that thing called knocking [terran]

[bebe]

Bebe slunk around the small city, trying to get from point a to point b as quickly and as quietly as possible. There was no official reason for her to be here in the Hoenn region – much less in a Nox city – and so, naturally, Bebe didn’t want to stay very long. Avoiding any sort of recognition was another desirable thing, but she doubted many locals would recognise her on the spot; after all, this had always been the sisters’ territory, not hers.

It occurred to her then that she hadn’t contacted either of them for a while, but the thought was quickly brushed aside. She had been too busy to keep in much contact with anyone. Everything was business now. Job after job after job, trying to keep her finances, and her conscience, healthy despite the world being turned upside down and inside out. Bebe looked at her phone and paused for a moment, taking time to promise herself that she would send a message to one of them later. Then she tapped in the number she needed and sent a message:

Knock knock. I’m outside.

All she had to do now was wait and tap her bag for the millionth time to assure herself that everything was still there. And, just as she knew it, everything still was. But what harm was there in checking every quarter-minute? It was better to be safe than sorry, and if anything was lost and picked up by someone else… well, she’d cross that bridge if it ever happened.

Impatiently, she thought about sending another message, but she managed to hold herself back. Even if this guy was probably the oldest guy in Nox, it would do no good to be ageist against him. For all she knew, he was a whiz when it came to technology, and the real reason he hadn’t opened the door the millisecond after she sent the message was that he had to put on his reading glasses.

Terran

[Terran]

Goddamn phones. Terran awkwardly fumbled with his cell phone, single hand shakily scrolling past the necessary password protections and reaching Bebe's message. While he wasn't half bad at using them in years past, since losing his arm he found manipulating such devices to be quite a struggle. It didn't help that his Claydol's psychic powers, while normally lifesavers, were useless against a touchscreen. After a few seconds of clashing with his own phone, however, he managed to come out triumphant and see the content of the message.

It was that Sinnoh PC specialist, the one who kicked Lanette's system up a notch. Considering the system already revolutionized Bill's frameworks, her work was pretty damn impressive.

The man briefly headed to his mirror, making sure he was looking properly political. After Gold caught him by surprise looking like death warmed over, he knew he would have to keep a close eye on how he looked. His Torterra, Ironsides, lazily looked up at him and quizzically tilted his head. The poor old turtle wasn't used to all of these political meetings, and his usual sleeping spot in the middle of Terran's room was becoming kind of cramped with all of these people entering every day. Sometimes he wondered if the old days would ever come back . . .

And sometimes, so did Terran.

He approached the door, opening at Bebe and grinning apologetically. Ironsides looked up at the woman and nodded in recognition, not the happiest at her presence but recognizing its importance. Besides, if Terran said she could pop in surely she was okay.

"Hello there. Sorry if I kept you waiting, had a bit of phone trouble." The man's lack of an arm was rather apparent: it was pretty clear what kind of trouble he was talking about.

[bebe]

Finally.

The door had finally opened.

Bebe smiled. Not due to fake politeness or anything like that, but because she was amused by what the big shot Nox leader said. And although it should have been obvious what was the root of the phone trouble, Bebe couldn’t help but brush aside the obvious and continue to believe that it was due to the man being, in technology years, a dinosaur.

She couldn’t say that, of course. She wouldn’t dare. Instead, she said, “I figured,” as if it was the most socially appropriate and acceptable answer according to the guide written by Gentlemen and Socialites and pushed past the Nox leader into his home. It wasn’t the politest entrance Bebe had ever made, but it wasn’t her rudest either. At least this time she hadn’t started to wander through the house as if she were browsing an open home – she had learned from that experience, and waited on the spot for some kind of cue from Terran.

Well, she tried to wait, but had hardly lasted a second before saying, rather bluntly, “Right. I need a table. Not one you eat off, though.” What Bebe meant was that she did not want a single food stain or crumb within a couple of metres of her computer, which was understandable and obvious, or so she assumed for the shortest moment before remembering that the man she was talking to was a dinosaur. “Lead the way.” As she spoke, Bebe’s eyes wandered around what she could see, looking for any tell-tale signs of surveillance, and then they wandered again, looking for little unnoticeable nooks and crannies to hide things in. She wasn’t serious; it was just a habit she’d been working on developing – the better she got at it, the quicker she found things and the sooner she could finish the hard part of her job.

Speaking of which…

“So what do you know about Hearthome City, Mr…” Oh dammit. She had been doing so well until she tripped up on the name. “Mr. Terran.”

Terran