The second they sign themselves up as a trio, the hefty hands of a Machoke shove them along. "Move it" he says, "Go find your type's home."
The Weavile swerves around. The answer to such a statement warrants an obvious answer. She raises her claw up as her two friends scurry past her.
"What if we're of two-"
"Pick one." The tired Machoke grumbles. He looks away towards the line. "Cmon! Keep moving!"
Pick one, she repeats in her mind. Sure types may not as matter as one's own personal skills in each challenge, hers being the entertainment whilst the others wander on off towards their own things, and assuming they weren't stupid, the look both Chrysan and Oz have on their faces tell her everything before the flower speaks up.
"We're going towards the Grass area." Chrysan waves at himself then Oz. "We'll meet up once we figure stuff out, you good on your own?"
Of course she is, she has made it this far in her life on her lonesome. Blackmore lets out a bemused huff, then waves the two off as they scurry rightwards. Ahead, there is a comically large, colored sign, pointing in the directions where newcomers to this place should be headed towards. Both Ice and Dark are to the left, and behind the stand is this large circular wall holding up what must be the arena behind them. There is a tiny platform protruding from behind the signpost, which one of the Pidgeots is standing tall, surveying everyone who comes in and watching as they split off into two directions.
She shoots a glance to her right, spotting Chrysan and Oz shifting through the crowds before they vanish among the masses of newcomers. She stands still, stands up to the tip of her claws and shouts out-
"Hey! Where are you going!?"
The drone of the crowd silences her words, and a burly Beartic barges through her shoulder.
"Cmon don't stand there!" He lays a paw on her shoulder, the claws practically diggin into her dark fur. "Let's go!"
"Yeah, sure."The pent up air in her leaves as a nervous laugh as she pats the Beartic's paw off her shoulder. "We go."
Did she seriously just say "we go"? Is she stupid? If she actually wants a way out of this she would do her job of playing along till her role in the trio rears its head. The huge ice type, Beartic, barges his way through the crowds until they begin to thin on their side as contestants funnel into doors marking their typing. There are countless rooms till to tbe brim with sorry souls on each and every side, though where she belongs is entirely up to whatever lies on this leftward side.
Blackmore looks back, trying to steal a clue from the crowd, but the only pokemon with a head on their shoulders is a Pidgeot standing there amongst their brethren watching he ras she scurried off in her direction. Not counting the obvious, there is bound to be a second set of eyes staring her down, and nothing about her current predicament is worth cursing a fuss. There is only one choice she has, and its to fall in line.
The Beartic with his big old paw on her shoulder leads her down the semicircle, passing by flags depicting various types along their way. Not wanting to make a scene, she lets this big furry jerk guide her all the way up until she questions them.
"Hey, Dark's this way, right?" Blackmore asks.
"Ice's up there and so is Dark-type." Beartic guffaws. "What, you dont wanna join me and my pals in Team Berg?"
A deft swipe of her talons slaps a semblance of sense into the beartic, and with a huff, Blackmore leaves them stunned and confused for her camp ahead. Down this circular, canopy-covered road she goes, passing by passerbys and contestants all the same as she inevitably makes her way towards something resembling an ice time - this gigantic segment of icy blue cloth being draped down from the circus canopy overhead.
Where there should be flying types watching and writing on official papers, every other line of pokemon type is governed by some pokemon on a pillar watching over the foolish newcomers. Blackmore can feel Beartic's gaze behind her, watching her every step till suddenly someone or something on the pillars between each typing shushes the pokemon aside. And there, in the furthest corner possible of this tent and celebration, Blackmore is welcomed and looks about her in confusion.
She immediately looks to the nearest pokemon who seems to be doing their job and there upon a stone pillar which one of the central canopy has a peg spliced into, is a long, icy, lanky sort who regards her with all the attention of someone tired of their job. Dull, dark eyes glance between the border between Dark and Ice-types, and should anyone linger too long it shoots a glare downward and hisses.
Maybe, just maybe, there is someone betting on her - placing bets on this stupid ice/dark-type follow the nearest, biggest pokemon next to her. Blackmore swiftly turns around, snapping a glare above at the being atop the pillar.
Swathes of fabric cloud the air above, and these pillars, standing like oversized tent pegs, shroud the earth below. Beyond the swathes, Blackmore assumes it is the arena. And above the closest pillars to hers, erected between types of Dark and Ice, stands a figure glaring its predatory eyes upon every fool unfortunate to be chauffeured here. Two dark beads clad against a shaded canopy, and fangs protruding from its smile like sharpened razors.
She hesitates, but the thing has not moved. It stays there shooting a gaze right though her weary soul, waiting patiently on her next move. Before she can alert the fellow dragging her along, the Beartic lets go, and wanders forwards past the threshold to wherever the Ice types are supposed to be going.
The Beartic stumbles past the pillar, the threshold, and shoots a glance back her way. He beckons with a wave, expecting her to follow through.
But what is she supposed to do? She joined up in a team, right? The second she did earlier, they got divided up on opposite sides, mayhaps to balance them should this competition come to blows, but what is she to do - really? Beartic fires a single glance back his way at her, expecting her to follow as he slithers past the threshold towards wherever the ice-types are divided up, and to her immediate right, there floods a crowd a darkly-clad pokemon going about their own way as Icy mons continue to pass an indecisive Weavile.
Forwards is where all those clad in ice are headed, to her right is where those who dwell in dark slink to. Blackmore bites down on her tongue, watching the Beartic fade into distance then…
She takes a step to her right, down steps with her feathered ears eyes watching the incomprehensible thing above her on its little platform. The hairs on her back rise as she swears she can see the darkly clad creature watching her every move until she follows the rest of her fellow Dark-Types downwards, into the unknown - where the holder of these games wishes they be.
Step after step, she stares up at the figure lurching on the platform above her till eventually the shadow passes, and she is swallowed in a dimly lit environment. All around her, little bits and baubles gleam, while rocky alcoves serve as terrain and places for the weaker of the lot to huddle up in.
A gruff Mightyena shoves past her, dashing past a crowd to claim one of the lockers on the distant wall. Thousands of glowing eyes seem to watch this Mightyena, and within moments, begin a fierce scramble to claim one of the cabinets - eager to stuff their belongings into one of dozens of cubbies.
Blackmore blinks. Within the split second dozens of pokemon scurry past her. Either move nor or forever target it - as in the split second Blackmore just sucks it up and dashes forth, hurrying down the crowd of pokemon towards the wall.
There several pokemon make their mark, dozens of other smaller creatures go to try and wrangle the compartments from the bigger sorts. A draconic pokemon, a Zweilous snaps its fangs at everyone who comes near it as it secures the biggest of them all, and she makes the bold move of grabbing the locker closest to this thing whirring past the crowd, shoving everyone left-ward toward the raging beast on her way till her hands finally seize something resembling a lock on this wall of stone.
Her fingers wreath around a key, she pulls on it and the compartment flies open. Blackmore's hairs shoot up in anticipation, but no one, no one seems dumb enough to come to approach her as she shuts the door behind her - securing it from any onlooker who wishes to pilfer her totally not non-existent wares.
And before she can even turn the key one dumb pokemon scurries and leaps towards her. It takes its puny claws into her, trying to pry her grasp. She immediately locks eyes with the creature and tosses the perp aside - pinning a dumb-eyed dark furred Rattata onto the locker wall with a single free hand. It shrieks.
"Hey now, hey now!" It speaks and flails within Blackmore's claws. She can barely see the pouch around its shoulder."Please, please, just gimme a chance - I…"
"Y'got's something you wanna stow away, eh?" Blackmore laughs aloud. "You want this space don't ya? Then how about you make it worth my time."
She knew the second her talons grappled hold of one of these keys she was holding onto a deeply sought object, a thing limited by whomever is running this insipid game.
"Hey, I've got the key, you dig?" Blackmore reaffirms with a signature, toothy smile. "If I lose, I give you nothing. But if I win I'll give you a quart - provided you've helped me."
"Yes, yes I get it!" The Darkly clad Rattata understands quite quickly. It leaps upon her arm, then motions towards the open lock. "C'mon now, open!"
As soon as she does, the little Rattata unslings a pouch from its shoulders and sloves it into the slot. It does not wait for Blackmore to shut it as they kick the cupboard shut. Blackmore shoves the key she has taken then turns the door shut.
"You good?" Blackmore says, before stuffing the key in the plumes around her neck. "I just got here, I don't give a darn about you or anyone else, but since I just saved your behind you're gonna work for me till we get out of this - okay, bud?"
Blackmore says this, staring down the little darkly clad rat upon her shoulder. They nod, affirming her struggles and straightening their body as they stand firm in and in attention.
"Yesssss Ma'am!"
"Ma'am is whatever, just call me Boss, okay? I'm not demanding you to be my little wench." Blackmore turns her head aside, spitting onto the floor before she lightly slaps the creature atop her head. "Who else is here?"
"W-Who else is here?" The rodent grits its teeth and chuckles. "Well there's uh…there's plenty of people around these parts! I didn't see any Dark-Type as important as you until I looked across from where we were and saw all the normal-type fellas piling up on their own little alley. We've been divided up, I know this, you decided to take us here instead of Dark, but there's still buncha fellas on the other side."
The Rattata whispers this into her ear as she waddles away from the walls and lockers, past a room full of showers and curtains into the main foyer proper. And it is here Blackmore finally gets her breath together.
"Just what am I supposed to be looking for?"
Blackmore whispers to the rodent clenching to her and garners no response, all she gets is a pat upon her shoulder, a slap in the supposed right direction. She gets up onto her feet and leads the way this pokemon is pointing, past everything else and through a thin veil.
Waiting before her is a grand open field with bleaches of fabric separating each fellow into their own respective typing. Down, past a couple of seats, Blackmore can see the arena floor to which all these activities are to soon take place. She, whether she likes or not or not, is neither among the supposed victors or their guards - but simply a participant being allowed to watch their opportunity slip away bout after bout.
"I-..."
Before spitting out her answer, the Rodent on her shoulder squeals.
"Yeah, you stand no chance here, the heck kind of thing did you agree to?" The rodent sputters, asking in equal parts mocking and earnest. "Imma be here to do some acrobatics, how bout you?"
Just how about her? Her momma was gonna be a dancer, a one of a kind Weavile who brought the masses to her knees, but she became a thief - and true it may be she found other means to make them kneel yet Blackmore forever lives within her mother's shadow.
"I'm-"
The words slip Blackmore's mouth. She is here to do what? Here to make everyone see her as another wretch - one of a thousand or so thieves with no name but her own? And what happens if she makes it through? What then?
"Look." The Weavile shudders, exhaling a plume of dreadful, white cold. "You should probably go on out, find my other pals, they're over wherever the Grass-types are."
The Rattata stews in place before looking across from them. She swears she can see something, or someone past the humongous opening to the verdant-lit otherside.
"Yeah, I can find them, but what then?"
Blackmore looks across this empty place. A thin canopy secludes this structure from the daylight, and there are each these tall pillars which separate each pokemon from the other of their typing. Straight next to her is the Rattata, and to the nearest pillar to her right a bevy of Ice-types already spewing out from their homes.
Had she not been as stupid as to freeze in place, maybe the Beartic could have brought her the other way, on the other side of this invisible wall. Maybe she would be training her claws against the masses, maybe she…
"Let's go." Blackmore stammers out. "I'm gonna do my own training thing, you can do whatever, got it? Just tell me how my friends are doing before the night ends."
"Aye." Says the Darkly-clad Rattata. "I hear you loud and clear."