Obvious exits:
East <E> leads to Commerce Road - Route 7: Cache Creek.
Southwest <SW> leads to Commerce Road - Route 7: Trader Way.

Grayson arrives from Commerce Road - Route 7: Trader Way.
Grayson has arrived.

Everything is grey, veiled by mist. It's chilly and the air feels damp. There is no wind. In the forest, only the nearest tree branches, half-bereft of leaves, show their full color; more distant trees and branches are colorless and indistinct in the pallid grey fog, looking ghostly and not quite real. While at the coast, the sea is sluggish and grey as fog lays on its surface like a thick wet blanket.

It's fairly early on a foggy morning, and things are mostly quiet. In a very few hours there'll be traffic on the road, rushing as always between Celadon and Saffron, but for now things are peaceful. The fog clings to the world, making near things little more than dark outlines and further things simple shades of pale. Through the heavy air comes the sound of an engine, the water vapor muffling and confusing it until it's coming from all directions at once; it changes in pitch as the machine slows and then, a few moments later, drops to idle. Several seconds after that the noise dies completely, leaving just the subtle sounds of movement around the machine as the rider fishes something out of the bike's panniers.

Snatch your backpack, steal your purse, save the data from this curse! (Psykitt-- eh, Saving)

It's yet another one of those 'ugh' days. Cold, wet, and grey, it's enough to send a shiver down any spine. Though it'll never match up with rain or snow, in Peppy's mind, "chilly fog" is really starting to become extremely detestable weather. Trudging through the fog, his eyes hanging, his entire body appearing droopy and miserable, is the pup himself, nose low to the ground and sniffing fiercely. Man. Whoever would have guessed that hunting was such a hard, long, and frustrating job? Sniff, sniff, step, step, sniff, -stop-. Right in the middle of an inhale, Peppy just sort of freezes. His right ear perks up, and his tail gives a quick swish of excitement, but his muzzle stays low to the mud, almost as though he's going to dip his nose into it. What is that strange noise? He stays in this extremely awkward position for a couple moments, completely still, until the engine dies, and even then he stays frozen. <... That doesn't sound like a Rattata,> he whimpers to himself quietly. Remarkable observation skills.

Everything is grey, veiled by mist. It's chilly and the air feels damp. There is no wind.

The small sounds continue. A metallic click, then another, and then the subtle sound of quiet footfalls moving away from the side of the road where the bike is parked. Whatever this is, it's on two legs but is fairly light on its feet - the crisp sound of something paper being unrolled is far louder than the footsteps were, though the sound of something sitting down is quieter again. Something cracks and hisses, then falls silent.

After that brilliant deduction about the engine not being a Rattata, Peppy comes up with another ingenious solution. It's loud, tough, and then just quiet. It's foggy and difficult to see, especially when you're almost totally colorblind. Had Peppy the IQ of a water bottle, he might be more inclined to turn tails and *run*. Right now. Before he ends up being attacked by... by whatever in the world is making those noises. Unfortunately, the Growlithe is either insatiably curious or overwhelmingly stupid (undoubtedly a mixture of both), for once the pup leaves his uncomfortable half-sniffing half-listening position, he doesn't retreat - no, he actually takes a step forward, green eyes peering intently into the fog, his tail giving a couple excited wags. "Lithe," the pup woofs, something of an "<Uh>" to a Growlithe. <... Is somebody out there?> Sniff, sniff. The air doesn't smell like a Katerwaul or a Jynx - but that's probably because he's never smelled a Jynx and Katerwauls don't smell like anything.

A soft but animal hissing is the next thing to be heard through the fog, words so quiet as to be inaudible, followed by a very human voice. "Good morning," the near-smooth baritone calls, the sound not loud but pitched to carry - and warm and friendly, too. There's just a hint of hoarseness to be heard, a touch of cracking to the otherwise-gentle sound. The paper rustles again. If Peppy should get close enough to see whoever is making the noise, he'll find a tall human sitting against a tree with a paper bag by his side, a sandwich in one hand and an opened can of soda by his hip. Brilliantly blue eyes are peering curiously into the mist, in the direction Peppy's voice came from.

If Peppy really has to go searching for creepy loud noises, shouldn't he at least have the sense to use the fog as a veil to hide in? The moment Grayson's voice pierces through the cloud, no matter how kind and smooth it may be, Peppy just -jumps-. His fur immediately bursts up, making the pup's form look more like a Jolteon with a bad haircut's than a Growlithe's. Bracing himself in the mud, Peppy halfway expects for a giant Katerwaul to just leap out of the mist, no matter that the voice was nice and in a human's tone. "Grrrrrrr," the pup growls very gently, wondering what he should do. Run? Hide? Just shoot a Flamethrower into the fog and just *pray* it hits something? Reason, in a way, sort of steps in - despite all his frenzied and frantic thoughts, he smells something. Sniff, sniff. Something -tasty-. Sniff, sniff. Something really, -really- tasty. His worried and wide eyes close slightly, and he sort of cocks his head slightly. Forgetting all about the horrors that lurk ahead, the pup pads forward a couple steps, his tail now swaying back and forth at a regular pace. He still can't see Grayson as he woofs, <Where are you? Are you going to hurt me? Is that food you have? Do you have a lot? Can I have some? I'm reeeeeeally hungry!>

Again, the soft and serpentine voice hisses softly, and again Grayson's can be heard through the fog. "I'm leaning up against the tree," the tall Rocket smiles reassuringly out into the mist. "I won't hurt you unless you attack me, I do have food and I do have enough to share if you promise to behave yourself." The Rocket smiles, even if Peppy can't see it, a warm and gentle expression that sits oddly on his lean face. The Ekans around his throat also peers into the fog, trying to see the owner of the voice - but to no avail, the mist defeating all eyes no matter how keen.

Who cares about a strange hissing noise? Who cares about being lost in the middle of a fog? Who cares about being exhausted and tired from hours of Rattata searching? There's food in them thar clouds, and Peppy is completely determined to find it. Truth be told, he would have found Grayson eventually - as bad as his nose may be for sniffing out Rattatas, it's amazing when it comes to food that isn't already alive. <I won't attack you,> the pup woofs, barging his way through the fog in Grayson's general direction. He seems to completely ignore the Ekans's hissing. <Unless you're a Rattata, but I don't think that you're a Rattata.> It's not too long before Peppy finally stumbles upon the Rocket's little tree, his nose sniff-sniff-sniffing intensely. The moment Peppy's eyes settle upon Grayson is the moment the pup stops, one paw remaining suspended in air, caught in the middle of a step. His tail gives a swish. With a curious, almost confused look on his fuzzy face, Peppy woofs gently, <... Is that you?>

The hissing continues, a soft translation of Peppy's words for Grayson's ears alone. "I'm glad about that," the disembodied voice replies, then, "No, I'm not a Rattata, Rattatas aren't very good at English." When the Growlithe looms up in the fog, Grayson sits a little straighter. "I rather hope I'm me," the amused baritone chuckles gently once Sid has had his say. "I'd hate to think who else I could be, wouldn't you?" As Peppy gets close enough to see details, he might notice that there's a shadow of grey stubble over the tall Rocket's sharp jaw and hollow cheeks, and his eyes are tinged with red about the usual icy blue. "Come on over, if you don't mind getting that close to a human, hmm?" The voice is still warm and gentle, but still a little cracked and hoarse, the damage to it audible.

Having established that this person lying on the tree is, indeed, the man who made all of those loud noises, Peppy seems to relax a little bit, as though he really wasn't sure that they were one and the same. The fact that Grayson's holding a sandwich, is in the same direction as the voice, and seems to be waiting for him just didn't seem to tip him off. As Grayson begins to speak, Peppy does pay the man about half of his attention - until he finishes asking his rhetorical question. Peppy stares at the Rocket for a moment or two, blinking. His tail gives a twitch. <If you're not... then...> Peppy's eyes stray to the side, into the fog, before he finally whips his head back to the front and looks at Grayson again. <You're really smart,> the pup comments, his voice filled with awe and admiration. <It had to have been you because you're you!> Round of applause, anybody? It's about now that the pup, walking forward very slowly and cautiously, examines the man. Tall sounds like an accurate adjective. Thin is another. Peppy's never seen anything like him. The pup's eyes do settle upon Grayson's face, but they strike the dog as nothing out of the ordinary. He stops a couple feet away from Grayson, still glancing up at his face, and asks a seemingly innocent question, <... Are you a human or a pokemon?>

Grayson chuckles softly, once Sid has finished his translation, keeping his eyes on Peppy. The fire-pup will likely understand the Rocket's body-language better than most humans would - he's watching the doglike pokemon carefully, ready to act if he sees any sign of danger but content to stay where he is and be friendly as long as Peppy is. Sid is mirroring his trainer, the two having spent so long together that they no longer need to communicate such things to each other. "A human," he nods quietly, then lifts his free hand and strips the glove off with his teeth. He wiggles his fingers at Peppy. "Most pokemon don't have these, hmm? Or a motorbike either. Just a moment, I'll get you your sandwich. Bacon and egg okay?" The now-bare hand opens up the paper bag again, the human watching Peppy carefully as he starts getting the food out.

<OOC> Peppy knows you're AFK, so he'll do as much of his pose as he can before you reply. I just need to know... have you ICly been around Sly in the past few days?

<OOC> Grayson returns. Yes.

<OOC> Peppy nodnods. Great, thank you.

Even while Grayson replies, Peppy bit by bit creeps a little closer, looking anything -but- threatening. Supposing Grayson should let him, he'll probably stop maybe a foot away from the man and rest down on his haunches. He looks seriously interested in the Rocket - okay, admittedly, mostly in the food he's got inside that bag of his, but a fair bit in this human-that-doesn't-really-look-like-a-human-but-maybe-does-a-little-bit. Well, he speaks the human's language; that's enough proof for Peppy. The pup leans forward to see if he can't sort of sniff Grayson a little more closely, but the man distracts him with an offer of a sandwich. Peppy, bringing his head back, looks... well... a little confused. <Bacon and egg?> the pup repeats, cocking his head very slightly. <What's a bacon? And... egg?> Peppy's tail gives another twitch up, and, his eyes becoming a little more bright, the pup asks excitedly, <Isn't an egg what a Pidgey hatches out of?> Now he's downright cheerful. <Does it have a Pidgey in it? Do you have another one? Can I get one for Aurora?> His voice sounds excited, but thankfully enough, he's staying seated and doesn't look like he's about to maul Grayson to pieces for the sandwich - but you never know how the Rocket might take it.

Grayson chuckles softly. "Calm down, little one," he tells Peppy gently. "The sandwich isn't going anywhere." He pauses in speaking to listen to Sid's translations, extracting the sandwich from the bag and leaning forward to lay it on the ground in front of Peppy. "A bacon is a sort of meat in thin slices. Eggs are what Pidgeys hatch out of, but the sandwich doesn't have a Pidgey in it. I do have another one, yes, but who's Aurora?" He smiles again, calm and gentle, almost radiating peace and quiet - much more so than most other humans can ever dream of, but it's not exactly a conscious thing. He just *is* that calm, quiet and gentle, though the tension in his shoulders hasn't quite left, a reminder that he can and will act fast should Peppy make a wrong move.

For all the excitement he's giving, Peppy hasn't even really tasted Pidgey, only smelled it. That's actually partially why he's so interested - a brand new food! Peppy's heart can't help but skip a beat at the thought of that. <Meat?> Peppy responds, glancing up at the sky - well, more accurately, at the top of the cloud. <I like meat,> Peppy continues, <Because meat is Rattatas. And I think it might be burgers, and I like both of those.> If the Growlithe senses this man's overwhelming emits of serenity and gentleness, he doesn't show it - he still looks anxious and unsettled. Peppy licks his chops as Grayson sets the sandwich down, but he doesn't quite pounce upon it and maul it just quite yet - the Rocket's actually managed to distract him from food. <Aurora?> This tiny, almost unnoticeable little tug lifts the corners of his mouth up slightly, and his tail starts to wag a little more fiercely. <She's my mate!> he barks proudly, puffing out his chest as though he's just so special. <And she's going to have puppies, and I'm going to bring her a Rattata for dinner!> There's a pause. Peppy's cool and almost boastful (that seems to be how he's handling it) manner falters very slightly. <Or, uh, maybe that sandwich instead. Rattatas are really hard to find.> And yet again, the pup peers down at the sandwich. Is it time to eat yet?

Grayson continues to smile gently at Peppy as he listens to the Growlithe's words and Sid's translations. "It tastes a bit different than burgers or Rattatas," the Rocket points out, "But it's still good." He listens to the bit about Aurora, though when Peppy reveals that she's his mate the tall Rocket looks away, one knee raising to support an elbow, suddenly a touch defensive as he tries to prevent the Growlithe from seeing the way his eyes have closed tightly. "She must be very special," he says softly, voice tighter and much more controlled for a few moments - and then it passes, and the arm lowers again. "Help yourself," he nods of the sandwich near the Growlithe. "There's another sandwich you can take to your mate, if she'll eat it." He sounds more weary than gentle now, and something about his eyes has changed from warm kindness to withdrawal.

Though it doesn't really look like it, Peppy has been bit by bit taking in Grayson's scent, as muddled it may be by the sandwich, the soda, the Ekans, and the people the man's come in contact with recently. One part of this mixture interests Peppy quite a bit, though most of his outward, viewable excitement is all over the food and his mate. Sadly enough, Peppy's agitation distracts him away from the Rocket's pained manner. He opens his mouth to speak - probably more about Aurora - but thankfully enough for the man, the pup's greedy eyes eventually settle upon the sandwich. Leaning his head forward, the Growlithe begins to munch away on the sandwich, his tail still wagging. His tongue works on picking up every single crumb, and even though this means he ends up eating a little mud, he still seems to be happy enough if his tail's any indication. About halfway through, the pup woofs, crumbs and a little bit of egg dripping out of his mouth, <This is good!> Munch, munch. <Really good.> Crunch, munch. <Aurora will definitely eat it.> Chomp, chomp. <And if she won't, I will.> Crunch, chomp. <But I think she will.>

Everything is grey, veiled by mist. It's chilly and the air feels damp. There is no wind.

Grayson eats his own sandwich with the slow deliberation of someone who's eating to fuel himself for the hours ahead rather than because he's really enjoying the food, the tall Rocket staying quiet until he's heard the translation of Peppy's words. "I should think she will," he agrees quietly. "I'll give you the bag to take to her so that you don't have to worry about carrying it so that the filling doesn't fall out." He finds a smile from somewhere, but it's no longer entirely a warm and friendly thing - a trace of sorrow has crept in at the edges, and Grayson heaves a heavy sigh.

Peppy's undoubtedly ignorant. It's not even so much that he doesn't notice how sad Grayson is, it's that he's completely focused all of his attention onto the food. If Grayson was really out to harm the pup, he could do it with ease at this very moment. The pup seems completely unaware of this, however, and he continues munching away, his tail becoming more and more excited. It's not long at all before he's done with the sandwich - there are still little crumbs on the ground, however, and Peppy sure as heck isn't going to let these go to waste. Putting his nose to good use, the pup starts to sniff and slurp the little pieces of bread up, his tail still wagging. Sniff, sni... ff. Hm. As one crumb gets Peppy's nose a little close to Grayson's feet, the pup catches a quick hint of Grayson's scent instead of the sandwich. ... Something... The crumbs instantly ignored, Peppy's eyes go from the man's shoes, up his leg, up his thin body, and eventually settle upon Grayson. He peers at the man, egg and crumbs smeared around the sides of his mouth and giving an almost comical appearance. He looks as though he's got something to say - but whether or not he can speak depends upon Grayson's reaction to being looked at.

Grayson watches Peppy hunt the crumbs down with that same soft, sad little smile, leaving it where it can be seen for once. When Peppy stops sniffing all of a sudden, Grayson tilts his head to one side, watching the fire-pup look up at him with faint curiosity. "What's up, boy?", the tall trainer asks with a slight smile. He knows it's not fresh blood the fire-dog is smelling, though there might be a well-hidden trace or two of old blood on his clothing somewhere - and he had a shower this morning too, so it won't be that. His coat, however, has been in very close proximity to Sly, fairly recently - the teen's scent is overlaid with three others, but it's there and fairly strong.

Peppy's tail is still swaying back and forth, but it's more of a slow, casual movement. The pup is no longer ecstatic or anxious - merely content with a sandwich in his tummy and a question on his mind. Grayson seems to be willing to entertain said question, and, a little comforted by the man's smile, Peppy begins to inquire. <You... uh.> How does he phrase this? <I've smelled you before, but I don't think it was you.> Even Peppy himself seems a little perplexed as he looks into the man's face, trying to recall what it is that seems familiar. <Not you, but your scent. I...> Peppy trails off into silence, his eyes going down Grayson's neck and chest... before jumping over to his own muzzle. And it's the scar on his muzzle's side, the one that still hasn't healed from the attack years ago, that the pup finally settles upon. And the pup freezes. Is the Growlithe simply looking at his scar for no reason whatsoever except maybe to draw attention to himself? That much seems unlikely. But then... what does it mean?

Grayson blinks at the translation. "You've smelled me before, but you don't think it was me?" He frowns in puzzlement, a furrow forming between his rows as he thinks. "Odd. I don't think I've met you before, I'd remember a scar like yours. I dunno, though. Perhaps you recognised the scent of someone I've been around? Not the guys - they're not really pokemon types - maybe my nephew? He's a pokemon trainer, and goodness knows he rides this road enough. I don't think anyone else has been close enough for me to pick up their scent that much, not since..." The words tail away, Grayson looking down, running a hand through his hair as he fights to get his expression back under control where Peppy won't see the battle. The tension suddenly humming through him is very evident to anyone paying attention, though.

Snatch your backpack, steal your purse, save the data from this curse! (Psykitt-- eh, Saving)

Peppy continues staring at his muzzle for a bit longer, half of his mind listening to Grayson and the other half focuses on his thoughts, no matter how befuddled they may be. Peppy sort of interrupts Grayson - though not exactly. If anything, he's growling under his breath, merely talking to himself, and what he growls shouldn't be important enough to stop Grayson. <He... is that... Y-> But then Grayson just sort of strays off into nothingness. Peppy's tail gives a twitch of interest. Plopping down on his rump and resting on his haunches - though still not appearing very comfortable - the pup woofs, dryly, quietly, <... Not since what?> A little pause. <Or who?> There's a little thought in the back of Peppy's mind - maybe this man experienced the same thing the pup did. The thought of being able to relate with somebody else definitely interests the fuzzy pokemon.

It takes a little while longer before Grayson can respond, the tall man looking up straight at Peppy, his face an emotionless mask - though there's a trace of sorrow managing to sneak in. "I - I lost some very close friends," he says softly. "Just over a week ago, maybe two." He blinks rapidly a few times, then grits his teeth for a moment or two. When his jaw relaxes, so too does the rest of him, a little at least, and he shrugs. "It happens," he says, trying to paper over the cracks in his facade with a factual statement and hoping that's enough to convince himself that it was inevitable. "Either way, there's only four people I've been that close to since then, so it's one of them you're smelling." The sorrow hasn't left his eyes despite the brusqueness of his voice.

Peppy continues sniffing the air even while Grayson responds. The more he smells, the more he detects; the stronger the memories of who or whatever the scar represents. Thankfully, enough, Peppy may be ignorant but he's not heartless - his tail droops considerably, and his face starts to scrunch up slightly. <They're... you mean they died, right?> It's a stupid question, yes, but the Growlithe only has a vague idea of what 'lost' is. At a bare minimum, the pup does ask the question quietly and slowly, not simply to get a response out of the man but perhaps to also show that he's trying to be sympathetic. His head slowly rotating to the side, turning away from Grayson, Peppy woofs a soft, <I'm sorry.> The pup can't even relate, but for some reason he seems truly depressed. Maybe he's thinking.

Grayson nods. "They died," he agrees, looking down again. It takes a little while longer for him to collect himself and get himself under control again, but when he does he looks back up at the fire-pup, eyes reddened a little more and voice a little hoarser. "Thanks," he says softly, then shrugs. "Anyway, Growlithe, what were we talking about?," he nods, back to business. "You smelt someone's scent on me, a scent you recognised? I think it's likely to be my nephew - teenager, black hair, darker skin than mine, dark eyes, usually wears a leather jacket and rides a motorbike - did he have the scar down the side of his face when you met him?"

Peppy's mind hasn't completely left the realm of his scar, but the pup has the decency to at least stay nice and quiet until Grayson expresses his gratitude. Peppy turns his head and gives the man a nod - the back of his mind duly noting that he's no longer a friendly "boy", but just "Growlithe". What did he expect, the man to drop everything and become totally cheerful once more? Peppy nods his head very slightly - he doesn't follow "black" hair, but he can at least distinguish between dark and light. <It was really rainy,> the pup comments, shifting his weight slightly. <And it was sort of dark, but...> Peppy perks up with a little more interest when the Rocket mentions the scar, and, his tail taking into an excited wag, he barks, <Right, the scar!> There's a very small pause. <How do you know him?> Perhaps 'nephew' has no impact on him. <Did he do that thing to you? Can you do that thing, too?> ... What in the world is he going on about now?

Grayson hehs. "Definitely him, then," he says, smiling again, the sorrow not exactly gone but certainly in the background once more. "That thing, though? What thing?" He eyes the fire-dog with a sort of puzzlement. "What sort of thing are you on about, boy? I really hope he didn't do the only 'thing' I can think of. Describe it for me?" The longer he speaks, the more the sorrow fades, until it's almost back at the background level it was at when Peppy arrived - not exactly lightning-fast, but certainly a great deal swifter than most people. He starts radiating quiet calm again once the unhappiness is contained, the gentleness growing as the sorrow fades.

Peppy glances up at Grayson, his ear perking a little as the man seems to ever-so-gradually sink back into his friendly, sandwich-giving "old" self. The pup doesn't take the time to wonder at how quickly the man recovered, as his thoughts are now focused on getting his point out. <Well, it was... uh...> Bit by bit, the pup slinks down a bit, glancing up at Grayson. For whatever strange reason, it almost feels like... like he's not doing the right thing, like he should just hush up, like he shouldn't be saying this. But Peppy goes on with it anyway. He's like that. <Well, he... he was there, and he gave me a sandwich, and he scritched me and I liked him a lot.> Usually, Peppy would start to grin and wag his tail at the thought of food and scritching - even Grayson might be able to pick that much up - but he still seems considerably solemn. <But then he... uh, he... did that thing.> Giving a tiny little nod, his gaze heads down to the ground to avoid Grayson's look. <He didn't... look different, really, but, um, after I said he shouldn't have a scar, he looked at me and... it was... really... he scared me.> The last three translated words are fairly louder than the other ones, and the pup clenches his teeth together - though Grayson probably won't notice because the dog's looking at the ground.

Grayson listens intently to both the Growlithe and the Ekans, then nods. "Ah, that," he says softly when Peppy has finished. "Yes, I can understand why that would scare you. It's like finding out that the Rattata you were about to pounce is really a Katerwaul, yes?" Another gentle smile. "Don't let it worry you, boy. When he's dangerous, treat him as you would any big pokemon - nod, smile, do whatever he tells you and let him know you're scared. When he's not dangerous, he can get dangerous in a heartbeat, so always be wary, hmm?" The smile fades, back to sudden seriousness. "But most of all, I want you to promise never to tell anyone what you saw in him, okay? It's very important." The smile returns, softer. "You're very bright. Most people don't even realise why he's so unsettling sometimes." The tall Rocket chuckles softly, "But if it's scritches you like, come over here and I'll see what I can find for you. I can't stop long, though."

Peppy twitches, and he twitches visibly. Undoubtedly, Peppy is going to have nightmares for the next four weeks of hunting Rattatas and stumbling upon Katerwauls, and that alone causes Peppy to snap to attention and peer up at Grayson. <I guess it's... sort of like that,> the pup woofs, his head bobbling slightly back and forth, before adding, <But I think he liked me, because he was really nice to me. But he still scared me. I don't want to make him mad, though, because he gave me a sandwich like you did and it was really good, too.> Peppy's ear perks up a little bit as he hears himself called bright (that's enough to make a cranky Rhydon laugh), and his tail gives a couple wags. <Aurora's more smart, though. She an...> He pauses for a second, before cranking his head up, glancing at the sky. <... How long have I been hunting?> the pup asks Grayson, as though the man has some special psychic powers that can answer the question. If Peppy even heard Grayson's offer of scritches, Peppy's ignoring it.

Grayson blinks. "I've no idea," he replies, then pauses. "Hang on, he gave you food?", the tall Rocket asks, incredulous. "That means he definitely likes you. He never shares food with anyone he's not very fond of. My word, boy, you have been honoured." Another smile. "He's a good kid, really, and if he scared you he thought it was because you needed to learn something. Maybe that not everything is quite as it seems. Remember, you've got to promise to tell no-one, okay? It's really, really important that you keep it a secret, just between us. I'll make sure to bring you some more sandwiches and some proper meat next time I'm on this road if you promise."

Snatch your backpack, steal your purse, save the data from this curse! (Psykitt-- eh, Saving)

Peppy adds softly, though distractedly, <It was really yummy.> Usually this would be paired with a few tail wags, a broad smile, gleaming eyes, but right now, Peppy's mind is a confusing swamp of fright at the memory of Sly and worry for Aurora. It seems like it's been a long time. <I won't tell anyone,> the pup woofs softly, <Because it scares me and I don't like to think about it. I only told you because you smell like him a little bit and I wondered if you met him.> The pup now does actually manage a little smile at the older man, and his tail perks up slightly. <... Really?> he woofs, slowly ascending to all four paws. <Burgers are really yummy,> the dog barks cheerfully, <But Aurora hasn't tried one and I really want her to because I think they're so yummy. Have you tried burgers before? It's this... uh...> Peppy's eyes glance up at his forehead. The pup is quickly leaving his frightened, quiet state; his usual ways are taking over. <It's a hard thing between two soft things and it tastes really good.> Wonderfully vivid.

Everything is grey, veiled by mist. It's chilly and the air feels damp. There is no wind.

Grayson chuckles. "I know what burgers are. My nephew is about as fond of them as you are. I'll bring you burgers next time I'm around here, okay? But remember, no more talking to people about my nephew going scary. Or me, either." The smile alters, the tall Rocket's eyes changing somehow; somehow in the same space where the kind and gentle man sits is another one like the scarred boy became, only bigger, older, stronger - and much more controlled. It stays sitting there, watching Peppy carefully - and then the old Rocket returns to his usual kindly self, the dangerous aspect vanishing almost as quickly as it arrived. The bag's top is rolled up and put down near Peppy. "Take it to her," Grayson smiles gently. "She'll be wondering where you are."

It happened again. Right again, when Peppy doesn't expect it, the nice man suddenly becomes the not very nice man, and yet again Peppy really can't figure out what it is. Is it the eyes? It might be the eyes. Maybe it's something on the face. Whatever the case, the pup remains peering at Grayson for a few moments, not wanting to run, not wanting to stay, just simply staring at him, jaw parted, scared but not knowing why, wondering how in the world they do that and why. After a few seconds, the Growlithe gulps - an audible, even loud swallow - and whimpers a tiny little, <I... won't. I will.> He's replying to two different statements, but it sure doesn't sound like that. His ears pressing down on the sides of his head, his tail drooping so low it touches the flow, Peppy very cautiously reaches his head out to grab the bag in his teeth - but the whole time he's looking straight at Grayson's eyes.

Grayson's eyes have returned to their gentle, slightly sorrowful state. "Sorry, boy," he says quietly, "But you needed to remember. It's that important. I won't do it again unless I have to." A smile returns, small and rueful, and Grayson's hand reaches out towards Peppy. "You said you liked scritches. I'm safe, as long as you don't threaten me, okay?" The smile grows, the Rocket trying to persuade the Growlithe to get closer again. "I promised more food, next time I was out here, remember? Burgers, and a couple of steaks too?"

Peppy snatches up the bag in his teeth, still looking up at the man. He shifts a little uncomfortably as Grayson reaches out to him, but he doesn't retreat or step back immediately. Grayson will probably get a couple pats, maybe a scratch or two, before the pup finally does move back a bit, his eyes turning away from Grayson and into the fog. Setting the bag down, the pup woofs, <Okay.> He pauses for a second, adding, <But you said you wouldn't do that thing again if you didn't have to, and I hope you don't.> His innocent green eyes peer up at Grayson, as if he's locking the man to his promise. Peppy is seriously that disturbed by the change, it appears.

Grayson nods, withdrawing his hand after a couple of gentle strokes of Peppy's soft fur. "It's a promise," the tall Rocket agrees, meeting Peppy's eyes with his own. Something stirs beneath the surface but is locked down before it can do more than stir. "I'll keep it as long as you keep yours, okay?" Another soft smile. "I'll see you in a few days time, I suppose. Who should I shout for when I come around next?"

As much as Peppy really hates to admit it, even that small contact with Grayson's fingers felt really nice, and the pup finds himself halfway wanting to step forward and receive some more. Still, the pup knows he can't do that - not with this human. <My name is Peppy,> the pup woofs softly. <Oh! But, um, Aurora and I are going to go to a farm. We don't know where it is, but there's a nice old man there. The puppies...> Peppy halfs a half gesture in the road's general direction, though Grayson might not know what he's referring to. <Too many humans. It wouldn't be safe. But we'll be here for a little while longer. Maybe you'll see Aurora, too.> For someone so scared of the man in front of him, Peppy seems to be giving Grayson an awful lot of information. Maybe he's intimidated.

Grayson nods. "I'll check you're here first, then," he smiles. "I try to keep my promises." He sits a little forward, crossing his long legs. "Look, boy, I told you I'm safe and I meant it, okay? I never do that without a reason." One black-gloved hand gestures eloquently, indicating the tall Rocket's slender frame. "I'm not at my best at the moment, but I'd definitely rather be your friend than your enemy." He smiles a winning smile, kind and gentle and actively trying to persuade Peppy that he's a nice guy really. "Think about it, hmm? And good luck with the pups, too. I'd like to meet them when they're born."

The fog is grey-white in the light of mid-day.

Peppy nods very gently at Grayson. It's not a very enthusiastic one, but it's a genuine one. <Well,> the pup half-whimpers, his voice crescendoing into a louder bark. <Maybe you can show me next time we meet.> The pup grins a little uneasily at 'good luck', but nods to the man. He descends his head to pick up the bag, pauses with his mouth open, and lifts it once more. <Thank you for the food,> the Growlithe woofs, his tail giving a quick wag. <And maybe I'll see you again.> He hesitates, considering saying something like "<You promised!>", but in the end, he simply gives the Rocket one last little smile, snatches up the bag from the ground, and makes his way back into the fog, glancing back only once or twice. Man - hunts sure can turn out funny.

Grayson chuckles softly to himself as the Growlithe vanishes, giving him a few moments to get clear before the human rises and heads towards his bike. A couple of minutes later the bike's engine growls into deep-throated life, and not long after that the engine's pitch changes as Grayson pulls away. There are a lot of miles left to go before the tall Rocket can rest - if he can rest at all, according to the old proverb. By the look in his eyes through at least part of the now-ended conversation, real rest is something he hasn't had in a very, very long time.