Avoiding stuff.

Screw English and Math. :c

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"I'm not killing myself," Flint deadpanned. "I cut myself shaving yesterday and it wouldn't stop bleeding. Just imagine how bad it'd be if I killed myself! I'd probably die!"

Volkner facepalmed.

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"Well, since I'm sure that you would attempt murdering me in the middle of the night if we dyed it, we're gonna straighten it," she said. "But first, I have to get this brush through it..." She gave a particularly hard yank, and Flint yelped. And then her words sank in.

"S-straighten?" he gulped. "As in take a flat iron and defy laws of physics and make my hair flat? With a hot iron?" He had heard the shrieks and shouts coming from Cynthia in the bathroom and too many times seen the bright red scorch marks on her neck and fingers to ever want that thing near him.

"Your hair defies the laws of physics as it is," Bertha snapped and yanked again. "Besides, you can't possibly tell me that Flint, the master of Fire in the Elite Four of Sinnoh, is scared of a straightener."

"Yes, I can," he said, flinching at another yank. "Because you can dodge a Fire Blast attack, but you can't dodge a small piece of hot metal!"

"If you can dodge a Fire Blast, you can dodge a straightener," Bertha informed him.

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"Hey," Flint's voice suddenly cut through the awkward, bored silence. "How much would you give me if I ate all seven of those bananas there?" He was staring at the bowl of fruit the Elite kept for snacks in the center of their table.

"Five bucks," Aaron said. Flint sat up a little straighter.

"Throw in ten more and I'll do it." He glanced over at Lucian and Bertha, who were looking at each other.

"Alright, we'll each pitch in five." He shrugged.

"But only if you keep it down," Bertha bargained. "Or I'm out."

"Done." Flint reached into the bowl, pulled out the bunch of bananas, and began eating. Lucian was shocked at how fast that guy could breeze through those bananas! Aside from that, he'd heard very bad things about eating too many of them in one sitting; Flint wouldn't be leaving the bathroom anytime soon tomorrow.

"You know, Flint, this says so much about your sexuality." Bertha said with a smirk, just to get a reaction. And a reaction she did get. Flint paused his face-stuffing for a moment, winked flirtatiously in her direction as if to say, "You know it, Bertha baby." and began eating again. She huffed and rolled her eyes and slumped back against her chair again. Lucian shook his head at that; they all knew Flint, and he didn't swing that way. In fact, he didn't swing at all. Boy, girl, tree, it never really mattered to him. Love was love was love. However, he wasn't about to get into that.

Aaron slapped down a five on the table along with Bertha and Lucian once Flint finished, pushing the seven banana peels away from him triumphantly.

"Flint, you have a black hole where your stomach should be." Bertha said, though she was impressed. Flint glossed his fingernails on his sleeve arrogantly.

"I know."

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"That's a fascinating machine," Cynthia commented over her glass of wine, casually peering over Thorton's shoulder. She seemed genuinely interested, which wasn't particularly surprising when it was taken into account that, alongside her duties as the Sinnoh League Champion, she was also an avid researcher. "If you don't mind me asking, what does it do?"

Across the table, Palmer relaxed slightly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. To say that he was feeling stressed right now would be an understatement, to say the least. After all, it wasn't often that the Frontier played host to such an important person as the Champion, and he was determined that the evening would go well. And Thorton, despite his age, was one of the more mature Brains by far. Miles ahead of, say, Dahlia in terms of seriousness. A nice, safe conversationalist.

"It's a dumbass-detector," the Factory Head deadpanned after a short pause, and the blond man slapped his forehead in disbelief. Seemingly to further illustrate his point, the boy waved the little blue gadget around in Palmer's direction as if it were a metal detector. A series of beeping noises emitted from it, and he hummed in satisfaction. "Which, you see, explains why it always goes off around the Tower Tycoon."

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It was only when the chitchat started to go in a direction he didn't like that he decided to break in:

"All right, Dahlia, that's enough," he said sternly. The aforementioned Arcade Star pouted.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Palm. I'm just telling Cynthia a funny story, that's all."

Palmer groaned. "Dahlia, your 'funny story' happens to be about the time you put itching powder in my underwear drawer."

"So, what's your point?"

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"So, Argenta." The Tower Tycoon stretched his long limbs, yawning, and took a huge gulp from the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "Listen, I've been thinking lately..."

"Thinking? You?" His magenta-haired coworker's reply was clearly lighthearted, but Palmer still set his beverage down with a scowl.

"That's not funny," he grumbled, annoyed. "I do too think. Hell, where d'you think my son gets his smarts from?"

Argenta tapped her chin in contemplation. "Your son?"

"Blond hair, orange and white striped shirt, has an Empoleon. He was at the Frontier just a few days ago. Surely you must have seen him?"

"Now that you mention it, a boy of that description did come to challenge the Hall..."

"And?" Palmer puffed up his chest proudly.

"Well, I seem to recall him struggling to enter the facility for a full ten minutes, before one of my assistants informed him that the door was a 'push' and not a 'pull.'"

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Thorton spoke up before Palmer could voice an angry response, holding out his hand and narrowing his half-lidded eyes. "My analysis machine, Dahlia," the teen stated exasperatedly. "Give it back. Now."

The black-haired woman furrowed her eyebrows in disappointment. "Oh, not now, Thor," she huffed. "I haven't even figured out how to work it yet! All I've managed to do so far is change the password to 'Mudkip power.'"

"Give it back!"

"Why should I?" The female stuck her tongue out, purposely being difficult. Thorton was beginning to lose his patience.

"It's mine, that's why," the teen seethed. "You stole it!"

"I did not steal it, I just borrowed it... without permission."

"Isn't that the same thing?" The boy threw his hands up into the air, clearly frustrated.