After the intensity at the dart booth, the next obvious step was to go to the dunking booth, to get out the rest of the aggression that had built up in Leon's system. He was a little disappointed in himself, but when he competed he always got way too keyed up. It was a bad habit. Beryl seemed to be delighting in watching him get more intense with each game too, which was kind of annoying. She was usually the voice of reason, but even she liked chaos now and then. It just seemed to be in the nature of most Pokemon he took a shine to. He grabbed fifteen balls from the person running the booth, and divided them out once more, keeping the extra ball for himself. He was going to need it. "Good luck," he said, and Beryl only laughed. < The one who's going to need good luck is the poor soul stuck with you trying to dunk them. >

Speaking of, Leon locked eyes with the poor sap for a moment before trailing his thumb in a threatening manner across his neck as if to illustrate what was about to happen to them. He hoped they liked getting wet. Without further ado, both parties began to let the softballs fly.