Albert Rosenfield

[It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, Route! Sixty-five degrees and sunny in the middle of January. Sure, all the melting snow has probably turned the yard to mud, but what the hey, it's a nice change from blitzing cold weather and mountains of snow. And seeing as how tomorrow is predicted to be just as nice, Albert's just going to head right on over to the hall closet to put away his heavy winter coat for the next few d—

OHGOD WHY ARE THERE PUPPIES EVERYWHERE WHO PUT PUPPIES IN THE CLOSET

Twenty-four puppies, to be exact — a nice big mess of Poochyena, Houndour, and Growlithe puppies, all of whom come swarming out at the first crack of light shining through the doorway. One furry stampede later, Albert is left standing aghast with his hand still on the doorknob and the coat still over his arm, staring incredulously into the closet (where there seems to be a hastily-dragged and lumpily-piled blanket shoved into a corner, and a whole lot of eggshells scattered around) and blinking like he's not entirely sure he believes he just saw what he did.

Were those just puppies.

In the closet.

Why were there puppies in the — actually, you know what, does he really want to know? Probably not.]

Gandhina!

[And sure enough, a minute later, a muddy-pawed Gandhina trots obediently into view, tail wagging and a comatose, weather-beaten, mostly-dead Paras held securely in her jaws. Clearly currently rocking the most happy puppy mood to ever exist, she sets it down on the carpet and sits proudly, still trying to wag her tail despite it being trapped beneath her.]

Dammit, Gandhina, what are you doing with Thi— that's...not Thing. Where did you find ano...ther...

[BUT BEFORE FURTHER COMMENT CAN BE HAD, in skitters the real Thing (as evidenced by the fact that he's still de-mushroomed and wrapped securely in clean white bandages) — who proceeds to DASH OVER TO THE OTHER PARAS like a crab possessed, and what ensues can only be described as, well, the Paras equivalent of cuddling.

Yeah.

If any of you need Albert, network, he'll just be standing here contemplating what the hell his life has become, thanks.]

( Off-Network | Current Contents of Albert Rosenfield's Briefcase )

~
[It's afternoon waning toward evening in Saffron City, and at the moment Albert Rosenfield can be found in one of the city's small Pokemon parks, a briefcase stowed securely on a nearby bench and a pink rubber ball in one hand. With him today are his Scyther, obediently hovering near the bench and briefcase like a good underling, and his Poochyena, who appears to be more interested in the ball than anything else.

Albert, meanwhile, is spending the majority of his time giving the ball a series of thoughtful squeezes in his hand while he thinks, but occasionally rears back and lets it fly in a surprisingly graceful arc — at which point Gandhina unfailingly tears off after it, paws scrabbling at the grass and dirt as she hurtles off into the distance to retrieve her toy.]

The problem isn't going to be isolating it, it's going to be getting it to stick around long enough to do any good. However those mushrooms came about, evolution or divine design, you've got to give them some credit — we're looking at pretty nasty stuff here. Direct contact ought to be the easier of the two to handle, once we come up some way of making the neutralizing agent stick. Respiratory...unless you've got any bright ideas, we're gonna need a mask.

[At this point, Gandhina comes charging back with a now-somewhat-slobbery ball in her teeth, and Albert crouches down to retrieve it from her, but sets it aside and stays down to examine her adorable puppy muzzle and jowls.]

Hold still, you dumb mutt — you know, I was going to say it'd be a problem to cut off the use of your jaws with a rig like that, but anything that keeps you from picking up everything under the sun —

[Pleased by the attention and presuming these words of her master's are praise, Gandhina's tail is wagging at about a mile a minute.]

Dummy, grab the tape measure and toss it over here. Not the easiest task in the world without a set of opposable thumbs, I know, but hey, you're a bright bug, I'm sure you're up to the challenge.

[And then, as a Scyther leans over to retrieve the aforementioned tape measure, he abruptly notices that the Gear is on and quickly — and probably a little guiltily — shuts it off.]

~
[Later, a more intentional bit of commentary from Albert hits the network.]

So whose bright idea was it to hide all the tolerable cities on the other end of a six-hour train ride? Skyscrapers, business districts, a concert hall. Five minutes out of the station and I'd already counted eight coffee peddlers.

Now all that's left is to turn a corner and come across a bakery selling thirty-one flavors of pie, and by golly, we'll have ourselves the makings of heaven here.

[It's a lovely afternoon on Route 38, just outside of Ecruteak City, and Albert Rosenfield is On A Mission. (All right, well, technically he's on two missions, but he's pretending it's only one mission because the other mission involves being a dogwalker for Coop's Houndour and his own Poochyena, and come on, that's just beneath him, do you know how many degrees he has.) In the week and a half he's spent thus far in Johto, he's read the literature and gotten the relevant explanations from a source he's inclined to trust as reliable, unbelievable though they may be, and so today he's out on the route to investigate the local plant life.

The Gear feed is mostly picking up up-close shots of various shrubs and berries, occasionally directed by a hand covered in a latex glove; it appears Albert is using his Gear's video function as a means of documenting the things he's finding, and every so often he'll snap off a small branch or twist off a berry and deposit it into a plastic baggie for later investigation.

Which is great, except that while he's busy examining shrubs, his Poochyena is currently bounding into the tall grass, having just spotted a wild Paras shuffling along minding its own business. Curious, she gives it a few pokes with its nose, which the Paras only tolerates momentarily before attempting to bid a hasty, skittering retreat from the sudden invasive prodding of this wolfdog in its midst. But Gandhina is having none of that, and after following it a few steps with continued, mounting curiosity, she finally darts down and snaps it up in her jaws, intent on proudly carrying it over to her trainer to show him what she's just found.

The Paras, naturally, does not take kindly to this.

A moment later, a cloud of Poison Powder erupts into the air.]

— The hell?!

[Granted, Albert may not instantly recognize what this cloud is, but he is at least sensible enough to realize that it's probably not something he really wants to be breathing. Ever rational, he prudently covers his nose and mouth and starts bidding a hasty retreat; Gandhina, on the other hand, begins whimpering and struggling but continues holding bravely on while the Paras, still locked in her teeth, starts to wriggle and scratch as it tries to get free.]

Gandhina, drop it!

[But fortunately for Gandhina, Albert isn't the only observer on the scene, and now it's Sheriff's turn to leap into action: first with a sharp, forceful bark that finally seems to shake Gandhina out of her (now poisoned) haze and makes her release the Paras, and then with a well-placed jet of fire that, being ridiculously super-effective against the offending Bug/Grass type, proceeds to drop it like a bad habit.

A moment later, the video goes dark as the Gear is hastily shoved into a pocket, and Albert's muttered cursing can be faintly heard in the moments just before the feed finally switches off.]