Jones Sandstrider the Heliolisk
Prankster Platoon
Lotus Den Slums
Affected RPers: None

((Tony's name is a joke and I sincerely hope at least a few of you get it. Mazer post coming when I’m less exhausted, hopefully tomorrow))

Jones watched Laura walk stiffly away with a Luxray, sitting down on the ground and twitching her claws impatiently. It hadn't been good enough, that battle. Laura had only honestly attacked her once, and that had felt like a stiff breeze. A Pokemon less f***ed-up in the head could have easily powered through that Confuse Ray and killed Laura under the cover of that Sandstorm and been on their merry way. While Jones didn't think that Laura needed to be an absolute master of combat, the Umbreon was practically the face of the Prankster Platoon. No amount of bodyguards could protect her forever. In the end, everything came down to your own strength, and Jones was concerned that Laura wouldn't be strong enough if the time came for the Umbreon to defend herself.

Not that Jones had been perfect, either. Her tail began to flick in rhythm with the clacking of her claws against the side of her spear. She shouldn't have let those memories get the better of her. Amu had died years ago, and it had been Jones who'd done the deed, making sure that there was no pulse or breath left in the Haxorus's body before she'd fled. He was dead and gone, and remembering him was just going to mess her up. The "PTSD" or whatever the heck Cheshire and Tony called it was a severe annoyance and it was going to get her killed one of these days if she didn't deal with it right.

Of course, according to Cheshire, the "right" way to deal with it was to talk about it, which was super stupid. Talking about the past wouldn’t fix it. It was over and done with and Jones just needed her stupid brain to move on.

The Meowstic was still waiting on the edge of the pit. Jones might’ve dragged him into the training, too, but she didn’t think she could handle any more psy attacks. Besides, she knew from experience that the demure feline was stronger than he appeared. “Come on,” she said to him, “driving practice.”

Cheshire walked beside her - he was always careful to be beside her instead of in front of her; it felt kind of like babying, but she appreciated not having to look over her shoulder every couple of seconds - without complaint. “That Confuse Ray did a number on you.”

She grunted. “Flashback,” she said. “Stupid psy attacks always screw with me. I wasn’t expecting her to pull that one. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Cheshire. He sounded like he was going to launch into another rant about touchy-feely scrap, so Jones walked faster, forcing Cheshire and his short little legs to hustle just to keep up. She didn’t slow down until they reached their destination, a wide-open makeshift parking lot full of brightly-colored vehicles, each of a different shape, size, and armor quality.

Cheshire sounded a little irate when he spoke again. “I was trying to get at the fact that you need to deal with your problems, Jones, and that you can’t keep running away.”

“I’m good at running,” Jones said. “Keeps me alive.” She began making her way through the lot, though this time she slowed down a little. She didn’t want Cheshire to lose track of her, since he would be kind of important for this next part. “Not all of us can just melt minds with our magic ears.”

The Meowstic didn’t bother explaining his metaphor. “You need to settle your mind.” Jones rolled his eyes; he sounded like one of those Gracidea Dream Smokers. “If you’re not at peace with yourself, you won’t be able to do well in the -”

The Dread Metal Derby was a storm of noise and smog stench, and it was extremely overwhelming - and overstimulation led to dissociation. Jones shook her head, clearing her brain of thoughts about yesterday because yesterday didn’t matter and Cheshire was an idiot about brain things and he didn’t know anything about her.

However, Cheshire wasn’t an idiot gunner, which was why Jones was incredibly glad to have him gunning for her. He’d be watching the left flank of the Screaming Talon, a sleek vehicle with light armor and splotches of red, blue, and yellow all over it - and most importantly, lots of spots for Cheshire to throw Light Screens, Reflects, and Protects, affording the vehicle lots of speed since it wasn’t weighed down with heavy armor. There was a lot of risk in having a psychic doing the majority of defense, but between Tony the Incineroar’s eagle eye for targets and her own lead foot and unpredictable, quick driving style, the likelihood of them needing Cheshire’s defenses wasn’t too high.

Not that this wasn’t a serious matter. Jones’s heart jackhammered nervously in her chest as she looked out at the other racers’ menacing cars. Hopefully no one would be shooting Confuse Rays.