Not a child [Luci]: Understood.
Not a child [Luci]: Let me finish with these boxes and I will make my way over.
Not a child [Luci]: Is the strawberry shake still in the fridge?
Lucille was uncomfortable, although not necessarily for the same reason most of the trainers found themselves battling over. He felt useless, and while he knew realistically that was far from the truth it didn't settle the acidic guilt that had begun to creep through his gut and into his throat, threatening to spill over at any given second. He was a problem-solver, although he was adequately equipped with enough sense to know when he couldn't or shouldn't find a solution. And yet, despite that, he still felt listless as he listened to the panic in visitors' voices and watched fear strike the pokemon's faces like a quick bolt of lightning. He felt small -- and right now was not a good time to remind him that he was, indeed, actually short for his age -- and trapped, which meant Lucille would find absolutely anything and everything to occupy himself with until someone intervened.
He had begun to wear himself ragged, evident by the bags under his eyes and the chips in his nails. He wasn't even properly upkeeping his makeup or nails, which anyone close to him knew was of utmost importance to him. No- instead he was furiously cleaning every nook and cranny of the center, vigorously exercising the pokemon in their care, and traveling throughout the entire city to collect lost and frightened pokemon.
Today had been especially hard; a trainer had called in worried about a stray lefmew that had gotten itself stuck under a porch and Lucille had physically crawled under the building to gently coax the small pokemon out. Said pokemon was now properly washed, fed, and now asleep in the nursery, but Lucille still had paperwork to fill. Which required him to find a very specific folder that had, somehow, been moved during someone else's shift. This was why he never wasn't working -- people liked to mess with his organization.
But now that was over and done with, and Ricky was requesting company. Lucille had caught the tail end of a few short and angry shouts throughout the day and he sympathized with his friend and boss. People had begun calling the Enrichment Center to redirect frustrations and demands at Ricky himself, as if he could move the barrier with his bare hands or had any control of the obnoxious weather. Lucille had debated helping with call duty, but... no, he much rather drag himself under a porch, scratch up his favorite sweater -- which he had changed before coming back to work, refusing to be seen dead in such a state -- and get his daily steps in.
Yeah, anyway, Ricky needed the company and Lucille honestly couldn't stand to look at another form a second longer. He paused for a moment to peek into the staff room and scoop up his backup sweater (a pink and fluffy piece of garment he affectionately called his cloud sweater). By the time he found Willow and Ricky he had pulled his sweater over his head and heaved a loud sigh, catching Willow's question just in time.
"Anything that does not have guns, please," Lucille murmured, settling close to Willow. Shit, the shake- ugh, he'd get up in a second and check the fridge. "Outside is loud enough."
