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Hot damn. Rarely, if ever, does a man stroll down a hallway casually and happen to see something that is . . . HOT DAMN. At that moment, Sorano's mouth nearly hit the floor (or it did hit the floor, seen in all those comedic animes that just seem to stretch human capabilities). Sorano was making his way back to his cluttered room after having his weekly screaming match conversation with his best buddy still trapped in Kanto. Never did he imagine would his gaze be greeted to such a scantily dressed female walk towards him! It was his- no, it was EVERY MAN'S DREAM!

Sorano contemplated his actions as she approached. There was many options. He could pull the bishounen-esque position, with himself against the wall and his extra pointy chin being extra pointy. However, there was likely a chance he would go unnoticed . . . like all the other times he had tried it. There was always the "Sorry, I touched your bum." idea but . . . that would probably get him slapped like the other times he had tried it. There was only one . . . only one.

Being the master of flexing, Sorano flexed his sparkly muscles that seemed to glow under the luminescence of the lights above. Muscles contorted under his marble skin. He was a pugilist come alive, a piece of Grecian grace posing in still animation. He was marvelous, wonderful, exquisite, marvelous (wait? didn't I already type that?), beautiful, awesome, amazing, radiant, spectacular, opalescent, poetry not in motion! There was an unlikely chance he would be ignored!

Huh? Oh goodness gracious! Had Sorano's horrible flexing caused the young woman to cry? No, unlikely, not possible. It was something much more worse . . . and connected with the idea of why she was dressed like so. A dare? Possibly . . .

Sorano suddenly felt awkward. Normally his actions led to other people laughing at him (and him the one crying, boo hoo.) He'd no idea on how to react and decided to at least feign sympathy. Crashing down to her curled self, Sorano arched his eyebrows up and tilted his head. "Ya alright . . . girlie?" he asked, reflex telling him to put his hand on her shoulder but himself denying the choice in case it would make her uncomfortable.

Oh Arceus, oh Raikou, Entei, Suicune, Mew, Mewtwo, Mewthree, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight . . . Oh goodness gracious! Sorano's face contorted to a look of embarressment, his cheeks flaring with heat. He figured out two things so far from this little . . . moment. Girls were depressing when they were . . . depressed and this female was obviously not alright. Sighing, he rested his hand on her shoulder now, seeing as though she really seemed to need the comfort.

"D'ya wanna talk 'bout it?" he asked, choking a little as his accent flowed. At that moment, he now felt unmanly and like Moose. Oh great . . .

OH ARCEUS. How the hell does Moose do it? The lucky man has managed to snag every single damn girl he has ever set his eyes on. Yet, here Sorano was, flushing from embarrassment and choking with fear for the first girl who approached him for comfort. The teal haired grunt was prepared to pull out his handy-dandy "Tips on the Opposite Gender" booklet Moose had mailed him some time ago. It seemed like a good idea but one hand was already occupied on the young woman's shoulder and the other dead like a gangly-dangly serpentine.

Sorano bit his lip. What would be have to do, play the sudden savior? Staring down at Fuku one more time, he wondered if she noticed his extremely panicking heart and heaving lungs. Life was hard -- his lungs were getting harder (from lack of air, mind you). Sighing, he patted Fuku with his other hand that was upon her shoulder. She did not seem to say anything about her current . . . condition so he found it would just be best to get her something warm or cold to drink and let her sit down.

"Here . . . lemme git ya . . . up . . . " he offered, smiling loosely. "I can git ya somethin' ta drink, than ya . . . can talk . . . kay?"

Remember the times when you play Ultimate Frisbee and the cherry red disk goes careening straight over your head and into your favorite painting of 'Crazy Stairs' just to make you upset? Than, you retire from the game because the frisbee is haunting your dreams, yourself running amidst the hundreds of crazy stairs trying to find a way out? Yea, totally irrelevant but Sorano felt as if he was running through thousands of stairs looking for an exit. He was so confused yet he could not get himself out of this predicament.

Sighing, Sorano attempted to lift her up Prince Charming style. However, he did not look to the crick in his back and slumped down like an elderly man. "Aha . . . " he managed to utter out. "Back . . . be bad. Ahaaaa."

Oh gods, he hoped she at least laughed. This was killing him softly.

"I'mma okay . . . !" he struggled to stay over her weight. "I'mma man I can 'andle this . . . !" CRASH!

He was most certainly not a man and could most certainly not support the young girl's weight at all. He mumbled something undecipherable to himself as his face was squished to the floor before turning his attention back to the once who was possibly in more pain than him. "A-Are ya alright?" he asked with a sullen frown. Goshness, he was such a clown! And a clumsy one at that!

"A garden tool . . . ?" Sorano blinked. "Whut?"

Shaking his head, how in the bloody world did she she think she looked like something used to plow dirt?

"Yer nothin' like that! I mean, them gardenin' tool are made'a wood an have a flatted slabby to push and pull-a dirt. Yer not even close ta somethin' like that, I mean a-startin', it be an inannie objecto and well, yer a movin' objecto."

Okay, so, Sorano was really making much sense but to himself he was making all the sense in the world. He picked himself up, dusted off whatever dust was on the floor (which was practically none, TRHQ is actually pretty clean compared to other Team Rocket bases, honestly) and offered her a hand. "Need sum' 'elp?"