Welcome to Gaia! ::

Allan wasn't sure what America-chan was getting on but it seemed very important especially since she had used nakama and kokoro in the same sentence. This was hard work and he appreciated hard work.

If America went to the training fields, she would find Allan waiting for her. So far so good. She would also find Allan waiting for her in a Pikachu costume. Well, it could have been worse. She could have been the one that had to wear a Pikachu costume.

It was at that point that he pulled out a second matching costume and a bundle of balloons that were somehow stowed inside a duffel bag.

"Pikachu is a Pokemon that represents inner strength and spirit", said Allan, neatly avoiding the question,"and that is what training is about. Training the spirit. Being as noble as you are humble and," here, he struck a pose, "kawaii." The Pikachu tail bobbed a bit.

"So, trainee-tachi," note there was only one trainee so the suffix was moot, "are you here on a journey to discover your inner spirit? The long awaited sequel to the Pikachu delivery service awaits! We will Pika your food and leave you Chuing for more!" Allan did a 360 and then a V for victory on one forehead. "That's our motto by the way. First step to the Pikachu delivery service is work nakama bonding outfits." He shook the spare Pikachu costume at America.

"A healthy spirit is a healthy kokoro! That's the way to do it!" Allan gave her another V for victory salute and then sifted into his oversized duffel bag. "Now, America-chan, Sun Division is all about hard work. If we want to earn money, we must show our nakama how hard we work for it and give it our very best! If people see how bright your kokoro shines then they will do their best to help you! That's the Sun motto! To push your limits!"

And then he passed her a vending set, they type that concession workers walking up and down stands at baseball games wore when selling popcorn and soda drinks. It was mostly a large tray with two straps to harness the tray and contents onto her shoulder. The tray read: Flying Pikachu Pocky for sale. In the tray was pretty much every single Pocky flavour variation ever, in stacks of 5.

"You keep all you earn," Allan explained, "but only if you work with a smile and a pose! Flying Pikachu Pocky Service is all about friendliness and being inner spirit!" He paused and strapped some balloons onto America's tail so she looked more like Flying Pikachu and not Unflying Pikachu before striking another pose and then two Vs for much Victory. "Ganbatte, America-chan!"

There was a pause--maybe long enough that she'd think this room was unoccupied too--but then the sound of movement and the door opened about two inches for Taym to peer suspiciously out of it. He didn't know what a kokoro was, nor who might wish to be shining it at him, and given the general tendency on the Island for boundaries to be frequently violated, he preferred to remain cautious.

He opened it the rest of the way when he realized who it was and what she was wearing, and grinned at her the way a fox might grin through a fence at a hen. "Holy s**t," he said, in a tone of deep and horrified admiration. "I'm glad I'm not in Sun. What'd you do to earn--is that candy?"

"Who the ********," Taym pondered out loud while he picked through the selection (and tried not to think about how close his hands were to various bits of America's anatomy insufficiently contained by the Pikachu suit) "is so insecure in his ********' manhood he has to buy candy for men?"

Nonetheless, one of the three boxes he set aside was black. This probably had more to do with the fact that it was black sesame seed and exactly the kind of almost-high-brow-and-just-exotic-enough flavor that suckered Taym in every time than it had to do with coming in a black box.

He went to go get his money. This was complicated. Taym had spent nearly a decade in the constant company of drug addicts and assorted types of hooligans, and in these situations it behooved one to be careful with valuables. He had also had various personal habits that required the resourceful identification of small hiding places. He climbed up onto a chair in front of his desk and kept talking, apparently deciding America was safe to see where the First Bank of Thompson was stashed.

"Good cause, huh? Tell me they're not making you pay rental on the costume." He pulled the clock off the wall--and why would there be a clock? Non-functional, non-runiced, left there like he'd been too lazy to pull it down, like a joke--and pried open the battery compartment. The bills were coiled up tiny and he unrolled them as he climbed down. "You'd make more money in the Santa suit. Maybe Mark woulda put you in one of those--" he hesitated, realizing he didn't actually know what it was. "You know. The gold bikini things."

He gave her a twenty, partly out of generosity and partly because he lacked any smaller bills and knew that it would take him far too long to eat even three boxes, let alone picking up any more. "You pull it off," he informed her, biting back an obvious Big Guns joke. "As well as anyone can pull off..." he waved a hand vaguely, the grin resurfacing. "Good luck. Buying yourself a gun rack and a dead deer head for the basement?"