Wapun Meadow i saw a bulbasuar but it might have been lettuce

Alexander had grown accustomed to ridding his sight of strangers with a simple glare and a few coarse words. Yet, the woman did not falter under his gaze, much to his displeasure. Rather, she spoke in some foreign tongue—is this how others feel when he speaks the northern language?—and then introduced herself. The wriggling of her form and the smile that adorned her marred face broght a scowl to his, lips curling back with disgust. What did she hope to gain from exchanging names, and why did she not leave immediately after seeing him? Why did people so often seek to bother him?

More words, only her voice shifted to create questions. His scowl deepened and body stiffened. “The best,” was his reply, tone sharp. His eyes drifted up and down her body, assessing, before he said: “But I doubt it’s hard to be better than you.” He ignored her question regarding his name entirely, deciding it wasn’t important. Whether she knew who he was or not didn’t matter, not when he had no intentions of ever seeing her again.