Chapter Text
Everything is different now.
When he started, the adrenaline that spurred him forward, pushed him out of the orphanage window towards a picture of open air, whirling nights, and a place that just wasn’t draped in tones of gray, was painted clearly in his mind. Every line of the vision was defined, clear.
And now, the young boy just wasn’t so sure.
Walking with the tepig girl, things were loud. So loud, in color, and noise. Her presence was everywhere, and now it’s quiet. The world is muted, sounded to the background of looming figures and passing shadows of circus lamplights.
At his side, the espurr tugs at his hand, calling Bede’s attention to its presence. Its unblinking lavender eyes are full of curiosity as it tilts its head to one side.
He smiles just a little bit. “I’m fine, really.”
The pokemon rubs its head against his side before it pulls him forward. Bede stumbles at the sudden rapid pace the espurr leads him forward. But he leans into it, leans into the pokemon’s judgment of where he’d fit best because as long as it's away it’s better than any place he’d already been.
The destination is dark before it’s light. Through a small tear in the canvas tent line, the pokemon pulls him into the darkness waiting. In the darkness, he can make out the sloping tiered seats, the hundreds of heads of a waiting crowd, and the hush whispers of a growing excitement waiting for something on the center stage.
A gold spotlight hits the center stage in a brilliant glow and the lone figure crouched there above a pool of crystal clear water. From an unknown corner, music softly fills the air in a slow unraveling and the figure comes alive.
Beside him, the espurr tugs him towards a waiting indeedee. The pokemon bows to the pair before leading them to an empty seat. He sits
But Bede doesn’t notice any of it, his eyes glued to the performance in the middle of the ring. Small lights fall in minute spiral descents to the ground, and the lone figure dances across the water’s edge. The moves are lithe, graceful and succinct. The performer moves, creates ripples across the water and arches towards the sky and the lunatone and solrock in the light dappled sky above.
The real performance begins. Descending slowly towards the lone figure is another, the true star comes. Perched on the edge of a rounded hoop, she sits, her arm poised towards the ground. Around her a lunatone and solrock orbit, waltzing to the swell of a distant cello and flute.
When she reaches her partner performer, the two begin a dance, her feet flitting across the waterscape as her partner gives chase around the ring. She twirls and dances with the silver ring, just out of reach of her partner’s grasp. Her coy smile, the way she calls and beckons to the other performer is a special form of magic.
Even without the wings, she tells the story of a fairy flirting with a human, drawn to him as he is to her. The silver ring she performs with is a mirror she toys with, and with a tug, just as her partner is about to reach her, touch her, she’s in the air, flying. Bending and twisting through the loop she is the shooting star across the tent nightscape.
The performance ends with a flash of light, the twisting and turning of the ring and person so fast the performer is a blend of lilac and silver hues until suddenly she’s gone, and the partner and audience she leaves behind is awestruck.
When the gold spotlight closes, they are left in darkness once more, the world muted into silence, defined into what the world was before the performance and what it became after. And Bede knows.
While the spectators around him rise to leave, Bede stays for the next performance, and the one after that. The crowd ebbs and flows around him until a voice announces the closing of the bigtop.
It is the end of the night.
When he steps out of the tent, the night’s festivities have completely ended, with only sparse groups of people walking through towards the exit.
Turning his head from side to side, Bede surveys the area, looking for a place to stow away as the circus packs for its next destination. At his side, the little espurr yawns, rubbing its eyes before walking away.
“Am I supposed to follow you?” He calls after it. The pokemon had been a guide all night, leading him, walking by his side, taking him where he needed to be. But never once had it just completely let him go.
Almost as if reading his mind, the pokemon calls out to him once, turning to walk through the light layer of snow.
When it stops, they’re at the edge of the cufant and copperajah fence. Ducking through the metal bars, Bede follows the espurr to the other side of the temporary enclosure. The larger pokemon eye them warily, but pull at the cornsilk-colored straw hill cradled in a large bin in the corner for their cufants’ meal, while the young cufants stomp closer to their newest arrivals. One pulls at Bede’s worn coat and he stumbles.
“Hey, watch it.” He snaps.
The mother pulls back her child away from their guests, and the pokemon is soon onto the next adventure under their mother’s watchful eye.
Bede shakes his head, turns away for the small families to climb into the straw bin after the espurr. The stalks bend and snap under his weight as he settles in beside the pokemon, pulling the gold material over him for cover and warmth. The hiding place isn’t ideal but it’s warm and out of the way; no one would find him until it was too late, when they could no longer return him to the orphanage.
A copperajah emphasizes his point as it leans against his bin, providing even more much needed warmth to the young boy hiding. Bede silently thanks the pokemon and curls his legs into his chest, allowing his jacket to offer greater coverage from the elements. A small struggling yawn escapes his lips.
Beside him, the espurr snores and turns to curl deeper into the straw. The sight of the sleeping pokemon begins to lose definition, blurring at the edges, the lines between colors seeping into each other and fading into total darkness.
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The scanners of the registers ring and beep in the distance and Beder rubs at his eyes, kicking the edge of the display podium his mother set him. In front him, she paces in an erratic rhythm, quickly turning on her heels at the slightest sharp sound, the bumping of a cart, the cackle of a matronly customer.
“Mom, when are we going home?” The young boy yawns, his sleepy eyes watching the magikarp on their tanks bump lightly against the supermarket glass.
The woman trembles slightly, her fingers dancing across her lips, as she calculates, her eyes darting back and forth across the floor as she thinks. Her silver-blonde hair, so much like her son’s is pulled back in a severe bun, the locks falling her head darts.
“Mom, when are we going home!” The young boy whines, kicking the display under behind his feet harder as he demands an answer.
She flinches at the impact, sharply turning and kneeling in front of her son. Her shaky hands flutter across his coat, pulling the garment tighter to his body, adjusting his scarf around his neck. “Hush, Little One.” She runs her fingers through his curled hair, rubs his cherub cheek. “Why don’t you read your book?” His mother emphasizes the point by opening the tome carefully in his lap.
“I’ve read it five times already.” Bede whines, but his eyes are drawn to the gilded illustrations and he quiets, his attention absorbed in “Pokemon from Around the World.”
His mother sighs, patting his head softly. The way her heaves, the way her eyes water and glisten, goes unnoticed by the boy as she kisses the top of his head. “Just read your book until I get back, okay?”
“Where are you going?” The boy murmurs, his eyes glued to the images on the page.
“Just away.” She says into his hair. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She places a curl behind his ear. “Will you be good for Mommy while she’s gone?” Her fingers don’t tremble, as she smiles down softly at her son.
He mumbles an affirmative, kicking his feet as he traces the bold lines of a tepig, an oshawatt, and a snivy. The shadow and touch of his mother retreat, his book illuminated by the bright lights of the supermarket.
Minutes echo into hours as Bede bores with his book. His lavender eyes begin searching for the familiar face of his mom, her kind eyes, her soft smile, finding none in the questioning eyes of passing patrons. They reach around him for on sale canned goods, shaking their heads in disapproval at the lone child sitting on the pedestal.
When the light dies outside and the speakers announce a last call for all shoppers, Bede steps down from the platform, calling out for his mother, the sound of his voice echoing off the near empty store.