TheGOAT
🗿
“You couldn’t have just talked to him?”
Astrid was hot. Steam wasn’t quite coming out of her ears, but this wasn’t the first time she’d said something to that tune, and dammit, it was getting old.
Mincinno recognized as much and went for the low-hanging fruit. “Cool down a lil’, frosty. And no.” He did that stupid thing again—his tail flicked at the tuft of fur sticking up off the bridge of his forehead. It was a sign that he wasn’t listening. “That guy? He wasn’t a bad Pokémon, but he wasn’t gonna hear me either. It’s not ideal, but shit, a lotta folks settle things with battles instead. The issue is resolved and we’re both still alive, so I call it progress.”
One or two hairs on the back of Starr’s neck were beginning to rise, matching Astrid’s. Subconscious, probably, but still. Starr felt it too.
“I… know. I’ve seen it,” Astrid said, turning to face her. A hint of accusation here, a hint of disdain there. Her mask was fucking crumbling. Subtlety—so much for that—had graduated to passive aggressiveness that Astrid was used to receiving, not wielding, “It’s how you settle your differences, right? Why talk when you can be a Pokémon and fight?”
She dreaded—dreaded—where she was going with this.
Astrid was hot. Steam wasn’t quite coming out of her ears, but this wasn’t the first time she’d said something to that tune, and dammit, it was getting old.
Mincinno recognized as much and went for the low-hanging fruit. “Cool down a lil’, frosty. And no.” He did that stupid thing again—his tail flicked at the tuft of fur sticking up off the bridge of his forehead. It was a sign that he wasn’t listening. “That guy? He wasn’t a bad Pokémon, but he wasn’t gonna hear me either. It’s not ideal, but shit, a lotta folks settle things with battles instead. The issue is resolved and we’re both still alive, so I call it progress.”
One or two hairs on the back of Starr’s neck were beginning to rise, matching Astrid’s. Subconscious, probably, but still. Starr felt it too.
“I… know. I’ve seen it,” Astrid said, turning to face her. A hint of accusation here, a hint of disdain there. Her mask was fucking crumbling. Subtlety—so much for that—had graduated to passive aggressiveness that Astrid was used to receiving, not wielding, “It’s how you settle your differences, right? Why talk when you can be a Pokémon and fight?”
She dreaded—dreaded—where she was going with this.
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