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Osmond sighed. Donning a tie and wearing dry-cleaned suits were never his style. He was a modest, lazy dresser that wore anything clean. Of course, with a few spurts of cologne to hide any BO. But now, he had to act like a lab dog to a debutant who was afraid of having any more of her riches stolen. Playing the part required the stiff outfit and, moreover, it was dull.

Even Marlo had decided to join him, despite his protests (the electric rodent hated stakeouts). However, to pass the time, he had come to terms with his trainer: Osmond wasn't allowed to bother him unless something happened. So he had been napping at the man's ankle, dreaming of being Zatao's number one rockstar.

The rotund a*****e know as the chief of police stationed the forty year old to stand watch at a corner inside of the estate as if he were being sent to time out. For the passed two hours, Osmond had been doing as he was told, staring intently at a crack in the wall and willing it with his nonexistent powers to weaken the structure enough to topple on upon him and hopefully crush him to death. Unfortunately, his concentrated glaring caused him to find friendship in the thin, jagged line approximately a foot from the floor. He had named it Mr. Zigzag. It had become his friend.

But even Mr. Zigzag wasn't enough to quell Osmond's boredom. For instance, the poor thing didn't have a mouth, and the two couldn't exchange pleasantries. Had Mr. Zigzag been able to talk, he would have cast enough pity on Osmond to make him regret his existence as a breathing organism.

Another sigh escaped passed the seams of Osmond's lips. Shifting his hands into his pockets, he dug deep them into until his right knuckle bumped the edge of a familiar device. Pulling out his cell, the male blinked at it twice, and recalled a certain individual who might rid him of his blues. Shifting his chin over his shoulder several times to make sure none of his coworkers were nearby to rat him out, Osmond tapped one-handed on the keypad; sending a text to the culprit who swelled his employer's fears.

What are you up to?

When Cetus's personal mobile vibrated on her side, she jumped with such a start she nearly fell out of her seat. Rubbing her eyes, the Galactic grunt snorted. People rarely sent her a message, unless it was a desperate reporter seeking an interview from her coordinator persona, Claramay Pearls. Flipping it open, the seaweed green haired woman's mouth drew into a thin line. Osmond, she wretched. Just the name alone brought her trouble. Pressing at the number pad, Cetus made a reply that was short, concise, and bitter:

I'm working.

Osmond's eyebrows raised at the swiftness of the reply. Though he would've preferred something meatier in detail -- like what said work was -- he settled for the barest of minimums with gratitude. In actuality, he was slightly giddy. The prospect of having a conversation going when he was forced to his lonesome satiated his dullness.

Up to no good, huh? he typed. Just don't get yourself into too much trouble.

Feeling her cell rumble again caused Cetus to roll her eyes. There was some tension in the air even though she was not on a mission. If a higher-up saw her casually texting while on the job (never mind the fact she was napping), she was sure they'd cut off her hands. In response, she said:

Osmond, I'm busy! What do you want?

As if done deliberately to annoy her, Osmond replied, I'm bored.

Well, do something!

Like what? Osmond remarked.

Do cop stuff! the Galactic grunt huffed. Handcuff your hand to your foot! Swallow the barrel of your gun and pull the trigger! I don't know or care! Leave. Me. Alone! Then, with her annoyance flaring, she held both halves of the mobile and snapped it in two like a brittle branch and tossed it to the wall. A Magnemite milling about suddenly darted in its direction, clattered against the wall clumsily after deftly missing it, and then dropped down to the bundle to feast on the mass of wires and plastic. With that taken cared of, Cetus dropped herself back onto her desk, and went right back to snoring.

"Ah." This number cannot be reached, suddenly flashed on the screen. His face strained and, seeing that his only source of stimulation was gone, Osmond stuffed his phone back in his pocket and returned to staring around. For the first time in his life, the police officer begged for some form of mischief to happen. It could've been anything -- a fire, an ambush, a man in a lime green speedo bellowing, "Yahoo!" at the top of his lungs -- and the man would've accepted it. As long as it pulled his mind from naming random cracks in the wall, Osmond was in gear to do it.

Osmond slid his eyes down the length of the wall for the umpteenth time until it landed on Marlo. The Raichu was pawing at the air as if chasing a dreamed ball. His face contorted into a glare and he seemed to snarl before sending a small electrical shock to the back of the cop's ankle. Osmond yelped at the discharge and hopped back. Upon doing so, his eyes snapped forward before him, and he spotted a character he was positive wasn't a member of the indoor security.

He looks like a fella out of a comic book.

As if by the blessing of some holy, omnipotent force, Osmond got his wish. The timing couldn't have been more than perfect. His bewildered expression contorted to one of duty as he stamped his foot, waking Marlo. Osmond injected a finger in the man's direction and curled his opposite in a fist.

"Hey!" he cried. "Who the hell are you?"

Marlo blinked the bleariness from his eyes. Rubbing one of them, he looked up to Osmond, who frowned at him. "C'mon lazybones, get your a** up," he said. "There's a perp! Let's go!"

The Raichu hopped to his feet, slapping the tiredness from his face with two beats to his cheeks. He growled at the criminal with a sharp, "Rai!" in warning. Whenever Locke chose to run, Osmond was on his tail, and took up in an adrenaline-fueled chase after him with Marlo trailing behind.

Osmond grunted with the smash of the thief's joint into his torso. It threw the wind out of him and the officer staggered for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. He was left heaving with one hand clenching the area on his suit where the man made contact; the recent run after Locke making it even harder for him to settle the rise and fall of his chest. Osmond ran a thumb across the top of his upper lip, smearing away pearls of sweat upon it, and revealed the barest hint of a grin. This was more like it; ten times more excitement than scolding an idiot kid for his unruly Pokemon or passing out fines -- the staple norms of his career. It was a thrill rekindled since Cetus gave up on heists.

Marlo came to a skidding halt at the snarls from the Vaporeon. With cheeks cackling with electricity, the Raichu returned the menacing growls. "Take care of it, M," Osmond told the Pokemon. Marlo launched forward at the eon, but was too slow in his movement, and received a bite that provoked a cry from him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Marlo took the direct contact to deliver a Thunderbolt; the stored energy bursting from him in a flash of maize.

Osmond tried his greatest not to cast a look of concern to his Raichu upon hearing his yelp. The officer kept his grey eyes locked onto the Aqua grunt. He shifted his arms up before him, balled his fists, and slid one foot behind in a combative pose. The officer never had a reason to use his physical training from the academy against anyone before; not even Cetus. But considering the confrontation (and his desire not to use his gun), the moment seemed fit for it.

Bring it on, his determined eyes read.

Marlo's deft attempt at a dodge came to no avail. Though he jumped away from it, the Ice Beam was still careening toward him. Twisting his body out of the way caused his left hind to become the target of the attack. A freezing sting rose up the entirety of his leg until movement became impossible and the limb turned into a hunk of ice. Marlo's mouth opened incredulously at his leg. He was now plastered to one spot and couldn't even dodge now.

"Aichi!" To make up for his lack of movement, Marlo burbled with energy and released it in a Shock Wave. A flourish of electricity burst out in all directions with hopes it may hit the Vaporeon, Shuca.

Osmond watched the man testily, awaiting either the chance to strike or Locke to start off their confrontation. When the Aqua grunt came rushing forward, his knife brandished with the desire to wound, Osmond went on the defense. The weapon's slash made contact with the officer's right forearm, making a large gash stretch along its entirety.

"s**t," Osmond cursed with his teeth gritting against each other. He could feel the sleeve of his suit grow wet from the ooze of blood spilling from the cut. It was going to take half his next paycheck to clean and repair his damn thing.

With his good arm, Osmond used the moment to make a sweeping punch at the other man. "Knock this s**t off," Osmond cursed at Locke. "And give your self up."

Osmond flexed his fingers and rubbed a thumb across his knuckles. The meaty contact of his fist to the side of Locke's face was hard enough to even draw pain from the officer's hand. His mouth thinned and slanted diagonally on his face in agitation. "Is that an invitation?" Osmond huffed. "Not cute at all." Taking his former position, the officer raised closed fists level with his chin again and beckoned Locke to bring it on again with a nudge of his head. "C'mon then, take two," he taunted. "I was looking for some entertainment tonight, but you've started to piss me off."

With no liberty to dodge because of his trapped leg, Marlo was subdued by the Ice Beam. The Raichu cried out several times to Osmond is fear before he was silenced by the attack making contact and ultimately turning him into a rodent popsicle. Unfortunately, despite a need to be withdrawn into his Pokeball, Osmond didn't cast his partner an eye. He was too concentrated on his fight to do so.


[[ It's no problem~ ]]

"Oh s**t."

A surge of mucky water came crashing down in Osmond's direction. He could only stand there motionless, paralyzed with fear as he forced to undergo the torrent. The blast thrust him to the wall behind with such strength, his arms and legs went pin-straight upon contact. The officer became a soaking pile of ouch, forced to remain a spectator upon the thief commanding his eon to use Mist and make for their escape.

Groaning, Osmond used the last of his strength to make it to his feet, slipping a bit with the lack of friction between his expensive dress shoes and the muck that blanketed the floor. "Marlo!" he cried out, unbeknownst to the rodent's current condition. "Hey, follow the- You've got to be shitting me." The ice-bound rodent was doused by remnants of the before attack; dyed brown by the slick mud that clung to the icy surface. Grumbling a few complaints of Marlo's uselessness in situations (which were half-meant because of the heat of the moment), Osmond withdrew the Raichu's Pokeball, pressed its center to enlarge it in his grip, and shot the beam at him before pocketing the sphere again. He would have to handle this last bit on his own.

Tiptoeing onto patches of the floor where the mud wasn't slick, Osmond eventually found himself in a sluggish run after the man. During his marathon, he slipped his cell from his pocket, and rang the precinct's number. At the sound of the chief's baritone voice, Osmond muttered, "Requesting back-up; there's a perp here at the widow's house and I'm chasing him down now."

Much to the man's chagrin, all Osmond received in a reply was a hearty laugh. "No can do," replied the higher-up. "Everyone's got their own s**t to cover tonight. Catch 'im yourself, I'm sure he's no fight for the big Osmond Willis."

"C'mon, sir, I'm not joking around. Can you just-" The phone was slammed back into its receiver. F*cker.

Osmond's desperation even caused him to reconsider his outside contacts and make a dial for Cetus. But the aforementioned message, This number cannot be reached, made it quite obvious he would have to take care of this dilemma himself. The lingering Mist made it incredibly difficult to traverse the mansion. There's was only one way the guy could be headed -- outside -- and that's exactly where the cop was going. Using the touch of one hand to a wall to guide him, Osmond kept running; glancing out every passing window to make sure the thief wasn't nearby.

The officer stopped prematurely of the exit, grey eyes glancing up at the swinging door that was forced open. Taking that as a sign of the man's exit, Osmond returned to his hustling, and was quick enough to make it with the thief in sight. Swallowing thickly, the officer shoved a hand under the sweep of his suit jacket and pulled his gun from the torso holster.

Pointing the barrel at Locke with one hand quivering on the trigger and the other cupping the bottom of the grip, the officer took a few steps forward; one eye shut to center his aim on the criminal's shoulder. A gale passed by, whipping up the ends of Osmond's soaked and frayed suit, making his approach all the more dramatic.

"Kiss the ground," Osmond commanded, making a sharp movement with the firearm in a down direction. "And put your hands on your head. C'mon! Let's go!"

"S-s**t!"

The firearm in his possession jerked to the ground, the slip of his finger on the trigger sending a stray bullet ricocheting off the pavement and up into the air. The officer watched in terror as the projectile shot off in the direction away from both him and the Pokemon. Despite belonging to a criminal, the Vaporeon was still a living thing; just conditioned to live life on the wrong side. There was no way by Arceus above he would let any harm come to it. His owner was another story altogether, however.

Grey eyes widened in dismay as the male shot off like a sharp gale. With muscles tightening in his legs, Osmond jerked Shuca off him as his concentration aimed in on the Aqua trainee. Unfortunately, the man was built for strength, not speed. The lither of the two seemed as though he had the upper hand in this chase between cop and criminal. The officer's legs tensed up halfway through the run before he found himself leaned against a wall and panting for breath. The moment made him think of his days as a tyke on the baseball diamond running laps and chanting determined mantras to keep going.

There was a reason I was always benched, he reasoned then and there. I couldn't run a home for s**t. He looked on to Locke's back with a wince. Well, I'm screwed. Royally screwed.