Fandom Pokemon 1x1

[GamerKitty205]

It was a normal day in one of Team Plasma’s labs. Quiet except for the murmurs of scientists and grunts on break, or traveling from one task to another. It would be almost peaceful, if the whole place wasn’t so cold. Temperature wise, but also in the other sense. The rooms were sleek and modern in a way that made them feel impersonal, and little camaraderie could be felt between the people inhabiting those rooms.

It was simply quiet, and Atlas despised every second of it. Even the loneliest streets in Castelia felt more alive than this. The bustling wasn’t as mechanical, the light wasn’t as pale, the people not as empty. He wondered how in a few short years an organization that had posed as such a kind group could morph into this. It seemed just too easy to strip all the light and life from it.

Though all that musing didn’t really amount to much— He wasn’t because he liked the atmosphere or even because he dreamt of power and control. Atlas was here to coast along until the right moment, and to pass on anything particularly helpful to Unova’s branch of Interpol. A goal well worth the bit of discomfort it brought him.

Atlas tugged at the collar of his uniform as headed towards the break room. If nothing else he could at least sit down for a bit and try to pry some gossip out of his ‘co-workers.’ Today was shaping up to be awfully boring. Just as he thought that there was a distant crashing sound and a shout from down the hall.

His hand found its way to the pokeballs at his hip. He pressed a button and in a swirl of light a Whimsicott appeared. Atlas frowned as he caught a flash of scales in the distance. Seems like someone hadn’t secured the ‘newly acquired’ specimens well enough.

“Silvestris! Cotton Spore!”

Atlas stepped back, yanking someone with him as a Druddigon charged into the break room. The flurry of fluffy spores covered it, slowing the pokemon down enough to keep it from crashing into a wall. Or any of the people hanging about— thank arceus.

His eyes flicked down the hall to see a frantic scientist following after the dragon type, pokeball in hand. The Drudiggon spun and shook trying to dislodge the spores only to be cut off by a beam of red light. Atlas spent about a second trying to reassure the scientist before he and his Whimsicott took a seat at one of the tables.

“I should have known, the mankey's paw is never kind,” He muttered to himself.

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A jar of pens sits atop the meeting table. Almost entirely full, as one would think. Really, in a place like this, expecting someone to take notes? As if, when most days, it feels like Stephen’s the only one of the field agents who ever bothers to do paperwork. It’s in the description: grunts. Even now, as he holds one of the two missing pens, the other neatly laid alongside the director’s meeting plans, it’s not to write but to idly flick it around his fingers. It circles around in a black blur, movement broken only by a quick catch and release. Easy cycles; rinse and repeat.

Because Stephen is waiting. His watch is ticking down the final remaining seconds before the meeting is officially ten minutes behind schedule. Even so, two men have yet to arrive. It hits that breakpoint, and the door swings open, revealing a frizzled scientist. He pauses at the door, breathes coming out in loud, heaving pants.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the man begins. A bit too late for that, really. “We ran into a complication with the recently acquired Pokémon. Some of them got loose, and I was delayed making sure that they were all subdued.”

Having said this, their late attendee soon realizes that the room’s attention is focused not on him but on what’s happening behind him. He looks behind himself and pales, a matter further worsened by Stephen’s comment. “Probably should have confirmed that before you made any promises.”

Through the open doorway, spores can be seen lingering around an unruffled man who makes his way to the break room. Memories of his figure, silhouetted by green flecks as he dragged a passerby aside from a berserk Druddigon, replay in Stephen’s memory. He turns back toward the front of the meeting room. “We’ve been waiting quite a while for our missing members, Director Hermann,” he says, punctuating his statement with a tap at his watch. “Why don’t I recruit a replacement?”

For all his casual demeanor, Stephen pauses, waiting for the director’s response. With his agreement, Stephen turns and strides over to their resting hero just in time to hear his muttered words.

Even though Stephen doesn’t believe in fate, he can’t help but admit that it’s a fitting sentiment. After all, in return for involving himself in another’s issue, what this man gets is nothing but more work.

“I was just waiting for a meeting with a few other members that saw your performance,” he says, seating himself down beside the other, altered uniform of a formal suit and all, “and since we’re down a participant, the director has decided to invite you to the mission.”

( GamerKitty205 )​

 

[GamerKitty205]

Atlas slid his gaze from the table to the person newly seated at the table, blue eyes brightening as he took a look at the man. The well put together outfit, the straightforward speech, the slight air of annoyance— as if he knew he was a cut above the rest. This was a professional. A rarity in the team.

“Well this is shaping up to be quite the day,” He said, more to himself than anything.

He reached over to give Silvestris a comforting ruffle before withdrawing her back to her all. He loved the thing, but ‘prankster’ was more than just an ability. The whimsicott wasn’t fit for meetings, or even transport if one wanted to be swift. Atlas stretched his arms, leaning forward on the table.

“Would it be too optimistic to think the debriefing is, oh in a few minutes rather than now? I was planning on savoring the next...” He hummed for a moment, head cocking to the side. “Eight hundred and sixty seconds or so of freedom.”

Atlas blinked. Might want to roll that back a tad bit. He wouldn’t want his new acquaintance to change his mind. Atlas straightened up, schooling his features into something a bit more controlled— though no less friendly.

“Though I appreciate the opportunity regardless,” Atlas continued. “It’s nice to know I help cover another of our coworkers’ shortcomings.”

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Eight hundred and sixty seconds. An oddly specific number, one that Stephen can’t help converting into something a little more useable while the man recalls his Pokémon. 14 minutes, 20 seconds.

“We’ve been waiting ten minutes for the team member you’d be replacing,” he says. If the man plans on dallying for so long, they might as well continue waiting. Perhaps their delayed member will have awakened, gotten a cup of coffee, and finally arrived by then. “Still, you’re welcome to spend your time however you like. We’ll go with whoever arrives first, though I’m inclined to give you those same ten minutes he had. You seem to be of a better caliber than him, at least.”

Stephen shrugs. He’d thought the man would have a better sense of work ethic or, at least, ambition. What’s the point of giving either of the two favorable treatment if they both regard their duties with such laxness? For all of the other’s words of appreciation, Stephen can’t mark him as anything but uninterested.

Of course, that’s if he isn’t trying to win a better position in the subsequent negotiations. Stephen is quite fond of using the tactic himself. It’s how he’s been given so many allowances, after all. And as an expert, he’s leaning towards categorizing this man as a similarity. After all, which strong trainers don’t want a few more resources?

Thinking of this, Stephen provides the man with an excuse to leave, a prod for a response and a dig for elaboration, wondering how the other will react to the pressure. “Of course,” he says, raising an unperturbed eyebrow, “you’re free to refuse if you have prior arrangements. Though I can’t help but wonder what you’re waiting for in that case.”

( GamerKitty205 )​

 

[GamerKitty205]

Atlas couldn’t help but notice how quickly the man matched his casual tone. One would think a request from the director would come with a bit more urgency— Unless of course the director had a smaller part in the decision than implied.

He couldn’t help but entertain the notion of declining for a second. A simple excuse of some other duty would leave the mission with less people than expected— or at least someone obviously not up to standard. In a situation dealing with dangerous pokemon even something as small as that could easily jeopardize the whole operation.

But helping a mission that would be on shaky ground otherwise would be well worth the information. Besides, Atlas had a feeling this one would be special and his gut hadn’t led him wrong yet.

“One or two things, but nothing so important they can’t be postponed,” Atlas replied. “I wouldn’t be idling here if there was.”

Atlas enjoyed one more moment of leisure before standing up. He really had been planning to enjoy his break, but sacrifices must be made. He started towards the meeting room, only briefly glancing back to make sure the man was following him.

“While I would enjoy those ten minutes,” Atlas hummed. “There’s really no point in holding things up any longer. Time is precious after all.”

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The man agrees, and for a second, Stephen pauses. All the talk of waiting and negotiations ending just like that, so anticlimactically? Still, as the man says, time is valuable, so he rises with nothing more than a faint sigh. “Well, since you’ve made your decision,” he says, turning toward the meeting room, “off we go.”

An evaluating glance sweeps over the three Pokéballs at the man’s side. Given the strength of the one Pokémon that the other revealed, they should be enough. Quality over quantity, after all. If they’re evolved and well-trained, a team of three will suffice for the mission.

Stephen is only bringing a pair, himself.

Quick strides bring them back in front of the door with little effort. Stephen opens the door and steps in, leaving the man to follow in his wake. “Thank you for your patience, director,” he says, inclining his head in faint acknowledgment. Following that, he sits down in his chair, eyes flickering from the man’s eyes to the empty chair beside him in a subtle gesture before he lifts the introductory documents left on the table, one per person. Clicking open the pen he was previously toying with, he strikes out the second to last name under operatives before letting the nub drift down to circle around the crux of their mission.

Kyurem.

At the same time, the director begins to speak, voice strong, with an underlying sharpness and poise. “Welcome, everyone. Today, we will be going over the plans for investigating our recent intel regarding the forest north of Lacunosa Town. Word has it that a powerful ice-type is sheltered in the area. A large, hulking creature, with a presence strong enough to freeze water in spring.”

“You will each be divided into one of three teams to investigate these possible Kyurem sightings.” The director begins to list names, assignments ignored as Stephen’s eyes return to the man by his side, his attention evident. How will he react to being embroiled in a matter of legendries, Stephen wonders?

The final names are announced, a pair. “Killackey and our newest member. You will be working together to examine a cave, which our intelligence has marked as a likely den.”

 

[GamerKitty205]

Atlas’ smile couldn’t help but grow a millimeter wider at seeing his ‘new friend’ pause. It was just a delight being able to throw people off guard— one he really should be quashing. Drawing too much attention was asking for trouble, but it was too tempting.

He took the empty seat next to the man before grabbing a file and a pen. He began doodling little drawings in the margins as he noted the locations. Flowers, hearts and little pokemon helped him memorize the information he’d have to pass off later. While also serving as beautiful decoration for an otherwise plain piece of paper.

It was really unfortunate that the target was Kyurem, however. Lacunosa’s boogeyman was a danger when mostly to its own devices. In the hands of these people? It made him shiver— no pun intended. His hand grazed the pokeballs at his belt. It was especially considering how much of his small team was weak to ice. Though it was only recon, he was sure it would end up fine.

His head flicked up as the Director announced the final group. Just him and— he glanced at the list of names— Stephen Killackey. The man sitting next to him, he presumed. It was almost too good to be true, being given the best location with only one pair of eyes on him. Atlas leaned over to his new partner.

“Kyurem can you believe it,” He said, tone hushed and conspiratorial. “Like something out of a book! Some sort of action thriller maybe.”

His gaze fell to Stephen’s paper and the single person crossed out on it. Clutching the pen by the end, he wrote his name in looping letters at the end of the list— even making sure to dot the ‘i’ with a little heart— before giving the man a playful look. Only fair to update his records after all.

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The man pushes his papers Stephen’s way, leaving brown eyes to linger on the dancing sheep and twirling flowers crowding across his coworker’s paper. He freezes at the sight, his eyebrows scrunching together at the sheer personality of this Atlas Sinclair, whose mind has been scrawled across the manuscripts in gleeful spontaneity, no hint of reliability to be found.

Atlas’s reaction when Stephen’s attention flickers back upward further strengthens his judgment. Because it’s not to the sight of remorse or shame but a conspiratorial grin and hushed whisper.

“Seeing that you’re so excited by the idea of being in a novel,” Stephen says, eyes half-lidded and gaze uninterested, “perhaps you should give acting a try? I’m sure they could use someone with your talents.”

Another failure. Seeing how the team managers enjoy arranging set units for the sake of familiarity and cooperation, it seems like they’ll have to settle him with one of his previous partners after all, as unsatisfactory as they were. At least they didn’t waste time pretending to be something they weren’t. Play with your pen or lay it away; it was all the same. Acting serious and scholarly, only to trample other’s expectations after committing, though?

Hah, Stephen would much rather work with someone expected to fall short of his standards than with someone who had the skill but could never be trusted to apply it. What was the use of Atlas promising his time if he wasn’t going to use it?

( GamerKitty205 )​

 

[GamerKitty205]

The sheer annoyance in Stephen's voice made Atlas swallow some airy quippy reply about the insularity of Pokestar studios and air quality of Virbank City. More of the idle musing he was so used to filling the air with. They would be unhelpful to say the least, pushing Stephen farther away. Maybe even far enough to change his mind?

Atlas clicked his tongue and looked back at his papers, flipping over to the part on Kyurem. Suggested precautions, predictions of its capabilities and an insistence not to fight it repeated over and over in formal language. All very useful, if boring information. Not that he needed help remembering the myths.

“A legend that’s kept a town in a fearful stranglehold for generations. A creature who few have seen and even fewer have survived meeting. Something rumored to create ice so cold no mortal flame could ever melt it—” Atlas said, his voice edging towards incredulous at the end. “We plan on conquering that beast someday.”

And they would fail if he had anything to say about it. Atlas flipped around the paper for more drawing space, scribbling a few notes about items and supplies as he did. It never hurt to have more potions, and a few yache berries could keep things from going so horribly wrong.

“If that is not ‘exciting’ I struggle to find anything that would be,” He said, punctuating the words with a huff of laughter.

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Hearing Atlas steer himself further and further into unwanted territory, Stephen lets out a soft, almost silent sigh and leans back, turning his body back towards the director, whose eyes flicker past him with a masked yet amused watchfulness. Waiting, analyzing, for a sign of vulnerability, a string to pull, or a weakness to leverage. As if he’d lose his cool that easily. For all his scathing words, Stephen would never let his annoyance simmer into wrath. Hermann will have to try much harder than that if he wants dirt on him.

Still, Atlas continues, a whispered distraction over the noise of the meeting. Stephen’s eyes stay steadfastly forward this time, listening as the director goes on to explain the objectives and instructions for their teams, and his pen begins to move. Notes detailing general warnings of Kyruem’s power and the nearby law enforcement.

The minutes pass by with the tick of his watch. Tick tock, tick tock.

“Lastly, I have included acquisition forms within your files. As members of special operations, you have been granted access to additional forms of cold-resistant gear. Remember to pick them up before you depart.”

“With that, the meeting is concluded. All further details regarding your individual operations will be left on your desks. Thank you for your time, everyone.”

The declaration leaves the variety of attendees to file out, and in the silence left by the exodus, the director gathers his materials and strides towards Atlas. “It’s a pleasure to have you join us,” he says, extending his hand. “Given your situation as a substitute, I believe it would be best if we saved filling out your documentation for a later date. In the meantime, let Killackey help you with preparations. Once the mission has been completed, you can schedule a discussion with me about your experience and mission results if you decide you’re interested in joining the department. My name is Clarence Hermann, and I’m the director of our special operations team.”

( GamerKitty205 ) ​

 

[GamerKitty205]

Atlas had been hoping for some kind of reaction from Stephan, but no. Nothing but that same dismissive attitude. Atlas would admit his words might have been a bit rambling, but to be so quickly and easily disregarded. It was quite annoying— Ah well, there’d be more time to poke and prod later. He continued to scribble away on his papers.

At the meeting’s conclusion Atlas began to get up, only to stop in his tracks as he met the Director’s eyes. His flippant flip-flopping around Stephen felt like messing with a purrloin, trying to get it to swat back or hiss. Atlas had a feeling doing the same with this man would be like sticking a hand in a sharpedo’s mouth— It’s just asking to get it bitten clean off.

Atlas straightened up and for once his face displayed something other than a smile, his lips pressed into a thin line. He took the man’s hand and gave it one firm shake before going back to idly fiddling with his papers.

“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Hermann— Atlas Sinclair,” He replied. “I’ve heard so much about your work and all you’ve done for the team. So it’s really an honor to have even been considered. I’ll do my best not to disappoint you and squander the opportunity I’ve been given.

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The director gives a noncommittal nod, eyes flickering over the expression on Atlas’s face in an overt analysis. A faint smile spreads across his lips. “In that case, I’ll be waiting for your mission report,” he says before his attention turns. “And yours as well, Killackey. I do hope you continue the good work.”

He excuses himself with a polite phrase and exits the room, footsteps echoing in an even stride as he returns to his office.

Stephen listens to him go with a faint snort, detest evident across the planes of his face. Hermann has always been said to be good at his job. Given that includes keeping a leash on the mix of thriller chasers and inflated egos that end up in the department, it’s left him one hell of a bastard.

Still, Hermann has handed out an assignment, so Stephen turns back to his work, even if it includes guiding the same man who’s spent the past minutes needling him. He opens the door and sets off for the office spaces, not bothering to hold the door for the man behind him.

Arriving in front of a man seated at a desk, curly brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail and fingers flying across the keyboard, Stephen stops. “Hello, I’ve got a trainee with me,” he says, eyes meeting Atlas’s in a silent dare. “Would you set his desk beside mine and make a note under my request reports?”

( GamerKitty205 )​

 

[GamerKitty205]

Atlas’ eyes trailed the director as he left, waiting for the man to disappear from view before his posture loosened again. He shivered— it was never fun having someone scrutinize you like that. If he ended up actually joining Special Operations he’d have to deal with those prying eyes very often.

But that was an issue for later, not now. He followed Stephen, slipping out the slowly closing door and merrily making his way down the hall.

He caught the jab the moment it was said, meeting the challenging look with a placid one. A dig at his perceived incompetence? Or simply a subtle assertion of superiority maybe? Either way it was easy to twist.

Atlas waved the statement away. “Oh I’m hardly a trainee, just a temporary substitute.” He corrected. “Though it’s quite flattering— knowing you want me to stick around.” He gave Stephen a coy smile before asking the man at the desk if there was anything that required his input.

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The man at the counter thanks Atlas for the offer, giving the pair confirmation a few seconds later, and Stephen strides forward, moving with purpose as he catches sight of the smile stretching across Atlas’s face. He raises an eyebrow, cooly questioning.

“I’m not quite sure I’m flattered knowing how highly you regard my opinion,” he says, entering the office. “Being a role model is rather exhausting, especially towards certain types of people.”

A partition divides the room in two, with one empty desk and another kept neat. He turns towards the latter, adding a few papers to the thin stack representing his day’s work.

With such a light load, he’d usually print a few materials in advance to fill in the time. Today, though, it’s just as well, given the task he’s just been assigned.

“What are the Pokémon you’re planning to use?” Stephen asks, gesturing for the man to take the opposite desk. “I’ll file your request for any items you need for them under my name.”

( GamerKitty205 )​

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