a 'Pokémon center'.. Or something. There was still evidence that it had occurred to begin with.

So he wasn't all too surprised by the question when brought up. The other looked smart enough, like a leader that would take notice of these sorts. "..... I'm fine." is what he ultimately grumbles. Telling him how bad he didn't think it was would only confirm the obvious. Confirm what the other possibly already knows from his jacket alone.

"So, what's with all the solar panels? You guys have such big parties you need more than one..? Or-?"

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// i am SEATED and i WILL WRITE MARK MY WORDS

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// was telling this to ovan earlier but i think there's smth rlly interesting. abt how in sinnoh most of the gym leaders are in their 20s or younger ( to the point of still being in school even! ) and the last three are in their 40s/50s or possibly older. i don't have any point to make i just think this age/generational gap in sinnoh is really interesting and someone could probably extrapolate smth from this

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// i was gonna make it an inbox call but no actually once im home i WILL inflict rock dottir ( their hisuian growlithe ) on people you WILL perceive her

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i can't express how absolutely important it is that when you make an edgy, brooding, badass character who's tough as nails and good at fighting and whatever, you HAVE to give them at least one reason to become completely helpless and pathetic. you have a panic attack quota to fulfill.

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@elementalistfusion / ( x )

Honestly, what first got Volkner to step closer and ask was curiosity— tourists were common in Sunyshore, the city's location and natural landscape in what is usually a relatively colder region lending to easily attracting people from all over Sinnoh, but the average tourist doesn't exactly look like... this, to put it bluntly. A closer looks confirms it— the guy's at least roughed up to some degree, only a bag on him that is nowhere near enough for all the activities regular people would be coming to this city for and looking like he's never stepped a single foot in its vicinity. Definitely not from around here, and that feels like an understatement.

"Sunyshore city?" And Volkner does a very bad job at hiding the confusion in his voice, eyebrow raised and staring with maybe more scrutiny than before now. People don't just get to a city they don't even know the name of, do they? There is a story here that he's not sure he should be finding out— but as the gym leader, it's one of his responsibilities, isn't it? For the safety of the city, at least. He doesn't look like a threat, really... but Volkner knows better than to make assumptions in either direction.

There may or may not be more pressing matters than an immediate interrogation, however, if his own experience is allowing him to read body language correctly. The almost obnoxiously bright red jacket on top of black hardly helps to find any more glaring signs, but he's been in his fair share of more physical fights, so...

"... You're injured, aren't you?" He's only really asking out of politeness, he doesn't need to hear a confirmation. "How bad is it?" The cogs in his head are spinning, carefully considering options, all depending on what he'll hear next, just... please don't let this be any sort of odd legendary-induced threat again—

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// hello i am in fact logging in today i've just been thru it today and fighting demons ( trying to make something to get printed )

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// i sent some asks and now my head mildly hurts so uuuuh rip sorry yall i will get back to writing tomorrow before i start drawing actually