[ti]private[/ti]plush rumpus

If anyone were to ask Atsushi how his return to America was going, he would not know where the fuck to start.

No one — not Ren, not his manager, and certainly not the man himself — could have predicted he’d be spending his first day back waddling around UNOVRCon in a massive Moltres mascot costume. He had never worn something like this, and he didn’t understand how anyone could. But regardless of how suffocating and itchy it was, there was no going back; he was in too deep. He was a man on a mission.

“Holy fuck am I glad we’re out of there. Miss A scares the shit out of me.” They were at the parking lot, returning to the car after a meeting with Atsushi’s manager.

Atsushi sat down in the driver’s seat, shoving the key in as he grumbled. “She’s just doing her job. I’m not supposed to be back this early.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to be kicking into high gear this early either,” Ren pointed out, wrestling to pull on their seat belt with one phone in each hand. They were trying to get a head start on the social media whirlwind they’ve been assigned to facilitate. “Doing laps around the PR circuit when you can barely run—”

“Ren.”

“I’m just saying!” Ren exclaimed, throwing up their iPhone hands. “Okay, no more work talk. Manager? Updated. Disguise? In the trunk. Hotel? Trivago. Now let’s get to that con!”

Atsushi grimaced. He should’ve known better than to trust Ren with packing. Then again, it wasn’t Ren’s fault that he couldn’t wait the fifteen minutes it would take them to scrounge up a replacement. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that an emergency had occurred—except him.

The bastard from the airport, he was here. Atsushi hadn’t been able to catch it in the chaos of their encounter, but a second look erased all doubt: the stranger bore an uncanny resemblance to Verai, down to the white hair and look of mild distaste with the world. All that was missing was the cat ears and fantasy armor, but Atsushi would know more than anyone.

Of course he had no choice but to follow — to make sure. It wasn’t stalking, it was an investigation.

He was slowly nudging his way closer to peep on the guy’s call—Who the hell is ‘my love’? You have got to be fucking kidding me—when someone crashed into him, nearly sending him rolling on his big birdy belly.

“Watch where you’re—” he choked, recognizing the girl to be his stranger’s companion. The mesh over Moltres’ giant beak obscured his face, but he still panicked, realizing he had to get in character. “—ggggooing!” The voice pitched a hundred times higher, Mickey Mouse-like. “Young trainer! You should always be vigilant in the heat of battle! I’m Moltres! KA-KAW!”

Kill him.

It didn’t matter if he gave the most stellar performance, the customer was not buying, and yet she was also refusing to leave – as if this was five minutes before closing and they were browsing socks.

If the costume hadn’t already sucked out every liquid from his pores, Atsushi would be sweating as the girl stared him down.

And called the airport bastard over. Said bastard was on his phone, telling someone to be good to ‘Miri’. His spouse? His kid?

Atsushi stepped back, only to be snagged by the wing.

“No pictures!” he hissed, only to double back, mouse-style. “Sorry little girl, Moltres has to, uh– go see Zapdos! My brother, kakaw!” He flapped the wing, trying to shake her off, eyes fixed on the man getting way too fucking close and reminding him way too fucking much.