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Brody wouldn't have thought that the Pomeg guild could look so unfamiliar...the fact of the matter was that the darumaka hadn't navigated its entirety. Therefore, when Brody went darting up an extra staircase, he was profoundly confused. He had never even considered that the Pomeg guild had a fifth floor, let alone a fourth that he would stand on when he overshot his room's location by a floor. Said floor seemed so dim and hostile to Brody, and for the most part it was. Because everyone was away on dinner, there was little need for additional lighting, so no candles or lamps were yet lit to shed light on the many hallways and corridors of the floor mainly reserved for dormitories. The only source of light were from the sun, which barely peaked its head over moorish windows and gave its weakest light of the day for illumination. The halls lost much of their color, which made the Gordian's knot of finding Brody's new room even more needlessly difficult. Brody clung tight to Murphy because of how scary the floors seemed. Everything was dark, and Brody was paranoid to the concept that a monster or a maligned pokemon might pop out from one of the doors and eat him...or murphy! Even the thought made Brody want to cry, but he kept in his tears; the monsters probably sensed their victims through their emotions...
Brody walked around the dim, dark, fourth floor for about thirty minutes to no avail, feeling terrified and claustrophobic the whole way through and wishing for his mother. He gave up after going in a circle, and then went downstairs a floor to see if he had gone up a floor too soon, which, from his perspective, was a shot in the dark. Fortunately, Brody had hit the nail on the head, though it would be some time before the Darumaka could find his room. After all, he was too stubborn to go back and ask Louro for new directions; he didn't want to feel any stupider than he made himself feel today. Brody coursed around the corridors for his new dormitory once again, and he took fifteen minutes in doing so, seeing no landmarks as to where he would be. At one point, however, the darumaka could see a very round and portly figure leaning against the wall. Brody at first thought that the pig in the negative chiaroscuro was an enemy, but as he timidly edged forward, he realized that the pignite had a warm grin on his face, clearly happy to see the darumaka. It was certainly odd, but Brody preffered to ask questions later; he was frustrated by his inability to find any semblance of his room. The pignite might even have some insight as to where his room might be. Brody, once in close enough of a range, initiated: “E-excuse me,” Brody began, “Do you know where room uh...”
“184 B-3 is?” interrupted the pignite smugly, his delivery being interpreted as helpful by Brody. Furthermore, the darumaka was significantly shocked by how on-point the pignite was in spite of being a complete stranger. “I'm standing right next to it~” Brody glanced upwards to see the numbers in their shining gild: 184 B-3
“T-thankyou,” gladly ushered the darumaka, a wide smile on his face as he tried to open the door pointlessly. It was locked from the inside.
“Somethin' wrong, Brody?” asked the pignite coyly. Brody nodded in between trying to unlock his door, not even noticing that the Pignite both knew his name and had the key to the room in his hand. Brody grunted dismayed as he sat on the floor after visciously trying to open the door, and he crossed his arms, pouting because he couldn't access the sacrosanct interior.
“Y-yeah...there's something wrong... I can't get inside.” Halfway through Brody's statement, he looked up and saw the keys to his dormitory intact and in the pignite's hooved paw. The pignite flourished it around, high enough so that the darumaka couldn't reach it. “W-wuzzat?” asked Brody, curious and almost rhetorical.”
“This is the key to your room, Brody...” the pignite placed the keys in front of Brody's hands, which reached out fruitlessly because of his short reach. “You can have them~” just as soon as Reuben had offered Brody the keys, prompting him to lurch outward and reach for them, Reuben had removed the important, metal door-lance from his grasp, causing Brody to fall face forward. Reuben smiled maliciously, flourishing the keys around some more and enjoying the display that Brody was putting on for him alone. “I meant that you can have it if you do me a little favor...” Brody need only tilt his head in grim curiosity to prompt Reuben to continue. “Lemme ask you something...you're the kid that told Morgan that one joke about the magikarp, right?” Brody finally caught on to the intention of Reuben. He nodded helplessly, too afraid of setting the pig off if he objected to anything he might say. “Well I'll tell you what...” Reuben suddenly and violently grasped the chest of Brody, who yelped and clutched Murphy for protection. “You've gotta promise me some favors if I'm gonna give your key back...”
“L-like what?...” Brody inquired shakily, shivering in the pignite's strong clutch.
“Well...you're gonna sit around our table at breakfast and act like the dunce you are...y'know, tell the stupid jokes that i've heard so much about and be a general idiot for laughs... you'll get me my lunch and carry my belongings while I train...In other words, I wanna make you my bitch~” maliciously exclaimed the pignite, a cheshire-tier smile emerging on his chubby face.
“W-why?” asked the darumaka, terrified and nearly bawling out of said terror.
“Because if I can get the class clown on my side, then I'll get favors out of people. I'll be able to get more training if I can get the right people on my court, and I'm more than willing to get my hands dirty by making you my bitch...” Reuben giggled roughly. “What's it gonna be, f***boy?”
“I-I'll...” trying to muster up some courage, the darumaka stood still in the pignite's grasp, shivering yet biding his time to generate a proper, bold retort. “I-I'll never do all those things! I have some dignity that I'll never surrender...” exclaimed Brody, more bashful than bold.
Reuben smirked. “Suit yourself... I'm not the one that has to get in the room~” once more, Reuben teased the keys in front of Brody to prove his point, pulling them out of Brody's reach as soon as the little ape tried to snatch them. Reuben grew tired of holding on to the round fuzz-ball which Brody was, and as such let the fire-type fall to the ground. Brody was now in tears because of the pain, and sat on his rump helplessly
“I-I'll go downstairs and get a new one!” indignantly retorted the darumaka as he turned around and lumbered towards the staircase.
“Hey Brody...” Reuben called spitefully from across the corridor, causing Brody to turn around and look towards the boar. In Reuben's hand was held the little pink, plush body of Murphy that the darumaka had come to love. “You forgot something~”
Instantaneously, Brody sprinted back towards the pignite and dived to grab his beloved doll, though as Lucy does to Charlie Brown, the pignite pulled away the doll at the last second; Brody flew forward a few meters on his face, missing his doll and then feebly rolled up to see Reuben walk towards him imposingly, his hands placed on his hips. “Want your girly doll back, whimp?” Reuben asked, malintention in his rhetoric, “Then you'll do as I say for the rest of the week, and I'll take it back if-” Reuben suddenly detected a presence at six o'clock, and the pignite's face lost much of its determination, which was replaced by a pale, guilty facial expression. Reuben turned around. Enrique stood behind him, tapping his foot expectantly and with a legitimate, portrayed look of disgust towards the Pignite. Reuben didn't have to ask to know that the swadloon had seen everything, so he cut to the chase. “Are you thinking about telling on me, asshat?” the Pignite asked, confidently smug as he stepped heavily towards the cloaked bug, “If you do, then I'll burn you into a crisp...” little flames huffed out of the Pignite's porcine nose.
“You're bluffing.” accused Enrique, Reuben now standing only a few feet away.
“Lemme prove you wrong, then...” Reuben tensed his core, yanking off Enrique's verdant coat and inhaling so that he could breathe fire directly on the flammable body of the swadloon. Enrique's life flashed by his eyes, and so did the fiery, seemingly evil stare of the Pignite...
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The sun was quite enjoyable to Enrique, though everything else to the sewaddle seemed extraordinarily awful. Bradley had just taken his oran berry away for the third time this week, and the little catterpillar stood desolate behind a tree, trying to be mature about the fact of the matter but still unable to hold the tears back. The little sewaddle sat up propped up on a tree and sniffled. He didn't mind his lack of friends, but he didn't think that it would bite him in the hind so severely later on...
When he got home, Enrique promised himself that he would draw to take his mind off of his hunger...it seemed to do the trick for the time being; with a bit of hope for what the rest of his afternoon would be like, he was able to shut off his tears more punctually. What would he draw, though? Enrique wasn't all that sure himself, but he would probably draw inspiration from one thing or another sooner or later. The somber sewaddle suddenly heard a gentle hum from the other side of the tree he was sitting in. Curiosity replaced a sad attitude, and Enrique gingerly turned around to investigate the source of the gentle humming, which was suddenly mixed with the sounds of munching.
A spewpa was absentmindedly eating a pecha berry, glancing out over the entirety of the upper school's field happily as she chewed the sweet, fruity flavors of the berry. To others, the spewpa wouldn't have looked too attractive; some of Enrique's more abrasive classmates may have even harassed her. To Enrique, however, her placid, happy demeanor instantly infatuated the sewaddle...

Enrique knew what he would draw tonight

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At the last moment, though, Reuben lost his focus, getting the wind knocked out of him from behind and saving Enrique from being cooked like a goose. Reuben reeled from the blow, but turned around to see Brody standing, his recent body-blow to Reuben's back evident by a cocked stance and a blunt, insignificant pain on the pignite's backside.
“The gloves are comin' off!” roared Reuben as he lunged towards Brody and landed on him, placing him the darumaka in a lock and applying pressure to Brody's limbs <>. Brody yelped and grunted in pain, trying to get leverage to get out of the grasp but being unable to. The pignite stood up, carrying the incapacitated fire-type with him in a lock towards Enrique, who was frantically trying to place his cloak back on, a red blush on his face (it could be chalked up to indecency if a swadloon was without a cloak). Reuben's plot was enacted: he arched his back over the swadloon, Brody still held tightly to his chest, and slammed brody into the bug in a suplex. The blow would've finished off both, had Enrique not ablated the suplex by wrapping himself up quickly, creating a soft cushion which not only prevented Enrique from the impact of the move, but also allowed Brody to bounce off and escape from Reuben's grasp. Reuben ended up with his back on the floor, easily able to be counterattacked and stunned from the concussion of hitting his head inadvertently on stone flooring. Enrique was closest, and he spearheaded the effort alone, nibbling fiercely into the nose of Reuben and causing him to squeal atrociously. His hands immediately went to his nose as he sobbed, and having his back turned to the swadloon, was open for another attack. Enrique furiously bodied the pignite with his shoulder <>, and Reuben rolled away impotently, still sobbing from being bit on the nose and allowing Enrique some space to back away.
The pignite stood up, and faced the duo, both angry at the aggressive pignite yet terrified at the same time; in their minds, Enrique and Brody were merely lucky enough to dodge what could have easily caused them to faint, and if they continued to skirmish with the pignite that they would have run out of luck. For a moment they thought otherwise, Reuben backed away in a sulk, still facing the two and having the same virulence on his face, but nonetheless retreating from the fight. Enrique and Brody smiled, seeing the glimpse of hope that Reuben was laying off of the two. In fact, Reuben had backed all the way to the rearmost end of the hall. Brody may have even chuckled in relief, though it could've only been for a short time; Reuben began to run towards the two, steadily increasing in his speed and eventually blaring across the marble tile like a freight train, conflagurating under the control of the pignite <>. Reuben's target was the tender body of Enrique, extremely sensitive to burns, and as Reuben lit on fire midway through his charge he realized that his luck might've run out. Brody tried to escape the charge, though the Swadloon simply stood still, completely petrified by the fear of death and continuing reminiscence of his life...

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Afternoon was the best time for Enrique the swadloon to doodle outdoors. The evergreen trees offered little coverage from vertical light, which was too harsh to allow for effective sketching. The afternoon's light came at an angle, and that dynamic in light allowed for manipulation, so that Enrique could stay shaded while his subject was exposed appropriately by a warm light.
“Posso parar posar?” whined an irked spewpa without reply from Enrique, who sketched her passionately and as fast as he could.
“quase, quase...” the swadloon replied, eye contact still not occuring between the two as the spewpa sat down, grinning coyly underneath her cocoon of sticky silk. Enrique stuck to his word, flourishing his graphite pencil emphatically, for it was the last stroke of a brush to his sketch. He looked at the impressionistic depiction of Magdalena for a little bit, and the spewpa, who had been maintaining her position for a few minutes, was relieved that she could see the fruit of her friend's efforts. She waltzed beside her artist to take a look at the finished product; as usual, she was thrilled by how her sketch came out, and grinned widely to Enrique.
“E muito Bom!” she tweeted as she nodded for the extra emphasis. Enrique simply made empty eye-contact in reply, sighing and shutting his book in shame.
“Sin muito...” Enrique wished he had given a more proper salutation to the spewpa, but he was too upset at himself to do so. He was frustrated with the way the last six sketches of the day had come out, and it was time to leave anyway, so Enrique began the steady hike towards his house.

“minhas expectativas sao muito altas...”

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Pascal's curiosity got the best of him; he couldn't stand to stay in the dark of what the commotion was outside. The balloon pokemon was being kept away by the probably minimal business was outside; he wouldn't mind so much if he wasn't trying to eat. Vexed and intrigued, Pascal reached out to the doorknob and swung it open to the right, a scowl on his face somewhat directed towards no-one. The first thing that Pascal saw after looking out of the door was a hooded, green tinted bug that vibrated in complete fear.
The balloon tilted his head, though pieces of the puzzle started to fill the balloon's head. First was the tremendous thudding sound coming from his left, which increased in pace and magnitude the longer time went on. A furious, nasal roar accompanied the impending charge, though Pascal had attended to the swadloon before he reckoned the source of the ruckus. “Is something wrong?” asked Pascal confused, then making out the third piece of the puzzle as to why the bug-type was petrified. A combusting, porcine hulk was careening down the hallway at an unfathomable speed, and would soon decimate the inferred partner. In an assumption that the pignite was not charging out of self defense.
Inhaling and harnessing the air inside of his silk carapace, Pascal jolted towards the center of the room and let loose a surge of overwhelming air towards the pignite <>. The effects were seen immediately; from the wind, the fire which engulfed the pignite was quickly extinguished, soon after was Reuben overwhelmed by the blast and somersaulted backwards a few feet before falling flat on his face.
Pascal averted his attention towards the swadloon, going near the bug-type and placing his tendrils on its shoulders to get its attention. When Pascal figured that the swadloon remained inert, he tried shaking Enrique's shoulders to summon the swadloon's conscious. “Wake up! You're alright, he's out cold!” Pascal exclaimed as he shook Enrique's body more and more tenaciously. The tenacity mitigated once a warm, nasal, searingly furious breathing huffed on Pascal's back. Pascal's face turned to a look of consternation. “He's not out cold, is he?”
“Bingo.” gruffly murmured Reuben before grabbing the puffy body of Pascal. Pascal could see from Reuben's extended hand (responsible for holding Pascal in place) that his other hand was facing Pascal distantly in a fist. Reuben roared as he began pummeling the balloon as fast as a machine gun, hurling blows like hotcakes <>. Each of Reuben's attacks simply bounced off of Pascal's inflated body, and none of the attacks did any damage to the pignite's perturbation. Reuben attempted a different method of attack: he inhaled deeply, letting his internal heat rise, and exhaled the hot air, which ignited on the spot <>. Pascal moaned in pain, the fire lighting some of his silk, but Reuben had forgot something critical. In trying to breathe fire on the drifloon, the hand which held the Pascal burned as well. The staggering pain caused Reuben's hand to release the pignite. Pascal shrieked in a war cry as he flipped backwards, his tendrils flaying the stubby chin of the pignite <>.
Ulivier was concerned by the ruckus outside as well, and after sipping some tamato berry juice to cure his hangover, he rushed outside to be a part of the apparent fray. Ulivier's premeditations were right; there was, in fact, a fight going on outside of the room of team kavatara; Pascal felt a second wind of energy as he watched the fight go on, clamping his shell and charging up to the Pignite. Meanwhile, Reuben had reclutched Pascal by his tendrils, chuckling with maligned intentions as he began swinging the balloon around like a pair of bolas. Seeing the shelmet approaching, he let loose Pascal straight at the snail, turning Pascal into a reeling projectile that colided with Ulivier, sending both of them down for the count for what would be a considerable time. That was the end of any reinforcement from the new kavatara team.
Head unjumbled, Brody stood up and saw just that: his new friends were out for the time being; Brody's only option was to take their place for the time being. He picked up speed towards Reuben, facing towards a once more terrified Enrique and huffing in air to blast the swadloon into smithereens. Upon reaching a range close enough, the darumaka dived in and tumbled on the floor. The rapidly rolling ball of fur hit the back of the Pignite's knee <>, creating satisfaction in Brody and dissatisfaction in Reuben, who looked behind to try to find the source of his pain. Ultimately, Reuben managed to spot Brody, though before Reuben could proceed any further, his ears picked up the sound of a whirring, then a sharp pain in his back. He turned towards the source, and saw a collection of razor-sharp leaves toted in the Enrique's paws, who grimaced as he crossed eyes with the pignite. He threw the leaves all at the same time, which disperesed like shotgun pellets all over Reuben's chest, chafing and scratching his skin in spite of his efforts to brace for impact <>.
Brody backed up again and circled around the pignite's lower body in a ball, lunging for the front of the knees this time. Brody managed to fling himself even further at the boar's musculature <>, and the pignite staggered thusly. A double threat from Enrique's razor leaf and Brody's rollouts overwhelmed the pignite, and he needed to summon a calm mind in order to fend off the perilous attacks from both. First, he shifted his glimpse to the irritating, little darumaka and snatched him upward, grabbing the little ape by the waist. Second, Reuben held Brody up so that if Enrique were to continue attacking Reuben, he would strike Brody with his razor leaves instead of Reuben. The strategy was effective, forcing Enrique to stay put without options as Brody neared the swadloon ever closer. Third, Reuben twisted Brody so to face him, looking intensely into the darumaka's whilst he set the darumaka so that he sat on his shoulders. “Sorry that I had to do this the hard way, cunt~” he murmured smugly as Reuben commenced the final step. Reuben hurled himself towards the swadloon, still holding Brody and aiming to slam Brody onto the bug type In a flashy power-bomb. Brody was knocked-out by the impact, though Reuben failed to hit the bug-type, who sidestepped just in time. Reuben stood up from his successful submission, letting go the limp, third knock-out of the match, and cracked his knuckles as he began to slowly, unbearably pace towards Enrique.
“Finally...” muttered a scuffed, bruised, and almost impotent pignite as he moved ever closer. Enrique was once more petrified by the approaching pignite, fear of being burnt the one thing on his mind. There was no one else to save Enrique from being served extra crispy. Enrique's life flashed by his eyes once more...

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“I'm sorry, Enrique...” affectionately explained the Vivillon, hands clasped as she looked away coyly. “I'm not in the mood to pose today...” she laid her head.
“Why not?” plainly muttered Enrique, aiming his pencil instead at the next best thing to draw: a pecha berry, picturesque atop a stone.
“I have too much on my mind...” she said softly, “Papa wants me home more often and I can't stay around to eat lunch with you anymore...” The vivillon looked towards Enrique with her gorgeously starry eyes, “Besides, I won't be able to smile.”
The swadloon was hesitant in his retort: “That's fine...you don't have to smile in the picture this-...” Enrique was flitting through the pages of his sketchbook, realizing that every page of his sketchbook was of the spewpa or the vivillon...nowhere did he see anything other than the smiling bug-type. Berries or long-faces couldn't be drawn in the sketchbook; it would tarnish the pages.
“What's the matter, Enrique?” she asked worriedly, looking at the debut, rather crude and basic drawing of a smiling spewpa. Enrique hadn't realized how much time had elapsed during the time he leered at the sketch. “Why are you frowning?” Enrique also hadn't noticed the fact that his face was curled downward in a crescent.
“It's...none of your business.” Enrique, now aware of his deep sorrow, did his best to hold up a stiff upper lip. “I'm just upset that I could've drawn so poorly,” Enrique lied.
“How many more times do I have to tell you that your art is good...I love every little thing that you draw genuinely, Enrique.”
“Why don't you show me that for once,” grumbled the swadloon rudely as his head swiveled slowly from his book to make an adamant eye contact.

At that moment, the vivillon kissed his lips.

Enrique was neither sure that the request for action was far overdone, nor that the vivillon had actually kissed him. There was never anything, not even in the farthest reaches of the swadloon's mind, that he had any feelings at all for her, but the action was so spontaneous and passionate that he knew the vice-versa had to be true. Enrique didn't know if he wanted to smile, cry or vomit.
Her face curdled downards exponentially, starry eyes becoming saturated with tears; the saline solution rolled down her black cheeks slowly. Each drop hit the dirt ground like an earthquake. “O que voce esta chorando-”
“E-eu sinto muito...” the vivillon whimpered highly, lifted up in the air by melancholic wings. Without a further word.
Enrique shut his sketchbook, and he could feel his arms shudder as the paper in the leather binding slammed slowly.

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Suddenly, Reuben felt a monolithic force to his side try to push him and negate his attempt to batter the swadloon into ashes. The porcine aggressor was swept off of his feet and next to the wall on the far side of the wall, almost generating a deeply resolved imprint and easily tearing off its plaster. Reuben was turned to take a look at the counterattacker: a tyrunt growling and ranting indiscernably as he headbutted the pignite. Enrique snapped out of his recollection out of sheer terror; it was replaced with a shock for the deus-ex-machina that Luther had become. “Why the hell are you here?” asked Enrique with an out-of-character urgency to address his own confusion.
“This guy's...” grunted the tyrunt as the pignite readjusted his stance in an effort to send the junior t-rex into submission. Luther's reply was backing away and slamming the pignite with his mouth, the charge and impact causing an actual dent in the wall <>. The tyrunt resumed slamming the pignite, and the pignite resumed trying to get a hold on the tyrunt. “Tryin' to hurt...” Enrique was somewhat annoyed by the lack of consistency in the tyrunt's response, but he didn't blame him; it must have been awfully hard to talk whilst fending off a merciless boar. Reuben, still shocked, hastily retaliated in between little openings between Luther's savage headbutts with jabs from the his palm, which could be spammed as the tyrunt grew weary from Reuben's punches<>.
Oxygen debt and pain from the viscious blows catching up to him, Luther moaned as he paused in his headbutts, falling on his back and allowing the pignite time to prepare to penalize Luther for his assault. Reuben grappled the Tyrunt as he did with brody (with slightly more difficulty, seeing that Luther was a mite bit heavier than the little darumaka), and stood up tall, tired of his own incapacity to end Enrique, preparing to suplex. “I've had it with your shit!” he yelled, as he calibrated his stance one last time before he arched his back to slam the dinosaur to the hard, marble floor.
Before the decisive blow could be made, Luther caught the scents of smashed passho berry on his nose. The scent of the dessert left the Tyrunt with the compulsion to grit his teeth and snarl in rage. Luther, as Reuben began to go drive the tyrunt into the ground, was astounded when the dinosaur instead found the strength to vault off of his bulky shoulders and stand midair. Reuben descended for an ephemeral moment, lengthened to the maximum because of his own horror. “THE GUY WHO'S GOT PUDDING!!!” finished Luther as he extended his foot into the pignite's face, disrupting his fall in such a way to maximize the pain of impact and causing that pain to increase exponentially, all while the dinosaur laid in midair <>. Reuben's head fell to the floor, the blunt, severe damage dealing what was instead the final blow to the pignite. Luther stood atop the unconscious, fatty boar triumphantly, but only for a few seconds; after they elapsed, Luther fainted out of his own exhaustion, collapsing ontop of Reuben's belly.
Only Enrique was left. His jaw was only on the floor for a few seconds more, after that point, his facial expression reverted to its original, unimpressed expression; his emotions could only go so far before they couldn't stand to be exposed. The swadloon looked down at his chest: not a burn mark in sight, and there wasn't any sign of harm anywhere else on his body. Enrique was burdened with the sudden taxation of adrenaline in his system; he had no physical damage, but his breath was still held from nearly being killed three times. Enrique took the necessary, deep breath to calm himself down, simultaneously looking at the carnage of the fight: the new members of team kavatara, collapsed near a doorstop, Brody, collapsed in the middle of the floor, and a Pignite and Tyrunt laying on eachother. Enrique noticed Brody's igglybuff doll to the side; he shuffled up to it casually and picked it up to keep it safe...it had better not start another fight!
Enrique chuckled to himself nervously. “Time to tell administration about this...” he muttered to himself as he turned around. Behind Enrique, far in the corridor next to where the staircase started, stood Louro, shivering and wide mouthed, Brody's box of belongings carriaged in shaky hands. Indifferent to the marshtomp's emotion, Enrique approached the terrified water type. “How much of that did you just see?” Inquired Enrique flatly.
“I-I got here when the drifloon opened the door...” replied Louro shakily.
“Will you testify that all of that just happened?” further asked the swadloon. Louro nodded apprehensively in reply. Enrique sighed, realizing that it would be a while before he'd sleep in his new bed.

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From left to right sat Pascal, Ulivier, Enrique, Brody, and Luther in cramped, flimsy wooden chairs with scratchy upholstery. Respectively, Pascal was crossing his tendrils expectantly with a stoic frown. Ulivier was aggrievedly staring at the pokemon in the front desk. Enrique made the most eye contact with said pokemon in the front desk, the only one here who's negative expression was unintentional. Brody was sobbing quietly, bandaged and hugging his doll for comfort. Reflexively, Brody rocked back and forth on the upholstery, causing it's scratchy surface to chafe his hind. Finally, Luther was eating some oran berry pudding prepared at his request. His desire was filled as a reward for ending the spree of rage enacted upon by Reuben. He struggled with eating the yummy pudding, though, because his jaw couldn't fit in the bowl very easily and his hands were too short to manipulate the bowl easily.
They all sat in front of a austerely annoyed omastar, an expression honed to a sterling degree because his job called for it. Mr. Balthasar Balbi was the man responsible for disciplining the corpus of the Pomeg guild. Balthasar was proud of his possesion: head disciplinary officer was a holy duty reserved for the elite few who could manage the rigors of the job. These were one of the many, tedious occurrences which trifled Balthasar to the nth degree. Mr. Balthasar Balbi (who's silly name often merited many chuckles among those that he punished) was expecting to see Brody sooner or later...this week. The drill for the disciplinarian was therefore a skill polished and honed because of its repetition. It went along the lines of one person or another starting a fight or otherwise quarreling with the darumaka, Brody telling on his offender, the offender being punished, and finally a punishment for Enrique, who should have been more responsible for Brody. What caught Balthasar by ambush was that Reuben had been involved in a skirmish with Brody and several of his companions, resulting in legitimate injuries in four guild members. A stupendously long probation period for Reuben, for threatening two guild-members verbally, assaulting four, and property damage (while Luther was also responsible for some of the damage, this offense was negated because it was in self defense). Also, Reuben was the one responsible for the offense; the up-and-coming pignite that Reuben was, extraordinarily gifted and ardent in what he did, got in a fight to bully a fellow guild-member. Balthasar had only heard about Reuben prior to his ill-invoked meeting with the pignite, and in the little birds the only negative aspect about Reuben stated was that he was overly competitive. That facet of the pignite's nature was probably what started the issue.
Balthasar sighed, crossing his fore-tentacles and focusing his scrutiny on Brody, who had resolved to crying into Enrique's covered shoulder. It was hard to tell if Enrique was upset by the action or too mellow to object. On an anecdote, Balthasar realized that Enrique would be excellent at poker. “So, Brody.” began the Omastar in his inherently composed voice. “Do you feel any better after the incident tonight?” Balthasar's reply was a wail amplified to serve as a crude translation of 'no'.
“I-I feel horribul...A-and I wanna go to bed!” erupted Brody as he full-on embraced Enrique's shoulder. Enrique did his part by adjusting his shoulder to be more comfortable to cry into.
“Well, I think that cuts it...” lowly chimed the Omastar as he readjusted the placard on his desk. “I've already told all of you about the ramifications of what happened this evening. Reuben has been probated, you're all entitled to free food for the next five weeks,” (Luther grinned cunningly; he had negotiated that), “And you'll get additional condolences and benefits on behalf of the Pomeg guild.”
“A-actually...” whimpered Brody as he extended his hand out promptly, “C-could I have...” Brody looked towards Luther confused as to who his name was and eventually giving up on the nominal mystery, “I want that guy on team kavatara!”
Balthasar's eyes widened somewhat at the request; it was against procedure to ask for something so significant on such short notice. He reclined into his natural composure and went on: “I'm not too sure about that, Brody, you already got two new members to team kavatara and-”
“What's the problem with that?” asked Pascal, annoyed in his tone of voice, “You've seen what we've done as a group. It isn't like adding a fifth member is gonna make the world explode.” Ulivier nodded in agreement after listening to Pascal's argument. Luther was too busy eating to care.
“You have to keep in mind...” Balthasar forgot the drifloon's name midway through his sentene. “Pascal, was it?” asked Balthasar to address his minor amnesia.
“ Pascal Jean-Pierre Montaigne the 4th Veil-” Pascal was having so much fun telling his name to the disciplinarian up until he was interrupted.
“Right...Pascal. You forget that administration can't just add members to a team in thirty minutes...the weight of the matter is simply too significant.”
“But what's the harm?” asked Enrique, “Team kavatara's already had two members tacked on today, and frankly, we need more members if we're ever to get out of this rut.” Balthasar was taken aback, and therefore couldn't respond based on premeditated answers. “Follow my logic for a moment, Mr. Balbi.” said Enrique in supplement.
“Sure...” grumbled Balthasar, cornered into listening into Enrique.
“We were just put up against one of the Pomeg guild's most promising and potent members. Have you ever heard of anyone winning against Reuben.”
“No...but then again I don't recall that Mr. Ferrel was put up against five pokemon at the same time...”
“And what difference does that make if that group is together?” concluded the swadloon
“The swadloon's got a point,” said Pascal to an omastar struggling to keep his footing in the argument, “We've proved that we're able to do a decent job in fighting, there's no harm in adding another member to team kavatara, all of us would have been hospitalized and you owe us some compensation, and you'll benefit if we're all on a team doing missions. It's a win-win and you're too stubborn to agree with us because of 'procedure'” Pascal gestured quotation marks with his hands for emphasis. While Balthasar wasn't inherently misinclined to fifth member to a team, he hated the concept of being proved wrong.
“Fine...” bitterly grumbled the omastar in defeat. “I'll run it by Aries to get approval for a fifth member to team kavatara.” The stardom repositioned his head towards his door. “Jack!” in reply, a timid looking corsola cracked the door open and stood in the doorway.
“Y-yes mr. Balbi?...” the bashful corsola whimpered in reply. While Jack did so, the omastar dismounted his char and scuttled over to meet Jack halfway. “See Aries about adding another member to team kavatara...namely Luther Osburn.”
“The tenth!” roared Luther adamantly in between chomps of pudding. The sudden anger caused Jack to whimper.
“And while you're at it,” Enrique interrupted, “Ask Aries about sending team kavatara on an actual mission.”
Balthasar tilted his head at Enrique, unsure of what he meant and the reason for the swadloon's sarcastic tone. “I don't follow, Mr. Borbulota, you and Brody have been on missions every weekday for the past six months-”
“Oh, I'd beg to differ, Mr. Balbi.” replied Enrique, incensed by the ignorance of Balthasar. “The day before yesterday we were lugging crates around the port, yesterday we were filing library books, and today we had to get milk for Lieutenant Tingenyek. Tell me that those are actual, difficult and perilous missions.” rhetorical questions seemed to be Balthasar's weak link, as he had no reply to Enrique's. “They aren't; plain and simple. We've shown ourselves to be competent in fending off for ourselves. To be honest I'm tired of the same, bland clerical work we've been doing all this time.” to emphasize his rant, Enrique crossed his arms.
“Well...” Balthasar's stubborn attitude dictated that he objected whenever a bit of hope for victory was present, “Again, Enrique, you must consider the fact that Brody is a fragile boy. We don't want to be responsible for any injury that he might succumb to in more rigorous missions.”
“And letting him run little errands for my superiors is going to make him better equipped for the real world? Again, we've proven ourselves capable; if we can handle Reuben, we can handle any of the less significant missions...” Balthasar had no words, he simply stared indignantly from being trumped by a petty swadloon. Enrique looked towards Jack, “Go ask Aries about briefing team kavatara with a mission fitting for their new capabilities...”
“Before you go off, Jack.” said Balthasar to the corsola which was now overwhelmed with orders. “I'd like to make sure that team kavatara understands that they'll be short of a member for tommorow...” Mr. Balbi pointed with a blue tentacle towards the bandaged and damaged mess that Brody was.
“You owe us some compensations for getting assaulted by a guild-member, correct?” said Ulivier, breaking the mold of a bashful and quiet appearance. The Omastar, with curious eyes, glared at the shelled slug.
“You're right.”
“Can't you heal Brody overnight in the infirmary?” infirmary was a new word to Ulivier, one that he had picked up from Calvin, who toured the Pomeg guild with Pascal after they had been recruited.
“...Yes.” muttered Balthasar in defeat as he looked downwards.
“Why can't you fix up Brody here and have us pick him up in the morning?” the still stubborn omastar nodded apprehensively in submission. “Wonderful~.” Pascal smugly cooed, happy that he had pitched in to improving team kavatara. Balthasar pointed bitterly towards his door, still coping with the fact that he had been outwitted by the most bumbling team in the Pomeg guild. After he did, Jack the corsola scurried outward in little trots that clacked against the ground.
“Keep in mind, everyone, that I can't give the go instantaneously;” began Balthasar, finding some victory in denying the team of convenience, “you'll get your answers tomorrow morning. That means that Luther will have to sleep in his own room and that you'll have to escort Brody to the infirmary yourself. As of now, those are the terms and conditions.” the omastar sighed, clasping his arms, and in a sarcastic manner of voice, he continued: “Will there be anything else, Mr. Darla?” Brody couldn't respond. He had fallen asleep on Enrique's shoulder.
“I'll take that as a no.” said Balthasar. He pointed his gaze towards a clock briefly. “Be off then. It's five till nine and I'd like to go to bed; I'd imagine you'd all like to do the same.”
Balthasar's audience all gave some form of affirmation.
“You are all dismissed.” with that, the drifloon, tyrunt, shelmet, swadloon and darumaka all exited the room in that order. Balthasar's office was now free of visitors and, therefore, free of the reminder that he had lost.

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It was now 9:30. The nurses at the infirmary were extremely irksome, recording every little detail of Brody's injury as additional procedure for the fast-acting blissey therapy which Brody would be subjected to. It was otherwise extremely expensive, but due to circumstance, the only payment that the infirmary required was confirmation that Brody had been ravaged so severely. A quick glance at the many bruises and wounds that Brody had (and the implied compensation that was expected from the pomeg guild) was therefore the only prerequisite for the exclusive treatment. “It's quite pleasant,” said one of the nurses somewhere in between taking one means or another of pointless, bureacratic information, “Your darumaka is sure to have a good sleep while we heal him.” Enrique could care less; his sleep wouldn't be good after staying up all night.
The interminable visit to the doctor's was behind the group, however, for here Enrique was at the doorstop to his new, expansive room. For the most part, the only hallmarks to his, Ulivier's and Pascal's new dormitory were a couple of hay beds, the toiletries and amenities set beside them, and boxes full of goods stacked by Louro. To someone wide awake, an unpacked bedroom wouldn't seem like much, but to those deprived of sleep for a long while, the room was inviolable. Pascal grinned widely as he whirred towards his bed, tying up his tendrils to the bedpost without even thinking about his nightlies, shutting his eyes and catching his z's near instantly. Enrique's only compatriot, therefore, was Ulivier. “How do you like your room?” asked Enrique.
“Well...” Ulivier turned towards the ambivalent bug, “I was thinking we should acquaint ourselves before we talk about what my room is like. I'm Ulivier and...” Enrique's stark indifferent glaze gave off the impression that he didn't give a shit.
“Nevermind...we'll introduce ourselves in the morning.” leaving Ulivier sad and in the dust, Enrique marched towards his bed. He placed the satchel slung over his shoulder on the bedpost, extinguishing the candles that illuminated the room as he went on. Ulivier sulked over to his own bed and sipped the last, stale bit of tamato juice to cure his headache completely... he'd stick to soft drinks next time. The juice worked as an effective nightcap, however. Sipping warm tamato juice knocked out Ulivier after thirty seconds, and before Enrique knew it, Ulivier had shut his hood and snoozed away.
In front of Enrique was 40 percent of team Kavatara, all new members and all sleeping away. The swadloon felt isolated. His need for companionship panged, and as he saw his archaic sketchbook jutting from his satchel, he considered it his antidote for the companionship. In spite of himself, he took it out, making sure not to extinguish the lone light that was only strong enough to make his sketches visible. The swadloon had never realized how beautiful his same, repeated subject was. It made even the most poorly sketched depictions of the spewpa incredibly, intangibly beautiful.

“Magdalena...”

Enrique shut the book, set it on the side of his bed, and stood up from his reclining position. He approached the exit to his room, opened his door, stepped outside, and shut it. He walked down the dimly lit halls, fearless to the curfew imposed on younger members of the guild, and descending down the stairs.

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Description
Brody wouldn't have thought that the Pomeg guild could look so unfamiliar...the fact of the matter was that the darumaka hadn't navigated its entirety. Therefore, when Brody went darting up an extra staircase, he was profoundly confused. He had never even considered that the Pomeg guild had a fifth floor, let alone a fourth that he would stand on when he overshot his room's location by a floor. Said floor seemed so dim and hostile to Brody, and for the most part it was. Because everyone was away on dinner, there was little need for additional lighting, so no candles or lamps were yet lit to shed light on the many hallways and corridors of the floor mainly reserved for dormitories. The only source of light were from the sun, which barely peaked its head over moorish windows and gave its weakest light of the day for illumination. The halls lost much of their color, which made the Gordian's knot of finding Brody's new room even more needlessly difficult. Brody clung tight to Murphy because of how scary the floors seemed. Everything was dark, and Brody was paranoid to the concept that a monster or a maligned pokemon might pop out from one of the doors and eat him...or murphy! Even the thought made Brody want to cry, but he kept in his tears; the monsters probably sensed their victims through their emotions...
Brody walked around the dim, dark, fourth floor for about thirty minutes to no avail, feeling terrified and claustrophobic the whole way through and wishing for his mother. He gave up after going in a circle, and then went downstairs a floor to see if he had gone up a floor too soon, which, from his perspective, was a shot in the dark. Fortunately, Brody had hit the nail on the head, though it would be some time before the Darumaka could find his room. After all, he was too stubborn to go back and ask Louro for new directions; he didn't want to feel any stupider than he made himself feel today. Brody coursed around the corridors for his new dormitory once again, and he took fifteen minutes in doing so, seeing no landmarks as to where he would be. At one point, however, the darumaka could see a very round and portly figure leaning against the wall. Brody at first thought that the pig in the negative chiaroscuro was an enemy, but as he timidly edged forward, he realized that the pignite had a warm grin on his face, clearly happy to see the darumaka. It was certainly odd, but Brody preffered to ask questions later; he was frustrated by his inability to find any semblance of his room. The pignite might even have some insight as to where his room might be. Brody, once in close enough of a range, initiated: “E-excuse me,” Brody began, “Do you know where room uh...”
“184 B-3 is?” interrupted the pignite smugly, his delivery being interpreted as helpful by Brody. Furthermore, the darumaka was significantly shocked by how on-point the pignite was in spite of being a complete stranger. “I'm standing right next to it~” Brody glanced upwards to see the numbers in their shining gild: 184 B-3
“T-thankyou,” gladly ushered the darumaka, a wide smile on his face as he tried to open the door pointlessly. It was locked from the inside.
“Somethin' wrong, Brody?” asked the pignite coyly. Brody nodded in between trying to unlock his door, not even noticing that the Pignite both knew his name and had the key to the room in his hand. Brody grunted dismayed as he sat on the floor after visciously trying to open the door, and he crossed his arms, pouting because he couldn't access the sacrosanct interior.
“Y-yeah...there's something wrong... I can't get inside.” Halfway through Brody's statement, he looked up and saw the keys to his dormitory intact and in the pignite's hooved paw. The pignite flourished it around, high enough so that the darumaka couldn't reach it. “W-wuzzat?” asked Brody, curious and almost rhetorical.”
“This is the key to your room, Brody...” the pignite placed the keys in front of Brody's hands, which reached out fruitlessly because of his short reach. “You can have them~” just as soon as Reuben had offered Brody the keys, prompting him to lurch outward and reach for them, Reuben had removed the important, metal door-lance from his grasp, causing Brody to fall face forward. Reuben smiled maliciously, flourishing the keys around some more and enjoying the display that Brody was putting on for him alone. “I meant that you can have it if you do me a little favor...” Brody need only tilt his head in grim curiosity to prompt Reuben to continue. “Lemme ask you something...you're the kid that told Morgan that one joke about the magikarp, right?” Brody finally caught on to the intention of Reuben. He nodded helplessly, too afraid of setting the pig off if he objected to anything he might say. “Well I'll tell you what...” Reuben suddenly and violently grasped the chest of Brody, who yelped and clutched Murphy for protection. “You've gotta promise me some favors if I'm gonna give your key back...”
“L-like what?...” Brody inquired shakily, shivering in the pignite's strong clutch.
“Well...you're gonna sit around our table at breakfast and act like the dunce you are...y'know, tell the stupid jokes that i've heard so much about and be a general idiot for laughs... you'll get me my lunch and carry my belongings while I train...In other words, I wanna make you my bitch~” maliciously exclaimed the pignite, a cheshire-tier smile emerging on his chubby face.
“W-why?” asked the darumaka, terrified and nearly bawling out of said terror.
“Because if I can get the class clown on my side, then I'll get favors out of people. I'll be able to get more training if I can get the right people on my court, and I'm more than willing to get my hands dirty by making you my bitch...” Reuben giggled roughly. “What's it gonna be, f***boy?”
“I-I'll...” trying to muster up some courage, the darumaka stood still in the pignite's grasp, shivering yet biding his time to generate a proper, bold retort. “I-I'll never do all those things! I have some dignity that I'll never surrender...” exclaimed Brody, more bashful than bold.
Reuben smirked. “Suit yourself... I'm not the one that has to get in the room~” once more, Reuben teased the keys in front of Brody to prove his point, pulling them out of Brody's reach as soon as the little ape tried to snatch them. Reuben grew tired of holding on to the round fuzz-ball which Brody was, and as such let the fire-type fall to the ground. Brody was now in tears because of the pain, and sat on his rump helplessly
“I-I'll go downstairs and get a new one!” indignantly retorted the darumaka as he turned around and lumbered towards the staircase.
“Hey Brody...” Reuben called spitefully from across the corridor, causing Brody to turn around and look towards the boar. In Reuben's hand was held the little pink, plush body of Murphy that the darumaka had come to love. “You forgot something~”
Instantaneously, Brody sprinted back towards the pignite and dived to grab his beloved doll, though as Lucy does to Charlie Brown, the pignite pulled away the doll at the last second; Brody flew forward a few meters on his face, missing his doll and then feebly rolled up to see Reuben walk towards him imposingly, his hands placed on his hips. “Want your girly doll back, whimp?” Reuben asked, malintention in his rhetoric, “Then you'll do as I say for the rest of the week, and I'll take it back if-” Reuben suddenly detected a presence at six o'clock, and the pignite's face lost much of its determination, which was replaced by a pale, guilty facial expression. Reuben turned around. Enrique stood behind him, tapping his foot expectantly and with a legitimate, portrayed look of disgust towards the Pignite. Reuben didn't have to ask to know that the swadloon had seen everything, so he cut to the chase. “Are you thinking about telling on me, asshat?” the Pignite asked, confidently smug as he stepped heavily towards the cloaked bug, “If you do, then I'll burn you into a crisp...” little flames huffed out of the Pignite's porcine nose.
“You're bluffing.” accused Enrique, Reuben now standing only a few feet away.
“Lemme prove you wrong, then...” Reuben tensed his core, yanking off Enrique's verdant coat and inhaling so that he could breathe fire directly on the flammable body of the swadloon. Enrique's life flashed by his eyes, and so did the fiery, seemingly evil stare of the Pignite...
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The sun was quite enjoyable to Enrique, though everything else to the sewaddle seemed extraordinarily awful. Bradley had just taken his oran berry away for the third time this week, and the little catterpillar stood desolate behind a tree, trying to be mature about the fact of the matter but still unable to hold the tears back. The little sewaddle sat up propped up on a tree and sniffled. He didn't mind his lack of friends, but he didn't think that it would bite him in the hind so severely later on...
When he got home, Enrique promised himself that he would draw to take his mind off of his hunger...it seemed to do the trick for the time being; with a bit of hope for what the rest of his afternoon would be like, he was able to shut off his tears more punctually. What would he draw, though? Enrique wasn't all that sure himself, but he would probably draw inspiration from one thing or another sooner or later. The somber sewaddle suddenly heard a gentle hum from the other side of the tree he was sitting in. Curiosity replaced a sad attitude, and Enrique gingerly turned around to investigate the source of the gentle humming, which was suddenly mixed with the sounds of munching.
A spewpa was absentmindedly eating a pecha berry, glancing out over the entirety of the upper school's field happily as she chewed the sweet, fruity flavors of the berry. To others, the spewpa wouldn't have looked too attractive; some of Enrique's more abrasive classmates may have even harassed her. To Enrique, however, her placid, happy demeanor instantly infatuated the sewaddle...

Enrique knew what he would draw tonight

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At the last moment, though, Reuben lost his focus, getting the wind knocked out of him from behind and saving Enrique from being cooked like a goose. Reuben reeled from the blow, but turned around to see Brody standing, his recent body-blow to Reuben's back evident by a cocked stance and a blunt, insignificant pain on the pignite's backside.
“The gloves are comin' off!” roared Reuben as he lunged towards Brody and landed on him, placing him the darumaka in a lock and applying pressure to Brody's limbs <>. Brody yelped and grunted in pain, trying to get leverage to get out of the grasp but being unable to. The pignite stood up, carrying the incapacitated fire-type with him in a lock towards Enrique, who was frantically trying to place his cloak back on, a red blush on his face (it could be chalked up to indecency if a swadloon was without a cloak). Reuben's plot was enacted: he arched his back over the swadloon, Brody still held tightly to his chest, and slammed brody into the bug in a suplex. The blow would've finished off both, had Enrique not ablated the suplex by wrapping himself up quickly, creating a soft cushion which not only prevented Enrique from the impact of the move, but also allowed Brody to bounce off and escape from Reuben's grasp. Reuben ended up with his back on the floor, easily able to be counterattacked and stunned from the concussion of hitting his head inadvertently on stone flooring. Enrique was closest, and he spearheaded the effort alone, nibbling fiercely into the nose of Reuben and causing him to squeal atrociously. His hands immediately went to his nose as he sobbed, and having his back turned to the swadloon, was open for another attack. Enrique furiously bodied the pignite with his shoulder <>, and Reuben rolled away impotently, still sobbing from being bit on the nose and allowing Enrique some space to back away.
The pignite stood up, and faced the duo, both angry at the aggressive pignite yet terrified at the same time; in their minds, Enrique and Brody were merely lucky enough to dodge what could have easily caused them to faint, and if they continued to skirmish with the pignite that they would have run out of luck. For a moment they thought otherwise, Reuben backed away in a sulk, still facing the two and having the same virulence on his face, but nonetheless retreating from the fight. Enrique and Brody smiled, seeing the glimpse of hope that Reuben was laying off of the two. In fact, Reuben had backed all the way to the rearmost end of the hall. Brody may have even chuckled in relief, though it could've only been for a short time; Reuben began to run towards the two, steadily increasing in his speed and eventually blaring across the marble tile like a freight train, conflagurating under the control of the pignite <>. Reuben's target was the tender body of Enrique, extremely sensitive to burns, and as Reuben lit on fire midway through his charge he realized that his luck might've run out. Brody tried to escape the charge, though the Swadloon simply stood still, completely petrified by the fear of death and continuing reminiscence of his life...

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Afternoon was the best time for Enrique the swadloon to doodle outdoors. The evergreen trees offered little coverage from vertical light, which was too harsh to allow for effective sketching. The afternoon's light came at an angle, and that dynamic in light allowed for manipulation, so that Enrique could stay shaded while his subject was exposed appropriately by a warm light.
“Posso parar posar?” whined an irked spewpa without reply from Enrique, who sketched her passionately and as fast as he could.
“quase, quase...” the swadloon replied, eye contact still not occuring between the two as the spewpa sat down, grinning coyly underneath her cocoon of sticky silk. Enrique stuck to his word, flourishing his graphite pencil emphatically, for it was the last stroke of a brush to his sketch. He looked at the impressionistic depiction of Magdalena for a little bit, and the spewpa, who had been maintaining her position for a few minutes, was relieved that she could see the fruit of her friend's efforts. She waltzed beside her artist to take a look at the finished product; as usual, she was thrilled by how her sketch came out, and grinned widely to Enrique.
“E muito Bom!” she tweeted as she nodded for the extra emphasis. Enrique simply made empty eye-contact in reply, sighing and shutting his book in shame.
“Sin muito...” Enrique wished he had given a more proper salutation to the spewpa, but he was too upset at himself to do so. He was frustrated with the way the last six sketches of the day had come out, and it was time to leave anyway, so Enrique began the steady hike towards his house.

“minhas expectativas sao muito altas...”

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Pascal's curiosity got the best of him; he couldn't stand to stay in the dark of what the commotion was outside. The balloon pokemon was being kept away by the probably minimal business was outside; he wouldn't mind so much if he wasn't trying to eat. Vexed and intrigued, Pascal reached out to the doorknob and swung it open to the right, a scowl on his face somewhat directed towards no-one. The first thing that Pascal saw after looking out of the door was a hooded, green tinted bug that vibrated in complete fear.
The balloon tilted his head, though pieces of the puzzle started to fill the balloon's head. First was the tremendous thudding sound coming from his left, which increased in pace and magnitude the longer time went on. A furious, nasal roar accompanied the impending charge, though Pascal had attended to the swadloon before he reckoned the source of the ruckus. “Is something wrong?” asked Pascal confused, then making out the third piece of the puzzle as to why the bug-type was petrified. A combusting, porcine hulk was careening down the hallway at an unfathomable speed, and would soon decimate the inferred partner. In an assumption that the pignite was not charging out of self defense.
Inhaling and harnessing the air inside of his silk carapace, Pascal jolted towards the center of the room and let loose a surge of overwhelming air towards the pignite <>. The effects were seen immediately; from the wind, the fire which engulfed the pignite was quickly extinguished, soon after was Reuben overwhelmed by the blast and somersaulted backwards a few feet before falling flat on his face.
Pascal averted his attention towards the swadloon, going near the bug-type and placing his tendrils on its shoulders to get its attention. When Pascal figured that the swadloon remained inert, he tried shaking Enrique's shoulders to summon the swadloon's conscious. “Wake up! You're alright, he's out cold!” Pascal exclaimed as he shook Enrique's body more and more tenaciously. The tenacity mitigated once a warm, nasal, searingly furious breathing huffed on Pascal's back. Pascal's face turned to a look of consternation. “He's not out cold, is he?”
“Bingo.” gruffly murmured Reuben before grabbing the puffy body of Pascal. Pascal could see from Reuben's extended hand (responsible for holding Pascal in place) that his other hand was facing Pascal distantly in a fist. Reuben roared as he began pummeling the balloon as fast as a machine gun, hurling blows like hotcakes <>. Each of Reuben's attacks simply bounced off of Pascal's inflated body, and none of the attacks did any damage to the pignite's perturbation. Reuben attempted a different method of attack: he inhaled deeply, letting his internal heat rise, and exhaled the hot air, which ignited on the spot <>. Pascal moaned in pain, the fire lighting some of his silk, but Reuben had forgot something critical. In trying to breathe fire on the drifloon, the hand which held the Pascal burned as well. The staggering pain caused Reuben's hand to release the pignite. Pascal shrieked in a war cry as he flipped backwards, his tendrils flaying the stubby chin of the pignite <>.
Ulivier was concerned by the ruckus outside as well, and after sipping some tamato berry juice to cure his hangover, he rushed outside to be a part of the apparent fray. Ulivier's premeditations were right; there was, in fact, a fight going on outside of the room of team kavatara; Pascal felt a second wind of energy as he watched the fight go on, clamping his shell and charging up to the Pignite. Meanwhile, Reuben had reclutched Pascal by his tendrils, chuckling with maligned intentions as he began swinging the balloon around like a pair of bolas. Seeing the shelmet approaching, he let loose Pascal straight at the snail, turning Pascal into a reeling projectile that colided with Ulivier, sending both of them down for the count for what would be a considerable time. That was the end of any reinforcement from the new kavatara team.
Head unjumbled, Brody stood up and saw just that: his new friends were out for the time being; Brody's only option was to take their place for the time being. He picked up speed towards Reuben, facing towards a once more terrified Enrique and huffing in air to blast the swadloon into smithereens. Upon reaching a range close enough, the darumaka dived in and tumbled on the floor. The rapidly rolling ball of fur hit the back of the Pignite's knee <>, creating satisfaction in Brody and dissatisfaction in Reuben, who looked behind to try to find the source of his pain. Ultimately, Reuben managed to spot Brody, though before Reuben could proceed any further, his ears picked up the sound of a whirring, then a sharp pain in his back. He turned towards the source, and saw a collection of razor-sharp leaves toted in the Enrique's paws, who grimaced as he crossed eyes with the pignite. He threw the leaves all at the same time, which disperesed like shotgun pellets all over Reuben's chest, chafing and scratching his skin in spite of his efforts to brace for impact <>.
Brody backed up again and circled around the pignite's lower body in a ball, lunging for the front of the knees this time. Brody managed to fling himself even further at the boar's musculature <>, and the pignite staggered thusly. A double threat from Enrique's razor leaf and Brody's rollouts overwhelmed the pignite, and he needed to summon a calm mind in order to fend off the perilous attacks from both. First, he shifted his glimpse to the irritating, little darumaka and snatched him upward, grabbing the little ape by the waist. Second, Reuben held Brody up so that if Enrique were to continue attacking Reuben, he would strike Brody with his razor leaves instead of Reuben. The strategy was effective, forcing Enrique to stay put without options as Brody neared the swadloon ever closer. Third, Reuben twisted Brody so to face him, looking intensely into the darumaka's whilst he set the darumaka so that he sat on his shoulders. “Sorry that I had to do this the hard way, cunt~” he murmured smugly as Reuben commenced the final step. Reuben hurled himself towards the swadloon, still holding Brody and aiming to slam Brody onto the bug type In a flashy power-bomb. Brody was knocked-out by the impact, though Reuben failed to hit the bug-type, who sidestepped just in time. Reuben stood up from his successful submission, letting go the limp, third knock-out of the match, and cracked his knuckles as he began to slowly, unbearably pace towards Enrique.
“Finally...” muttered a scuffed, bruised, and almost impotent pignite as he moved ever closer. Enrique was once more petrified by the approaching pignite, fear of being burnt the one thing on his mind. There was no one else to save Enrique from being served extra crispy. Enrique's life flashed by his eyes once more...

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“I'm sorry, Enrique...” affectionately explained the Vivillon, hands clasped as she looked away coyly. “I'm not in the mood to pose today...” she laid her head.
“Why not?” plainly muttered Enrique, aiming his pencil instead at the next best thing to draw: a pecha berry, picturesque atop a stone.
“I have too much on my mind...” she said softly, “Papa wants me home more often and I can't stay around to eat lunch with you anymore...” The vivillon looked towards Enrique with her gorgeously starry eyes, “Besides, I won't be able to smile.”
The swadloon was hesitant in his retort: “That's fine...you don't have to smile in the picture this-...” Enrique was flitting through the pages of his sketchbook, realizing that every page of his sketchbook was of the spewpa or the vivillon...nowhere did he see anything other than the smiling bug-type. Berries or long-faces couldn't be drawn in the sketchbook; it would tarnish the pages.
“What's the matter, Enrique?” she asked worriedly, looking at the debut, rather crude and basic drawing of a smiling spewpa. Enrique hadn't realized how much time had elapsed during the time he leered at the sketch. “Why are you frowning?” Enrique also hadn't noticed the fact that his face was curled downward in a crescent.
“It's...none of your business.” Enrique, now aware of his deep sorrow, did his best to hold up a stiff upper lip. “I'm just upset that I could've drawn so poorly,” Enrique lied.
“How many more times do I have to tell you that your art is good...I love every little thing that you draw genuinely, Enrique.”
“Why don't you show me that for once,” grumbled the swadloon rudely as his head swiveled slowly from his book to make an adamant eye contact.

At that moment, the vivillon kissed his lips.

Enrique was neither sure that the request for action was far overdone, nor that the vivillon had actually kissed him. There was never anything, not even in the farthest reaches of the swadloon's mind, that he had any feelings at all for her, but the action was so spontaneous and passionate that he knew the vice-versa had to be true. Enrique didn't know if he wanted to smile, cry or vomit.
Her face curdled downards exponentially, starry eyes becoming saturated with tears; the saline solution rolled down her black cheeks slowly. Each drop hit the dirt ground like an earthquake. “O que voce esta chorando-”
“E-eu sinto muito...” the vivillon whimpered highly, lifted up in the air by melancholic wings. Without a further word.
Enrique shut his sketchbook, and he could feel his arms shudder as the paper in the leather binding slammed slowly.

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Suddenly, Reuben felt a monolithic force to his side try to push him and negate his attempt to batter the swadloon into ashes. The porcine aggressor was swept off of his feet and next to the wall on the far side of the wall, almost generating a deeply resolved imprint and easily tearing off its plaster. Reuben was turned to take a look at the counterattacker: a tyrunt growling and ranting indiscernably as he headbutted the pignite. Enrique snapped out of his recollection out of sheer terror; it was replaced with a shock for the deus-ex-machina that Luther had become. “Why the hell are you here?” asked Enrique with an out-of-character urgency to address his own confusion.
“This guy's...” grunted the tyrunt as the pignite readjusted his stance in an effort to send the junior t-rex into submission. Luther's reply was backing away and slamming the pignite with his mouth, the charge and impact causing an actual dent in the wall <>. The tyrunt resumed slamming the pignite, and the pignite resumed trying to get a hold on the tyrunt. “Tryin' to hurt...” Enrique was somewhat annoyed by the lack of consistency in the tyrunt's response, but he didn't blame him; it must have been awfully hard to talk whilst fending off a merciless boar. Reuben, still shocked, hastily retaliated in between little openings between Luther's savage headbutts with jabs from the his palm, which could be spammed as the tyrunt grew weary from Reuben's punches<>.
Oxygen debt and pain from the viscious blows catching up to him, Luther moaned as he paused in his headbutts, falling on his back and allowing the pignite time to prepare to penalize Luther for his assault. Reuben grappled the Tyrunt as he did with brody (with slightly more difficulty, seeing that Luther was a mite bit heavier than the little darumaka), and stood up tall, tired of his own incapacity to end Enrique, preparing to suplex. “I've had it with your shit!” he yelled, as he calibrated his stance one last time before he arched his back to slam the dinosaur to the hard, marble floor.
Before the decisive blow could be made, Luther caught the scents of smashed passho berry on his nose. The scent of the dessert left the Tyrunt with the compulsion to grit his teeth and snarl in rage. Luther, as Reuben began to go drive the tyrunt into the ground, was astounded when the dinosaur instead found the strength to vault off of his bulky shoulders and stand midair. Reuben descended for an ephemeral moment, lengthened to the maximum because of his own horror. “THE GUY WHO'S GOT PUDDING!!!” finished Luther as he extended his foot into the pignite's face, disrupting his fall in such a way to maximize the pain of impact and causing that pain to increase exponentially, all while the dinosaur laid in midair <>. Reuben's head fell to the floor, the blunt, severe damage dealing what was instead the final blow to the pignite. Luther stood atop the unconscious, fatty boar triumphantly, but only for a few seconds; after they elapsed, Luther fainted out of his own exhaustion, collapsing ontop of Reuben's belly.
Only Enrique was left. His jaw was only on the floor for a few seconds more, after that point, his facial expression reverted to its original, unimpressed expression; his emotions could only go so far before they couldn't stand to be exposed. The swadloon looked down at his chest: not a burn mark in sight, and there wasn't any sign of harm anywhere else on his body. Enrique was burdened with the sudden taxation of adrenaline in his system; he had no physical damage, but his breath was still held from nearly being killed three times. Enrique took the necessary, deep breath to calm himself down, simultaneously looking at the carnage of the fight: the new members of team kavatara, collapsed near a doorstop, Brody, collapsed in the middle of the floor, and a Pignite and Tyrunt laying on eachother. Enrique noticed Brody's igglybuff doll to the side; he shuffled up to it casually and picked it up to keep it safe...it had better not start another fight!
Enrique chuckled to himself nervously. “Time to tell administration about this...” he muttered to himself as he turned around. Behind Enrique, far in the corridor next to where the staircase started, stood Louro, shivering and wide mouthed, Brody's box of belongings carriaged in shaky hands. Indifferent to the marshtomp's emotion, Enrique approached the terrified water type. “How much of that did you just see?” Inquired Enrique flatly.
“I-I got here when the drifloon opened the door...” replied Louro shakily.
“Will you testify that all of that just happened?” further asked the swadloon. Louro nodded apprehensively in reply. Enrique sighed, realizing that it would be a while before he'd sleep in his new bed.

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From left to right sat Pascal, Ulivier, Enrique, Brody, and Luther in cramped, flimsy wooden chairs with scratchy upholstery. Respectively, Pascal was crossing his tendrils expectantly with a stoic frown. Ulivier was aggrievedly staring at the pokemon in the front desk. Enrique made the most eye contact with said pokemon in the front desk, the only one here who's negative expression was unintentional. Brody was sobbing quietly, bandaged and hugging his doll for comfort. Reflexively, Brody rocked back and forth on the upholstery, causing it's scratchy surface to chafe his hind. Finally, Luther was eating some oran berry pudding prepared at his request. His desire was filled as a reward for ending the spree of rage enacted upon by Reuben. He struggled with eating the yummy pudding, though, because his jaw couldn't fit in the bowl very easily and his hands were too short to manipulate the bowl easily.
They all sat in front of a austerely annoyed omastar, an expression honed to a sterling degree because his job called for it. Mr. Balthasar Balbi was the man responsible for disciplining the corpus of the Pomeg guild. Balthasar was proud of his possesion: head disciplinary officer was a holy duty reserved for the elite few who could manage the rigors of the job. These were one of the many, tedious occurrences which trifled Balthasar to the nth degree. Mr. Balthasar Balbi (who's silly name often merited many chuckles among those that he punished) was expecting to see Brody sooner or later...this week. The drill for the disciplinarian was therefore a skill polished and honed because of its repetition. It went along the lines of one person or another starting a fight or otherwise quarreling with the darumaka, Brody telling on his offender, the offender being punished, and finally a punishment for Enrique, who should have been more responsible for Brody. What caught Balthasar by ambush was that Reuben had been involved in a skirmish with Brody and several of his companions, resulting in legitimate injuries in four guild members. A stupendously long probation period for Reuben, for threatening two guild-members verbally, assaulting four, and property damage (while Luther was also responsible for some of the damage, this offense was negated because it was in self defense). Also, Reuben was the one responsible for the offense; the up-and-coming pignite that Reuben was, extraordinarily gifted and ardent in what he did, got in a fight to bully a fellow guild-member. Balthasar had only heard about Reuben prior to his ill-invoked meeting with the pignite, and in the little birds the only negative aspect about Reuben stated was that he was overly competitive. That facet of the pignite's nature was probably what started the issue.
Balthasar sighed, crossing his fore-tentacles and focusing his scrutiny on Brody, who had resolved to crying into Enrique's covered shoulder. It was hard to tell if Enrique was upset by the action or too mellow to object. On an anecdote, Balthasar realized that Enrique would be excellent at poker. “So, Brody.” began the Omastar in his inherently composed voice. “Do you feel any better after the incident tonight?” Balthasar's reply was a wail amplified to serve as a crude translation of 'no'.
“I-I feel horribul...A-and I wanna go to bed!” erupted Brody as he full-on embraced Enrique's shoulder. Enrique did his part by adjusting his shoulder to be more comfortable to cry into.
“Well, I think that cuts it...” lowly chimed the Omastar as he readjusted the placard on his desk. “I've already told all of you about the ramifications of what happened this evening. Reuben has been probated, you're all entitled to free food for the next five weeks,” (Luther grinned cunningly; he had negotiated that), “And you'll get additional condolences and benefits on behalf of the Pomeg guild.”
“A-actually...” whimpered Brody as he extended his hand out promptly, “C-could I have...” Brody looked towards Luther confused as to who his name was and eventually giving up on the nominal mystery, “I want that guy on team kavatara!”
Balthasar's eyes widened somewhat at the request; it was against procedure to ask for something so significant on such short notice. He reclined into his natural composure and went on: “I'm not too sure about that, Brody, you already got two new members to team kavatara and-”
“What's the problem with that?” asked Pascal, annoyed in his tone of voice, “You've seen what we've done as a group. It isn't like adding a fifth member is gonna make the world explode.” Ulivier nodded in agreement after listening to Pascal's argument. Luther was too busy eating to care.
“You have to keep in mind...” Balthasar forgot the drifloon's name midway through his sentene. “Pascal, was it?” asked Balthasar to address his minor amnesia.
“ Pascal Jean-Pierre Montaigne the 4th Veil-” Pascal was having so much fun telling his name to the disciplinarian up until he was interrupted.
“Right...Pascal. You forget that administration can't just add members to a team in thirty minutes...the weight of the matter is simply too significant.”
“But what's the harm?” asked Enrique, “Team kavatara's already had two members tacked on today, and frankly, we need more members if we're ever to get out of this rut.” Balthasar was taken aback, and therefore couldn't respond based on premeditated answers. “Follow my logic for a moment, Mr. Balbi.” said Enrique in supplement.
“Sure...” grumbled Balthasar, cornered into listening into Enrique.
“We were just put up against one of the Pomeg guild's most promising and potent members. Have you ever heard of anyone winning against Reuben.”
“No...but then again I don't recall that Mr. Ferrel was put up against five pokemon at the same time...”
“And what difference does that make if that group is together?” concluded the swadloon
“The swadloon's got a point,” said Pascal to an omastar struggling to keep his footing in the argument, “We've proved that we're able to do a decent job in fighting, there's no harm in adding another member to team kavatara, all of us would have been hospitalized and you owe us some compensation, and you'll benefit if we're all on a team doing missions. It's a win-win and you're too stubborn to agree with us because of 'procedure'” Pascal gestured quotation marks with his hands for emphasis. While Balthasar wasn't inherently misinclined to fifth member to a team, he hated the concept of being proved wrong.
“Fine...” bitterly grumbled the omastar in defeat. “I'll run it by Aries to get approval for a fifth member to team kavatara.” The stardom repositioned his head towards his door. “Jack!” in reply, a timid looking corsola cracked the door open and stood in the doorway.
“Y-yes mr. Balbi?...” the bashful corsola whimpered in reply. While Jack did so, the omastar dismounted his char and scuttled over to meet Jack halfway. “See Aries about adding another member to team kavatara...namely Luther Osburn.”
“The tenth!” roared Luther adamantly in between chomps of pudding. The sudden anger caused Jack to whimper.
“And while you're at it,” Enrique interrupted, “Ask Aries about sending team kavatara on an actual mission.”
Balthasar tilted his head at Enrique, unsure of what he meant and the reason for the swadloon's sarcastic tone. “I don't follow, Mr. Borbulota, you and Brody have been on missions every weekday for the past six months-”
“Oh, I'd beg to differ, Mr. Balbi.” replied Enrique, incensed by the ignorance of Balthasar. “The day before yesterday we were lugging crates around the port, yesterday we were filing library books, and today we had to get milk for Lieutenant Tingenyek. Tell me that those are actual, difficult and perilous missions.” rhetorical questions seemed to be Balthasar's weak link, as he had no reply to Enrique's. “They aren't; plain and simple. We've shown ourselves to be competent in fending off for ourselves. To be honest I'm tired of the same, bland clerical work we've been doing all this time.” to emphasize his rant, Enrique crossed his arms.
“Well...” Balthasar's stubborn attitude dictated that he objected whenever a bit of hope for victory was present, “Again, Enrique, you must consider the fact that Brody is a fragile boy. We don't want to be responsible for any injury that he might succumb to in more rigorous missions.”
“And letting him run little errands for my superiors is going to make him better equipped for the real world? Again, we've proven ourselves capable; if we can handle Reuben, we can handle any of the less significant missions...” Balthasar had no words, he simply stared indignantly from being trumped by a petty swadloon. Enrique looked towards Jack, “Go ask Aries about briefing team kavatara with a mission fitting for their new capabilities...”
“Before you go off, Jack.” said Balthasar to the corsola which was now overwhelmed with orders. “I'd like to make sure that team kavatara understands that they'll be short of a member for tommorow...” Mr. Balbi pointed with a blue tentacle towards the bandaged and damaged mess that Brody was.
“You owe us some compensations for getting assaulted by a guild-member, correct?” said Ulivier, breaking the mold of a bashful and quiet appearance. The Omastar, with curious eyes, glared at the shelled slug.
“You're right.”
“Can't you heal Brody overnight in the infirmary?” infirmary was a new word to Ulivier, one that he had picked up from Calvin, who toured the Pomeg guild with Pascal after they had been recruited.
“...Yes.” muttered Balthasar in defeat as he looked downwards.
“Why can't you fix up Brody here and have us pick him up in the morning?” the still stubborn omastar nodded apprehensively in submission. “Wonderful~.” Pascal smugly cooed, happy that he had pitched in to improving team kavatara. Balthasar pointed bitterly towards his door, still coping with the fact that he had been outwitted by the most bumbling team in the Pomeg guild. After he did, Jack the corsola scurried outward in little trots that clacked against the ground.
“Keep in mind, everyone, that I can't give the go instantaneously;” began Balthasar, finding some victory in denying the team of convenience, “you'll get your answers tomorrow morning. That means that Luther will have to sleep in his own room and that you'll have to escort Brody to the infirmary yourself. As of now, those are the terms and conditions.” the omastar sighed, clasping his arms, and in a sarcastic manner of voice, he continued: “Will there be anything else, Mr. Darla?” Brody couldn't respond. He had fallen asleep on Enrique's shoulder.
“I'll take that as a no.” said Balthasar. He pointed his gaze towards a clock briefly. “Be off then. It's five till nine and I'd like to go to bed; I'd imagine you'd all like to do the same.”
Balthasar's audience all gave some form of affirmation.
“You are all dismissed.” with that, the drifloon, tyrunt, shelmet, swadloon and darumaka all exited the room in that order. Balthasar's office was now free of visitors and, therefore, free of the reminder that he had lost.

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It was now 9:30. The nurses at the infirmary were extremely irksome, recording every little detail of Brody's injury as additional procedure for the fast-acting blissey therapy which Brody would be subjected to. It was otherwise extremely expensive, but due to circumstance, the only payment that the infirmary required was confirmation that Brody had been ravaged so severely. A quick glance at the many bruises and wounds that Brody had (and the implied compensation that was expected from the pomeg guild) was therefore the only prerequisite for the exclusive treatment. “It's quite pleasant,” said one of the nurses somewhere in between taking one means or another of pointless, bureacratic information, “Your darumaka is sure to have a good sleep while we heal him.” Enrique could care less; his sleep wouldn't be good after staying up all night.
The interminable visit to the doctor's was behind the group, however, for here Enrique was at the doorstop to his new, expansive room. For the most part, the only hallmarks to his, Ulivier's and Pascal's new dormitory were a couple of hay beds, the toiletries and amenities set beside them, and boxes full of goods stacked by Louro. To someone wide awake, an unpacked bedroom wouldn't seem like much, but to those deprived of sleep for a long while, the room was inviolable. Pascal grinned widely as he whirred towards his bed, tying up his tendrils to the bedpost without even thinking about his nightlies, shutting his eyes and catching his z's near instantly. Enrique's only compatriot, therefore, was Ulivier. “How do you like your room?” asked Enrique.
“Well...” Ulivier turned towards the ambivalent bug, “I was thinking we should acquaint ourselves before we talk about what my room is like. I'm Ulivier and...” Enrique's stark indifferent glaze gave off the impression that he didn't give a shit.
“Nevermind...we'll introduce ourselves in the morning.” leaving Ulivier sad and in the dust, Enrique marched towards his bed. He placed the satchel slung over his shoulder on the bedpost, extinguishing the candles that illuminated the room as he went on. Ulivier sulked over to his own bed and sipped the last, stale bit of tamato juice to cure his headache completely... he'd stick to soft drinks next time. The juice worked as an effective nightcap, however. Sipping warm tamato juice knocked out Ulivier after thirty seconds, and before Enrique knew it, Ulivier had shut his hood and snoozed away.
In front of Enrique was 40 percent of team Kavatara, all new members and all sleeping away. The swadloon felt isolated. His need for companionship panged, and as he saw his archaic sketchbook jutting from his satchel, he considered it his antidote for the companionship. In spite of himself, he took it out, making sure not to extinguish the lone light that was only strong enough to make his sketches visible. The swadloon had never realized how beautiful his same, repeated subject was. It made even the most poorly sketched depictions of the spewpa incredibly, intangibly beautiful.

“Magdalena...”

Enrique shut the book, set it on the side of his bed, and stood up from his reclining position. He approached the exit to his room, opened his door, stepped outside, and shut it. He walked down the dimly lit halls, fearless to the curfew imposed on younger members of the guild, and descending down the stairs.

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