Reiner catches that slight frown, his eyes darting briefly to the vending machine before returning to Clavell's face. Is there something wrong with the machine? His little Turtwig didn't seem bothered when Reiner retrieved it from its ball—at least, as far as Reiner could tell. But maybe Pokémon usually aren't … well, dispensed.

Now that Reiner thinks about it, that is pretty fucked up. Or it would be if the Pokémon weren't in little balls. How do the balls even work? Are they comfortable? Safe?

Even as those thoughts flit through Reiner's mind, he keeps listening to Clavell, eyebrows rising at the mention of a stable. Damn, Pokémon can get that big? It's hard to imagine. He glances down at his Turtwig, wondering how big it'll grow. (Because, of course, he's going to keep it. It's his new little friend, and Reiner will spoil it rotten.)

"What sorts of reasons?" Reiner asks, his tone carrying a trace of concern rather than simple inquiry.