A murky gray sky spreads over the Park, shrouding the Park in an almost depressing dimness. The scent of rain weighs heavy in the air, as if the sky is about to drop in a downpour at any moment. Babbs hopes that the unstableness of the Ruins doesn't plop them straight into a rainstorm, but she's prepared for it nonetheless--impossibly huge pack carries all manner of plastic ponchos, ready for distribution, as well as a towel or two.

Babbs knows, though, that no matter how prepared she is, the Park always has something up its sleeve that she won't be prepared for. Such was just the nature of things around here. The Galarian Pokemon had been on the island for a long, long time--they'd migrated here in minute numbers a long time ago, with a bit more trickling in every year. This year's biannual population census had finally revealed the Galarian Pokemon to be in populous enough numbers to allow Trainers to encounter and capture; until now, they'd been instructed to steer them clear, not wanting to threaten the sensitive populations.

The old Ranger grumbles and scratches at snow-white hair as she approaches the gate, reaching for the rolled-up sheet of paper in the waterproof box attached to its post. Watery blue eyes scrape over it as she unfurls it, and slightly-sour expression perks slowly into a bit of a smile as she reads it.

"Algar, ehh?" she muses underneath her breath, stifling a bit of a chuckle. If there's one thing she was good at, it was giving that boy shit every time he came through here. She bundles up the piece of paper and returns it to the box, casting her gaze out toward the direction of the docks. Hopefully, the boy won't be late--she's not looking forward to getting rained on.

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