The Pokecrew hang out at Victor/Gloria's after the end of Sword and Shield.

What
begins as innocent reverie stumbles through a hazy cloud of social missteps and
ends in abject disaster.
Hop is but a delicate flower.
But alas, by evening, he is plucked.

Title: Despair

There are many ways to skin a Skitty. No matter where you start: at its head,
spine, or tail; either way, the Pokemon perishes painfully. With fell blade and
razor conviction, anyone can be made into the Kitten, and thereby, skinned.

After the admittedly casual defeat of Galar's champions, Victor/Gloria decided to

gather the rivals they had made on their journey for a friendly celebration in
Postwick, their hometown. Here, one may feel the pleasant breeze that carries the
sickly sweet scent of a Combee's labor along with zephyr Jumpluffs and delicate
Drifblims in tow. The mewling Wooloos bray in contentment at daydreaming passersby
from their idyllic pastures. This sleepy town, bordering on the Weald, is a refuge
for all manners of memories, quietly nostalgic and unabashedly halcyon. It should
go without saying that such an innocent paradise should bar outside's filth, no?

"Thanks for inviting us over, Vic/Glo!" says Hop, "It's been a bit since last time,
hey? Does your mum still make those snags I like?" An overenthusiastic demeanor
made up for the rest of the group perfectly.

"Could you ever stand to eat something decent? I'm surprised you haven't contracted
diabetes. I swear, even a Munchlax practices better dietary habits." Bede, while he
cares for his friends, shows it through

Experience made the Pokecrew into sullied beings. Twisted thoughts and broken
dreams line their psyches, altering the direction of their motivations. Not that
they'd ever purposefully show their true personalities to each other, of course.
Would you fully disrobe in the company of your peers? Well, perhaps so, but none of
the rivals are you now, are they?