Chapter Text
No, Irida did not know what a train was before today. And no, she does not like trains.
That latter part seems to make Mr. Ingo quite sad. He declines her apology, however, on the grounds that her feelings about trains, from this one ride, are quite understandable.
“The subway system here in Unova is a piece of work, to put it lightly. I would’ve said you were unlucky that this was your first experience with a train, which must quite sour your impression of them… except, almost all the trains in the subway are like this now, so it makes no difference.”
Noisy, stuffy, full of people and even a little smelly, that is. She does not miss the experience at all, jostling with so many other people crammed together in a shaking metal box.
“Why do you like them so much, then?”
“Because of what they could be,” is his wistful reply, seemingly staring out into space. “Trains, at their core, are marvelous inventions. They travel great distances quickly, helping to bring many people and Pokémon, as well as a massive amount of supplies, between points at once. There are many different models of trains, using different energy sources and with different modifications suited for the context they were built for. Seeing how each rolling stock is adapted to best serve the areas they were constructed for is always enthralling…”
He trails off, meeting her eyes again, and flushes slightly in embarrassment. “My apologies. I always end up rambling whenever I talk about trains – I just feel quite strongly about them. My point is, trains can be beautiful. They’re supposed to be quite reliable and convenient, which perhaps isn’t obvious from the journey we just had.”
“It wasn’t convenient,” Irida grumbles, “we had to queue to buy some paper, and show the paper to…the metal pole thing (“The turnstile,”), and then wait ‘cause the train was really late, and then…”
“To be sure, it’s still faster than the alternative of walking. To walk from Lacunosa, where we were, to Route 9, where we are now, would take almost an entire day. Here, it took minutes. But it certainly wasn’t pleasant.” Ingo remarks, and sighs. There’s an intensity in his eyes, like a bonfire, as he turns back to her.
“One day, I will restore the subway to its rightful glory. The trains will be well-maintained, and actually arrive on schedule. The Unova Subway will be a laughingstock no more,” he vows. “That is my dream. I hope, one day, I can give you a subway you will enjoy travelling on.”
“Can you really do that?” She wonders.
“If everything goes in my favour for the next few months, I will have the opportunity at least. But before that – our current destination is simply to buy whatever we need over the next few weeks. And to that end…” Past the turnstiles, up a long flight of stairs, and into the sunlight again; before them is now an enormous, colourful building with giant signs she still can’t read.
“We have arrived at our station. This place is called Shopping Mall Nine. It’s the largest mall in Unova, so we should be able to find what we need here. Food, clothes, toys…there’s much to see and much to pick up. Stay close to me so you won’t get lost, okay?”
“Okay.” Irida nods, and they walk through the huge doorway into the building.
***
The mall is…disorienting, is her first thought, as they step into the structure. While the hospital had been a series of rooms – some of which were large, but still reasonable – here, this roof covers a gigantic open space. Under the roof are so many levels, three in total, she counts, with tall stairs – some of them even moving – connecting them. And on each level are people, some behind tables laden with various objects.
Everywhere she turns, she sees something different; something new. Dolls with tanned skin and shiny hair; flashing, brightly coloured small versions of the vehicles outside called ‘cars’; even multicoloured huge balls that fall slowly. It’s a whole flurry of colours and sounds, all so unfamiliar to her. A call of “Irida!” brings her back to attention, and she sheepishly apologises to her guardian for getting distracted.
“It’s fine. I did say there was a lot to see here. We’ll get the toys as our last stop, alright? Let’s start from the top and buy food first, then clothes, then toys on this floor.” Mr. Ingo suggests. With that, they step onto one of the moving staircases – an escalator, he calls it – leading all the way up, the people on the ground floor shrinking as they ascend slowly, as Irida looks curiously through the glass walls on the side of the stairs.
The food on the top floor is packed in all sorts of strange containers, from transparent bags made of ‘plastic’ to colourful paper boxes and bottles wrapped in paper. The juices here are stored in paper boxes (called cartons) instead of ceramic vessels, for example, with pictures of the berries drawn on them. Between boxes of Sitrus, Pecha, Pinap and Mago juice, she picks Pecha, and Mr. Ingo picks out a carton of Pinap. “It’s refreshing in hot weather such as this. My brother, Emmet – you’ll meet him later – enjoys drinking it, so I’m buying it for him.”
And next is something called ‘cereal’, which appears to be made from dried grains. There are also a few flavours to pick from, including one called ‘chocolate’ – which looks suspiciously like coffee, and, according to Mr. Ingo, is also a bit bitter like coffee, but also mostly sweet. He isn’t very sure how chocolate works; in fact, most people here don’t really seem to bother knowing where their food comes from, which, she thinks, is very dangerous. Regardless, she picks a cereal mixed with berries instead. At least berries are definitely safe.
Surprisingly, of all the foods here, she doesn’t see any vegetables or meat; apparently, there’s a completely different building for these foods, called a ‘grocery store’. They do pick up a small bag of rice, however, on her request, as well as some Pokémon treats for Mata and Sneasel. Ingo also buys a box containing a set of small containers (he calls them X-Items, and they boost a Pokémon’s power briefly; they are used for Pokémon battles) before paying the people at the counter, and proceeding to the next floor.
This next floor is for clothes (and a few other items for trainers, mostly Pokéballs, which she and Mata don’t need). Besides the sheer amount of different styles of clothes to pick from – all of which are made with strange fabric, textures odd and unfamiliar to her – there isn’t any issue buying the clothes she will wear here, for summer and autumn at least. The store doesn’t sell any winter clothes yet, but she does have her tunic and pants for that; and besides, as Mr. Ingo says, she’s going to grow up quite quickly and outgrow her current clothes, so it isn’t wise to buy all her clothes at once.
Though, looking at all the dresses, Irida does have a question.
“These are clothes for kids, right? Like me?”
“Correct. Only someone your size could fit in them. What is the issue?”
She points at the collar of one of them, lined with small pearls; then the skirt of another, also with pearls stitched into the cloth. “That’s a lot of pearls. I thought only adults were allowed to wear so many pearls?” Not to mention, it’s… really a lot of pearls. The equivalent of perhaps two especially good hauls, all used on one dress? And there were many of these dresses, which meant even more pearls…
“Is that a tradition back home?” Mr. Ingo asks her, and she tilts her head, and thinks. She… still can’t remember. But she does know this quite well, the same way she knows that intruding on people’s space is really, really offensive; it’s just something that is.
“I don’t remember. But I know it’s a rule.” she replies, and he nods thoughtfully.
“I see. We don’t have that tradition here, and the pearls we use are fake – just plastic painted to look like pearls. However, I understand if it makes you uncomfortable. We can buy other dresses –”
“Nope.” It is risky and wrong to break a rule. But, deep down, she knows she had always wanted to be like the grown-ups; to walk among them and also wear the pearls, because it meant she was respectable and mature, and ready to be trusted with responsibility –
“Can I buy these dresses, please? I want to be a grown-up. I know it’s fake, but I still want to feel like one. I… I guess no one from back where I came from is going to scold me for it now. Please?”
A strange expression flashes across Ingo’s face for a moment; it’s hard to tell what, however, as it is with his face and emotions. Nevertheless, he agrees. “Alright. They are rather pretty dresses. I think they will suit you well.”
With the clothes bought – not just dresses, but shirts, jackets, pants, skirts, even a new pair of shoes, curiously open at the top – they finally return to the ground floor, with all the toys; and now she can actually look closely at them. Ingo chuckles as she darts over to a shelf of stuffed toys shaped like various Pokémon. She stops, a little embarrassed at how impulsively she acted; but, he quickly explains, “it’s alright. I had just forgotten what it was like to be a child, to be excited about all this. Seeing you so happy makes me happy, too – just go on and look at whatever you like.”
The stuffed toys are cute and squishy, though they’re mostly Pokémon she doesn’t know, with three exceptions, one being Eevee – but, she has Mata; she doesn’t need a fake Eevee when she has a real, much cuter, cuddlier and alive one. Who actually growls at the display of stuffed Eevees after realising they aren’t real and won’t play with her, in fact. They pick up three different stuffed toys instead; the other two she recognises – an Oshawott and a Rufflet – as well as a Zorua, or at least what people here recognise as one. She’s pretty sure Zorua are supposed to be grey and white, not black, though the shape is roughly the same. Mr. Ingo says it might be a ‘regional variant’, just like how the Sneasels most people know here are blue-black with red feathers, not purple, and don’t have venom.
More toys join the stuffed Pokémon in the basket, such as a few puzzles and building blocks. Ingo suggests buying a train set as well, which she immediately rejects. Buying a toy train isn’t going to make her like the stinky metal boxes more.
Past all the tall shelves and giant crates of toys, is the section for books, most of them bound in plastic, none of them readable. They pass by displays of complicated-looking books, some with people’s faces on them, completely uninteresting to her. Ingo picks up one with a half-coloured picture on its cover, frown deepening as he seems to ponder the book for a while; apparently undecided, he puts the book down, before abruptly rushing off – and coming back with another person, who beams down at her and attempts to pat her head, before launching into conversation with him.
To Mr. Ingo, it’s probably a very interesting conversation, as he even puts his basket down to talk to the person, gesturing as he picks up the book again. To Irida, who does not understand a single word, it’s just noise; standing around as the two adults talk, she can’t help but feel bored. She stifles a yawn, Mata already nodding off at her feet, and she’s tempted to do the same.
That is, until she hears something strange. Soft music – like the chiming of bells, but gentler, a sweet melody. Curious, she looks around, but no one around them seems to be playing any instruments that she can see.
The beautiful music seems to be coming from behind her, where they had just passed. Much more interesting than the conversation still going on.
She looks up at the two adults still engrossed in their talk. They’ll probably be at it for ages. It’s just a quick look. She’ll just go and come back so quickly, it’ll be like she never left Mr. Ingo’s side. Just a peek…
She picks up Mata, and heads in the direction of the music, quietly but quickly, stealthy like a hunter.
***
Irida’s here. This display, covered in soft fuzzy cloth, is the source of the beautiful music, as walking around it has proved.
But it’s just stacks of small boxes. Pretty wooden boxes, some lacquered, carved with various words and designs – special boxes, to be sure. But they don’t look much like instruments to her. As if on cue, the music seems to fade away, growing softer and softer and slowing down, until there is only the buzz of unintelligible talk all around them.
She picks up one of the boxes. There’s a metal bar sticking out of its side; she pokes it, and it budges slightly – and, a few notes slip out of the box. Amazed, she pushes the bar a bit more; a few more notes play. It seems pushing the bar – it moves in a circle – makes the box produce music. She winds the bar one entire round, and the song flows, soft chimes overlapping and blending into a soothing melody, before finally fading away again.
Excitedly, she picks up another box, and winds the metal bar, a few more rounds this time. It’s a different song, a bit faster and happier. Running her thumb along the edge of the box, she finds out the lid can in fact be opened; though, looking into the box only shows her some complex-looking metal implements. It isn’t nearly as pretty on the inside as the outside.
She stays there, entranced by the music, letting one song flow into another as she winds up different boxes. Some of the songs fit together better than others. She likes the songs from the circular ones the best, though maybe it’s also because the circular boxes are the nicest. Much nicer than the pentagonal ones, for sure.
As the final notes fade away, she decides, it’s time to go back. She doesn’t really know how long she spent playing with the music boxes, but it’s definitely longer than she had estimated. Her guardian might have noticed she was gone. She lightly pats Mata awake, and looks back at where she came from, tiptoeing slightly –
Only to shriek in horror. For Mr. Ingo’s gone, and so is the person he was talking to. She can’t see them anywhere. Even as she looks all around her, frantically, Mata sniffing the air in an effort to find them. She had been warned about getting lost here, and now she really is lost, because she didn’t follow Mr. Ingo’s instructions. She doesn’t even know how to get out of this building!
She can already feel tears prickling at the edges of her eyes, tears she tries to hold back. She is not going to cry three times in one day. Even though she’s really scared, because she’d just found a place with Mr. Ingo and now he’s gone so she can’t stay with him anymore –
Something light hits her on the back of her head; it doesn’t hurt, but it does break her out of her spiral. She turns around, frustrated, ready to scream – and finds herself staring at another girl around her age, dark-skinned with dark purple hair, holding one of the colourful balls, looking extremely embarrassed.
The other girl says something in the language she still can’t understand; but judging from the small bow she gives, and her expression and tone, it’s probably a genuine apology.
“It’s alright,” Irida replies, her anger vanishing as quickly as it had come. Though, she doubts that the other girl can understand her either, and judging from the confused look on her face, she’s right.
Mata gives a small huff, and the other girl glances down, apparently just now noticing her – and squeals, kneeling down to get a bit closer, visibly trying to play with her. She taps her shoulder, saying something, and immediately a small green Pokémon emerges from her fluffy hair, bounding over to Mata; the two Pokémon chatter excitedly, very clearly having become fast friends.
Finally, the other girl looks up again, sheepishly, and points to herself, saying, “Iris.”
It’s an introduction. She decides to mimic her, replying, “Irida.”
Iris beams, and holds up the ball. No words are needed, this time, to know what she is asking. And so, Irida nods, a little uncertain, and dives to catch the ball as the other girl throws it.
***
Back and forth. Iris and Irida. Mata and Iris’ partner, Ava (an Axew, Iris tells her, with a lot of trial-and-error in explaining whether Axew was the name or the species). They toss the ball around, kicking it, bumping it with their heads, all with the purpose of not letting the ball touch the ground, laughing in joy as they dart through the open space, ignoring all the adults around them.
When they’re finally tired of playing with the ball, panting lightly as they catch their breath, Iris drags her over to a block puzzle in pieces spread out across a table. A completed puzzle, resembling a Pikachu, stands on another table. It’s not terribly difficult; quickly, they complete the puzzle, and are congratulated (probably) by the people standing around in uniforms, who give the two of them some candy.
And after that – there always seems to be yet more to play, as Iris leads the way around the floor, finally stopping in front of a machine with flashing lights, playing a cheery song. She jumps onto one of the glowing circles on the floor in front of the machine, which lights up. And the next, and the next; it seems the point of this game is to step on all the glowing circles, which light up quicker and quicker as the song goes on. Irida follows her, easily matching the rhythm of the song as she hops between circles. They’re apparently both much better at this than the other kids playing at the machine besides theirs.
And when they’re done easily beating the other kids at this strange game, Iris takes her hand again, eyes sparkling with excitement, as they rush off to yet another part of the mall. Her enthusiasm is infectious; Irida thinks she already feels much better now, playing with Iris. She almost isn’t sad about getting lost anymore. Almost. She still really misses Mr. Ingo.
***
“...So, My First Pokédex is probably still the best option, if you ask me. Like, between “Spear Pillar was probably built by aliens” and five paragraphs on how Emolga produces electricity, I’d still go with the one that actually tells the truth, y’know.”
“Indeed. Especially considering Irida might actually be from Sinnoh, reading something such as that might render the whole book worthless to her. Not that it wasn’t already so, that is.” Ingo remarks. “Really, Furze, I must thank you for taking the time to read through children’s books with me, of all things. Won’t you get in trouble with your manager for this, though?”
“Not if you don’t snitch,” Furze – a friend of his from the Anville Axlebox railfan association, a railway staff hopeful and retail worker in reality, replies cheerfully, “and I am technically doing my job and helping customers, what’re you talking about? It’s just that I’m having way more fun than usual this time.”
“Ah, but the point of working in retail is to not have any fun whatsoever, is it not?”
“Yeah, good point. Eh, it’s not like my manager can stop my mates from showing up at my workplace to buy shit. You wouldn’t stop a guy from giving you money if he talked to your minions as part of their job, would you?”
He laughs. “Well, when you put it like that… but, genuinely, thank you. My kid’s going to be using this book quite frequently, both to familiarise herself with the Pokémon here and to learn Galarian, so choosing the right book for her is quite important, to make sure she goes down the right tracks. Irida, do you like - ”
He pauses, staring at the empty space beside him. Irida isn’t with them anymore.
“Irida?” No answer. He looks around – back at where they had been, before Furze had led him over to this aisle of unwrapped books, because perhaps Irida hadn’t followed them – he still can’t see her. She’s vanished, while they were looking through books, so focused on the task they’d forgotten to check back on her –
His heart races. No. This can’t be happening. He’s – he’s messed up. He promised he would take good care of Irida, and now he’s lost her, on their very first outing, he’s failed her –
“Ingo? Ingo!” He thinks he hears Furze call him frantically, before feeling a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll find your kid. Just breathe. Can you give me one deep breath?”
He barely manages to exhale shakily, a million thoughts – of all the possible, horrible things that could be happening to Irida right now, because he wasn’t mindful enough – barreling through his head at notch eight. “Furze, I lost my child.”
“Yes, and we’ll find her. Kids get lost in department stores all the time, but they always return to their parents safe and sound.” They reassure him calmly – too calmly; the roiling feeling in his gut, a mixture of emotions he can’t care to quash right now, rises, and bursts.
“Furze, I lost my child! I promised her that I would take care of her, and now? I couldn’t even manage to look after her on a simple trip! Who even loses their kid the very first time they bring them out? What if she’s in danger? What if she’s hurt, because I – I wasn’t a good guardian, because I didn’t take good care of her –” Ingo shouts, almost a snarl. He can already feel the sting at the edges of his eyes, the tremble in his voice, the smoke from the burning guilt deep down.
He looks back at Furze through blurry eyes, and their worried expression, as he blinks. Immediately, shame joins the mix of emotions; the only person he should be angry at is himself, for his own mistake. “My apologies. I’ve just… I failed. I have a kid, and I’m terrible at looking after her.” He says, softer, and his friend shakes their head.
“Okay. First of all, you aren’t a terrible parent just because you lost your kid in the department store. Hell, every parent loses their kid in the department store at least once. It’s like a rite of passage. You and Emmet got lost in the department store, like, five separate times. Does that make your parents bad at their job?” They ask.
“...No, but I regret telling you that fact now.”
“Exactly. And second of all, let’s problem solve. Finding a kid in a department store is easy. We just have to make an announcement, and –”
“Irida only knows Hisuian,” Ingo reminds them.
“Well, you also know Hisuian, so you can make the announcement.”
“Irida also doesn’t know what an information counter is. And can’t read Galarian, either.”
“Oookay. Yeah. That’s a bit harder.” They pause, before continuing, unperturbed. “Well, if she’s still in the mall, it shouldn’t be too hard to find her. Three floors isn’t that much ground to cover.”
“If she’s in the mall. What if she isn’t? There’s a lot of people outside who could hurt her…”
“Then we call the rangers, or someone else who would be likely to see a child and help her. There’s always a solution to stuff like this, Ingo, relax. Freaking out isn’t going to help you find Irida faster.” Furze urges him. “I’ll help you search for her. Two pairs of eyes will probably make finding her easier.”
He sags slightly. “Alright. That is much appreciated. Thank you.”
***
They eventually find Irida, after much searching, on a bench near the entrance to the mall, looking a little worn out, but visibly happy, Mata sleeping on her lap. Beside her is another young girl holding an Axew and kicking her feet, with a similar smile on her face.
“Irida!” Ingo calls, his voice cracking slightly with emotion, and the girl in question jolts; scooping her Eevee up, she bounds over to him, into his arms. He can’t help engulfing her in a big hug, so relieved he is to see her safe and well; and, after putting her Pokémon down, she returns the embrace tightly.
“I’ve never seen you so ready to hug someone before,” Furze remarks, catching up to them.
“She’s under my care, of course I’m willing to hug her,” he replies, as his ward finally releases him, and their eyes meet. “Irida, where were you? What happened?”
She looks down, visibly guilty, and admits, “I got distracted by some boxes that could make music and ran off. I thought I could return before you noticed. I’m really sorry!”
“Boxes that could make music, hm? I suppose I understand.” Music boxes are quite fascinating indeed; back then, he’d enjoyed watching the inner workings of the box, turning the crank and watching all the parts move to make music. “But please don’t run off like this again! There are many bad people around who could take you away and hurt you. What would happen if you were to get caught by them? That’s why you ought to stay close to me for now – so I can protect you and make sure we both don’t get lost! Understood?” He chastises her.
She nods. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Ingo. I won’t do it again.”
He isn’t entirely convinced – but only because children will be children, and he had been a child once, curious and frequent to make mistakes such as these. He can’t stay angry at her for long. “I’m just glad you’re safe. Please don’t worry me like this again. Anyway, I see you’ve made a new friend?”
She smiles shyly, and gestures to the other girl. “I think so! This is Iris. I think that’s her name. And her Pokémon’s name is Ava, and she’s an Axew. We don’t really know how to talk to each other, though, so we just played. A lot.”
“I see. That’s wonderful, Irida. Bravo!” Already, she’s starting to build connections with the people here, which warms his heart. Turning to Iris, he bows slightly, and says, “Thank you for keeping Irida company, young miss. I can see you two are getting along quite well.”
She blushes a little, and laughs. “It’s alright, Mister! I just really wanted someone to play with, because Grandpa is taking ages to buy stuff and I’m bored, and I happened to meet Irida, so now we’re friends!”
“That’s quite wonderful, that you can understand each other even without speaking the same language.”
“Yeah! Between people and Pokémon, we don’t need words to have fun together when we all have the same goal in mind!” She grins. “Anyway, Mister, what’s your name? I’m Iris, and this is Ava! I’m gonna be a Pokémon trainer when I’m old enough!”
“I am a Pokémon Trainer, Ingo – Irida’s guardian.” He introduces himself. “She’s new to Unova, so I’m bringing her around. You’re the first friend she’s made here.”
“Oh, same! Grandpa brought me to Unova last year, but there aren’t many other kids around here! I only see my cousin during the holidays, and I don’t think he likes a lot of the games I play, because he hates running around. So I don’t have anyone to play with besides Ava. Where do you stay? Can I come over and play with Irida? Please? Pretty please?” Iris asks hopefully, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet, looking up at him.
“Well –” He can’t help but be taken aback, unsure of how to respond to this enthusiasm. He thinks he can hear Furze’s laughter behind him. Traitor. “– I think that’s something you will have to ask your grandfather. We stay in Nimbasa City, which is quite far from here, so it may not be convenient.”
“It’s okay! I can run really, really far without getting tired! Even Grandpa can’t catch up to me sometimes, and he’s super duper strong!” She replies cheerfully. A pause, and her eyes widen, at something behind him. “Oh, looks like Grandpa’s finally here. I’m gonna ask him! Grandpa!”
Ingo turns around, and he’s face to face with a man he never wanted to meet again.
“Grandpa! I just made a new friend, her name’s Irida and she’s also from overseas and she’s really, really fun to play with and she loves her Pokémon very much! She and her guardian stay in Nimbasa City so can I go over there to play with her, please…”
Drayden puts up his hand, and says, gently – as in his painful memories of a childhood now marred – “Iris, I’m glad you’ve made a friend. Let me talk to her guardian first, okay?”
The old man turns back to him, harsh golden eyes meeting silver. Even now, as an adult, he still towers over Ingo, looking down at him. It’s the same tracks that they have travelled many times, one that still makes him want to tremble, as if he were a small child again.
“Ingo. It’s been a long time.”
“Good day, Gym Leader Drayden. I was hoping it’d be longer.”
A look of something – could it be sadness? – flits across the old man’s face, before returning to his stern countenance. “How have you been, nephew? I hear you’ve been selected to head a Battle Facility. Congratulations. I knew your determination and your bond with your Pokémon would bring you far in life.”
“I’ve been well, thank you. And it’s not just myself – Emmet and I will both be in charge of the facility together, which I’m certain quite pleases you now. Us twins, working together as one unit, not fighting for the position – isn’t that what you wanted to see, Uncle?”
His uncle appears rather discomforted at his statement, which brings him a vindictive, savage pleasure of some sort; taking all those years that forcefully carved his entire identity, and sharpening it into a blade to hurt with. “Well – yes, I’m happy for you both. Since you’ll be working with the League Association, I suppose that means we’ll be seeing each other around more often.”
“Unfortunately.” He says, and Drayden sighs.
“Ingo, nephew… I know I made many mistakes with you and your brother, and even your mother back then. I’ve had much time to think things through since then, and I’ve learnt from these mistakes. I am truly sorry.” He says, voice heavy. “I understand you’re angry with me – as you should be – but, I hope we can start afresh on civil terms, now that we’ve both grown and changed as people. I don’t want us to keep fighting like this.”
It’s an apology, which is already more than what Ingo was expecting from the proud old man. But an apology can’t wash away the scars of his formative years. “...Mom still doesn’t forgive you, you know. And neither do I.”
“I am rather aware. I’m not trying to ask for forgiveness. All I ask now is that we can reconcile. If not for me, then for the newest members of our family.” For a moment, he glances down at Iris – and at Irida, both of whom are looking up at them, confused; the message is clear.
“Don’t bring the children into this matter,” Ingo retorts, “though, I suppose using children to serve your own ideals is not a new station to you.”
“This is not the same situation as before, Ingo, stop making false equivalences,” Drayden scolds him, authoritatively, as if he were disciplining a child – one who no longer is. “What I mean to say is, we are family. That is an inescapable truth. You were born my nephew, and deep down I still care for you. The children we are each looking after now are friends – they could be family. I would accept your girl with open arms.”
“And what if I don’t want you to?”
“Look, I only urge you to consider it at least.” He places a callused hand on Ingo’s shoulder, and the latter can’t help but flinch. “Have you heard of the saying, ‘it takes a village to raise a child’? I’m happy to help you take care of Irida. Frankly speaking, you are just one young man, still inexperienced with taking care of yourself even. Having more people around that you can rely on makes the journey much easier, for both you and her. Especially people who have raised multiple other children before –”
“I don’t need you of all people to teach me how to be a good parent!” Ingo snaps, wrenching his uncle’s hand away. “Mom relied on you, and the rest of your siblings, and look how Em and I turned out after that. I have other friends of my own that I trust more. I don’t need you hurting the people I care about!”
A small gasp rises from beside them; looking down, he realises that the two girls are staring at them, terrified, clinging to each other. He had raised his voice, as he shouted and railed against his uncle, and, to two innocent kids who had no context as to what had happened, who only knew their guardians were unhappy with each other – it must’ve been frightening.
He looks at the two of them, sticking together, clutching onto each other as their pillar, in their fear. They’re already friends. They share a bond, and – he can’t bear to break it. Not over his personal grievances. It would be unfair to them.
He feels his fury simmer down, only embers remaining, burning only for his hatred for the man before him. “Our wards are friends. It is for that reason alone that I suppose I can tolerate working with you. I’m doing this for them, not you. I have no wish to hurt two children to force them to follow my whims, unlike certain people I can name. So – fine. I suppose you’ve convinced me, for this once, Uncle.”
Drayden nods. “I see you’ve seen the reason behind my suggestion. Thank you. And I hope that with time, I can prove to you that you no longer have to resent me.”
“We’ll see about that.”
His uncle hums in acknowledgement. “My address is still the same, as is the landline. You and Irida can come over on the weekends, as Iris has tuition on other days. And I’m happy to bring Iris to Nimbasa as well, provided I can trust whoever else you two will be with – is Emmet –?”
“Yes. And Elesa, too, if you might know her.”
“Haley’s chosen successor? Certainly. And I assume that old rival of yours – Miles’ granddaughter – might also decide to join in, seeing as both you and Elesa are there. All of whom I suppose I can entrust with Iris’ safety. You’ll just have to tell us when and where you’d like to meet.”
“Very well.” Ingo gives a sharp nod. “...And, it pains me to say this, but… thank you, Uncle. I hope things can go smoothly with Iris and Irida.”
“So do I, nephew, so do I. I just want the best for our family, always have, always will.” Drayden replies softly. “All the best with your Battle Facility. Now, we must be off – come, Iris. Let’s go home.”
“Grandpa? Mr. Ingo? …Will me and Irida see each other again?” Iris asks, as she reaches to take the elder man’s hand.
“Yes, you will. Ingo and I will make sure of it.” Drayden takes her tiny hand in his. “See you soon, Ingo. And you as well, Irida.”
“Bye, Irida, Mr. Ingo! Let’s play again soon!” Iris cheers, waving as the two of them head out of the mall.
“Farewell, you both. Eight and sand. Irida, Iris and her grandfather are leaving. Let’s wave goodbye to them.” Which his kid does, waving her hand frantically as they head off into the light, before turning to him.
“What happened, Mr. Ingo? You looked really, really angry at Irida’s grandpa. Did he hurt you?” Irida asks, concern written all over her face, eyes wide.
“Yes, a very long time ago. It’s a complicated story. But don’t worry – I will not let this old grudge get in the way of anything else. You and Iris can still meet each other, which is what we were discussing, in fact. Sorry for scaring you just now.”
“But – if her grandpa is bad, and you don’t like him, does that mean you don’t like it when we play together?”
“...It’s alright,” he says, considering how he might explain this whole snarled situation to an innocent child. “For one, he isn’t necessarily a bad person. He hurt people, yes, but I want to believe at least some part of it was out of love, because people can be strange like that. He was also kind sometimes, after all. And even if he was a really bad person – people aren’t always the same as their parents. Or grandparents, for that matter. So I believe Iris isn’t a bad person at all, and I’m happy to see you two get along.”
“Oh.” Irida tilts her head. “So I can play with Iris and Ava again?”
“Of course.” He picks up the shopping basket again. “At any rate, we seem to have been derailed – but now, we can get back on track. Here, my friend Furze and I picked out a book to help you learn Galarian, as well as about the Pokémon here.”
Said friend is standing awkwardly off to the side, sheepish. “Sorry I couldn’t do more to help, Ingo. If he wasn’t the mayor and Gym Leader of the closest city, I’d probably have fistfought him – well, shooed him out of the store, at least, but…”
“It’s alright. No offence, but even if he wasn’t mayor, I’m pretty sure a physical conflict with him would end rather poorly for you. It would be most prudent not to get fired from your job, or worse, end up in the hospital with hefty bills to pay.” He reassures them, before looking back at his young ward.
Irida stares at the cover of the book for a short while, before looking up at them. “I don’t understand anything.”
“Yet. We’ll just have to read this book together a bit more, and soon you’ll be able to talk to Iris in the language here.” He extends a hand to Irida, which she takes. “Now, you mentioned liking the music boxes. Would you like to pick one out to buy?”
“Yes!” She beams up at him. “I’ve already picked. My favourite is the circular one.”
“That certain, hm? Well, let us be off, then. We’ll get the music box, and then pay for our things, and after that we’ll be off. It’s nearing lunchtime, so we ought to be quick.” He turns back to Furze. “You’re more familiar with this mall than me. To expedite the process, could you conduct us to the music box display? Hopefully it’s enough of a reason to justify you sticking with us as doing your job, and not getting fired.”
His friend shoots him a thumbs-up, and their little group is off, a storm left behind them.