Chapter Text
“…oh! Hello there, and welcome to the world of Pokémon! My name is Hop, but everyone around here calls me the Pokémon Professor. The region of Galar is a wonderful place, thriving with nature, bustling cities, picturesque towns, and people and Pokémon alike. Y’know, it’s thanks to Pokémon that our society is able to flourish. They’re all around us, they’ve always been, from our rolling hills and lush forests, to our rugged mountain-tops, raging oceans, and endless blue skies. In our cities, our towns and even the most remote villages, Pokémon are everywhere, and it’s their very presence which allows us to continue onwards towards a better tomorrow. They’re our companions, our friends, our families. For some, esteemed coworkers; for others, trusted confidants. And those who choose to raise and train Pokémon, to do battle and strive for glory and victory alongside their faithful partners upon a world stage, we call Pokémon Trainers.”
The pokéballs burst open, three little ones materializing before a trio of wide-eyed children, each with their own distinctive poses and flares. The children cheer, excited, unable to control their glee as Hop introduces each starter, equal parts somber and proud, just as every Professor should feel when they hand the torch off to yet another generation of bright-eyed youth.
…at least, that’s how it always goes down in Hop’s head.
That’s how the Professor always did it and that’s kinda how Sonia usually does.
A pity Hop doesn’t take after them much.
Rather than exuding an aura of elegance and refinement, his clothes are rumpled, he’s got a crick in his neck from falling asleep at his desk, a swollen tongue from when he bit it stammering out an order for tea at the café, and nerves as shot as a newly-minted parent suffering the trials and tribulations of a particularly fussy newborn screeching their underdeveloped lungs out all night long, running on approximately twenty-three minutes of sleep and at least four and-a-half cups of coffee.
Comeuppance for his dark past, no doubt. His brother’s informed him he was an absolute nightmare to deal with when he was an infant, although not in quite so many words.
‘Music to my ears,’ he once told Hop, a distant, fond twinkle in his eye. ‘so small and cute. You would cry and cry and cry and I would think, ‘our little Hoppip is so cute. Thank you, Arceus, thank you for giving us such a cute little Hoppip. I’ll take good care of him.’
A touching sentiment at the moment; guilt-inducing in retrospect, especially after all these weeks.
After all the tears.
“There, there,” Hop recites, his voice hoarse, throat aching from the repetition. To say he’s tired from the seemingly perpetual sobbing, set off at the slightest tone change, touch or unintentional slight is an understatement. Not that it hasn’t been worth it, but still. “Everything’s all right, love.”
The Sobble in his arms, tiny even for his tender age, wails into his shirt. It’s soaked at this point, but that’s hardly new. Sobble cry—a whole lot—and while Hop’s long-since adapted to the challenge of raising one, his heartstrings still tug at the sorrowful weeping. Their parting has long been written in the stars. Hop’s known from the very beginning, and yet, he’s grown attached, just as the Professor always warns him against. How could he not, when he’s raised them from the very beginnings of egg-hood?
It hurts, of course it does, but he knows this is for the best. Knows he can’t hold them back from a brilliant future, full of potential he cannot offer. Hop is a simple academic with simple aims.
Sobble, Scorbunny and Grookey, they’re meant for so much more.
“Won’t you look at me?” He asks, fingers brushing against the translucent fin atop Sobble’s head. “Please?”
Sobble sniffles, shifting within the cradle of Hop’s arms. Slowly, he looks up, the line of his mouth wobbling.
“There we go,” Hop plucks a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes the glistening globs of water away. “I know it’s scary, but you’re trying your best and that’s brilliant. I’m so proud of you.”
Sobble whimpers. He’s calming down, pleased with the praise. Always so self-conscious; in need of reassurance. He’ll need to keep working on that together with his trainer. Once they get a handle on his confidence, nothing will be able to stop him.
“Everything will be fine,” Hop reassures, setting him down next to the others. “You’ve already met, and you quite liked her, didn’t you? Nothing to be afraid of. I promise.”
Scorbunny, the most excitable of the trio, lets out an encouraging squeak, patting his head with her small paw. Grookey seems to agree, gently poking their friend on the cheek with his beloved stick.
It’s enough to ease Sobble’s nerves. He nods, smiling weakly at whatever it is Scorbunny proceeds to tell him, giggling at Grookey’s comment in turn. They’re an adorable bunch, endearingly supportive of one another. Meant to stick together. A bit on the rowdy side though. Hop’s bountiful experience with unruly ‘mons made short work of their tantrums and odd quirks.
There would be none of that going forward, not anymore, and while the extra sleep sounds lovely, Hop wishes he could turn back time if only to appreciate those moments a while longer.
“Reminds me of when you were a hatchling,” A wistful sigh escapes him, his gaze falling upon Eltanin, dutifully rearranging the haphazardly strewn files on his desk into something far more presentable. “As cute as a button. You still are. You’re the cutest. Next to Allie, of course. ”
Altais acknowledges his words with a brief tail light-up, her attention fixed on her tablet and whichever game’s earned her fascination this week. Hop should probably be a lot stricter with its usage. That would be the responsible thing to do, to prevent potential eyestrain and whatever troubles accompany it. The problem is, she’s quite protective of her belongings and makes very convincing arguments as to why he would be in the wrong were he to limit her screen time.
From the opposite side of the room, Eltanin glances at him, a strange, complicated look crossing his features. Hop would clock it as something akin to embarrassment, but far too soon is it gone, the stoic facade falling back into place. He releases a quiet breath, sending a single tissue over in a wisp of cerulean telekinetic waves, landing it daintily upon Hop’s head, the cheeky thing.
“M’not gonna cry,” Hop grumbles, plucking it off, huffing at Eltanin’s unconvinced stare. “I’m not…well, maybe later…”
Definitely later. Certainly not at the lab, and certainly not in front of the three children who burst through the doors at the exact hour Hop requested, down to the minute. He tries his best to school his expression into something formal, leaning more towards Professor Magnolia’s standard. He fails horribly, unable to stop the fond smile that breaks across his face as the trio of grade schoolers bound up to him, yammering on at a mile a minute, not allowing him to get a word in edgewise in their haste and excitement.
“Today’s the day, Professor!” Hannah proclaims, tugging incessantly at his lab coat, azure eyes alight with joy of the purest kind. “Today’s the day! You remember, don’t you? You didn’t forget, did you? Please tell me you didn’t!”
“Let’s get started already!” Marvin whines, pulling on his hand. “I wanna pick now! You’ve been taking real good care of them, haven’t ya, Prof? M’not gonna be too chuffed if you haven’t!”
“Marvin!” Hannah gasps, glaring at him. “Professor’s the best at taking care of ‘mons! How could you even think that! I’m so sorry, Professor! Marvin’s a big dummy!”
“Hey! Who’re you callin’ a dummy, dummy!”
“You, you dummy!”
“You’re the—“
“That’s quite enough,” Hop’s tone is firm, his gaze stern. “Friends do not insult one another. You’re excited, I understand, but none of that.”
Sheepish, they mumble out a set of apologies. Hop’s under no impression the lesson will stick, it never does, but maybe one day it will, and they’ll both save themselves a lifetime of unhealthy, rancorous bouts of self-depreciation and the daily existential crises that accompany adults with a plethora of emotional hangups their therapist claims stem from familial abandonment and years of physical and verbal abuse from their peers.
…or maybe not. They both hail from rather stable families and form part of a tight-knit friend group, so there’s that.
“Sorry Prof. We won’t do it again,” Marvin concedes, patting his hand as a means of reconciliation. “We’re good beans.”
“The best beans!” Hannah chirps. “Your favorite beans, right?”
“No favorites here. We’ll have none of that either,” Hop chides, focusing in on the third member of the group, silently observing them, hands primly clasped. “Now, since Kayleigh hasn’t made a fuss and been very patient, she gets the first pick.”
Kayleigh smirks, the picture of smugness as she steps forward.
“Naturally,” she haughtily proclaims. “The Professor understands good grace and manners when he sees them.”
“Aww, hush up!” Marvin sticks his tongue out, Hannah following suit. “You’re a sneak!”
“Yeah! The biggest sneak!”
Kayleigh waves off their complaints, stopping in front of the three Pokémon patiently awaiting their fate. She observes them and, for an instance, her expression grows uncertain. She glances at Hop, biting her lip.
“Um, can I really pick one…?” she inquires, shuffling her feet, all prior bravado absent from her speech. “Is it really okay?”
“Of course,” Hop smiles, gesturing at the young creatures. “We have our friends Ms. Scorbunny, Mr. Grookey, and Mr. Sobble. I’d introduce them again, but I think you already know who you came here for.”
Kayleigh nods, a pleased grin lighting up her countenance. She wouldn’t have asked him so many questions about a certain someone’s particular habits and weaknesses if she wasn’t already planning on taking them in. At only ten years of age, Kayleigh is demonstrably not the sort to waste her time on endeavors which do not suit her.
She breezes past Scorbunny and Grookey, extending her hand towards Sobble.
“Mr. Sobble, if you’re ready and willing, won’t you be my partner?” she asks, chest puffed out, one hand on her hip, the aura of a confident trailblazer about her. It’s a familiar flare, one Hop has observed in many of the children of Hammerlocke. There’s assuredly a very specific reason for it, the mere thought enough to nearly elicit amused laughter from him. Some people are simply too iconic, too admirable, to fade into obscurity. A double-edged sword no doubt, but if they can inspire the kind of earnest confidence in children that leaves adults quaking in their boots, perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.
Sobble looks at Kayleigh, his eyes wide and luminous. Despite what his earlier tears might have suggested, he’s been looking forward to this day, to earning one particular young lady’s partnership.
Tentatively, he reaches out. Kayleigh bends her arm inward, forming a perch for him to sit upon. She catches him when he nearly slips on the way up, grinning away his anxious shuddering.
“No worries, mate!” she tells him, not a speck of hesitation to her words. “I’ve gotcha!”
Sobble blinks, then smiles, wide and brilliant and cheerful, and Hop is reassured that this is the right choice. This is what he is meant to be doing. He’ll miss him--he’ll miss all of them--but there’s nothing that can quite beat the feeling of knowing they’re moving onto bigger and better things, with proper partners and families to call their own.
As far as the profession goes, Hop reckons this is what makes it all worthwhile.
Hannah picks Scorbunny and Marvin picks Grookey, each ecstatic to have exactly who they wanted and vice versa. Hop gives them a brief rundown on how to properly care for their new partners, providing each child with kits he prepared beforehand.
“You should each have your basic trainer necessities,” he says. “A first-aid kit, a set of pokéballs, some salves, battle gear, a journal—“ He gets a few groans at that. “—yes, a journal. Hold on. Don’t give me those looks. I’m not expecting any essays and you don’t need to hand them in. It’s just so if you run into anything interesting, you can jot it down. Or not. The choice is yours.”
“Can we draw pictures instead?” Hannah asks, wringing her wrists. “I’m not good at writing stuff…”
“Of course,” Hop answers with a smile. “Handle it however you like. And if you ever need to stock up on anything, feel free to drop in. I've plenty to go around.”
“Ace!”
“S’that mean we can finally go to the castle n’battle Raihan and Leon?” Marvin questions gleefully, hopping from foot to foot, Grookey channeling that same excitement by waving his stick around.
“Let’s hold off on that for now,” Putting the cart before the Rapidash won’t get them any closer to their goals. As much as Hop wishes he could send them off to the races and witness them effortlessly prosper, there’s a lot of prep work to be done and basic essentials to handle. “Focus on getting to know each other better first. I know it doesn’t seem all that big a deal, but if you can’t read one another, if you can’t connect beyond yelling out orders and following them, you’re not going to have good synergy, and what does having good synergy mean?”
“Having a champion time with your best mates.” All three children recite effortlessly, unsurprisingly. It’s practically law among primary schoolers. Not so much the teens, but their demographic tends to skew towards Raihan anyway.
“Exactly,” Hop says. “The best trainers are best friends with their Pokémon. They treat them with dignity, respect, kindness and always listen to everything they have to say.”
“But I can’t speak Pokémon,” Hannah laments, holding her Scorbunny close. “How will I know what she’s saying?”
“As long as you’re listening, you’ll know,” It’s cryptic advice, he understands, but it’s all Hop can tell them. There’s no instructional manual for building relationships, however unfortunate that is. It’s a simple matter of caring enough to put in the effort. The more they pay attention, the more they’ll learn to understand their partner’s needs and wants, and the easier connecting beyond a basic level of ‘human and glorified pet’ becomes. “It’s a natural process, so don’t worry your heads off about it. Be kind, be patient, and be friends. That’s all there is to it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Kayleigh grumbles, folding her arms against her chest. “You’re the Pokémon Prince.”
“I thought it was Professor Prince?” Marvin says, brows furrowing.
“I thought it was Pokémon Professor Prince.” Hannah adds, confused.
“It’s none of those,” Hop quickly cuts in, face flushing. Honestly, one person overhears a single teasing comment in what was supposed to be a quiet, early morning conversation and it spreads like wildfire. Hammerlocke’s rumor mill certainly isn’t anything to be underestimated. “It’s Professor Hop.”
“Naw, I’m pretty sure Hannah’s right. It’s Pokémon Professor Prince,” Marvin grins, and it’s all cheeky and smug and Hop wonders what he ever did to deserve this sort of treatment by children not even a fourth his height. “Has to be. My nan says you’ve got the air ‘o one. Got that castle n’ all those drakes with ya, too.”
“I wasn’t aware princes lived alongside dragons.”
“N’Hammerlocke they did!” Kayleigh exclaims, clicking her tongue, idly caressing Sobble beneath the chin. “Come on, Prof, how could you forget our own history? It’s back to the books with you. On the double.”
“Better get to it,” Hannah giggles, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Or we’re gonna tell Lord Raihan and he’s not gonna be happy about it. Not one bit.”
“A traitorous gang of tattle-tales are you?” Hop turns to Eltanin and Altais, raising a single eyebrow. “You two don’t suppose I should make those journal entries mandatory, do you? I reckon five pages should do the trick, perhaps seven, with clear and concise thesis statements and at least fifteen credible and cited sources. The uni library should have everything they need, what with those thousand page books and three-thousand year old writing mannerisms, the type not even their nans use. Is that a good idea, Ellie? Allie?”
Eltanin observes the children, inclining his head thoughtfully. Altais looks up from her tablet, narrowing her eyes, considering the proposal with an unusual amount of severity. After all, Professor Hop is known to be swayed by the opinions of his beloved partners on a consistent basis. Daily perhaps. Everyone who’s met him understands this as plain and true fact, the children especially.
And so, they run.
“Thanks for the ‘mons, Prof!” Marvin is the first out the door, his laughter nervous and manic. Grookey waves goodbye from atop his head. “We’ll take good care of ‘em!”
“No essays!” Hannah squeals, following closely at his heels, Scorbunny squeaking with delight at the rush. “We won’t tell! Promise!”
“You better tell Leon to get ready! Once we’re trained up, we’re gonna take him down and make him proud!” Kayleigh declares, Sobble holding tightly to her shoulder as she follows the rest of her crew. “See ya later!”
“You three better stop by the Pokémon Center!” Hop calls out after their retreating forms. “Have Nurse Joyce give them a check-up every so often, and don’t push your limits!”
“Yes sir!” They yell back in tandem, disappearing down the cobblestone road and around the corner, likely in the direction of the park. The perfect place to spend a delightfully sunny afternoon frolicking about with friends, both new and old.
Thinking on it, a warning about making sure to get their homework done in the midst of all the excitement likely would have been prudent, but who is Hop to put a damper on all the fun? If they find themselves in need of an excuse, he would be more than happy to write one up. He’s the one at fault anyway.
Pokémon are way more interesting than reviewing polynomials.
“Another group off to the races.”
“Arceus save Galar,” Hop sighs, fixing a wry smile upon the elderly woman sweeping the sidewalk beside him. “They’ll be wreaking havoc before we know it.”
“That’s what little ones are best at, dear,” Grace, one of the residents of the brownstone next door, lets out a hearty laugh. Their former landlady during the castle’s initial renovations, she’s been a staple of his mornings and afternoons ever since he set up shop next-door, her wild stories and easy-going manner a much needed counterbalance to the stress and frustration his line of work tends to induce. “If they’re not causing trouble, it throws the rest of the world off balance. I’m sure you understand that better than anyone, don’t you?”
“I’m the last person who needs reminding,” he says, sheepishly running a hand through his hair when it only makes her laugh harder. That he’s found himself in many a precarious circumstance throughout the years isn’t exactly a secret around the city, much less to his direct neighbors. His unintentional waltzes into trouble have become something of a running joke around these parts, one Hop would rather everyone put to rest on account of how much teasing it gets him, even if it’s all in good fun.
“Leave him alone, Mum.” Grace’s daughter, Jane, pokes her head out the door, sending a sympathetic look his way. “She’s not bothering you again, is she?”
“Certainly not,” Hop replies earnestly. “She’s a light in the dark. There’s a reason I look forward to workdays.”
“Oh, you sweetheart,” Grace elbows him, her grin toothy. “Any more of that and I’ll have to send over a little something special. How does a nice slice of strawberry shortcake sound?”
“Brilliant,” Hop answers a bit too quickly not to be embarrassed by, Grace’s snickers and Jane’s giggles only adding onto that. In an attempt to drive their attention away from his quickly reddening cheeks, he says “w-would either of you be planning on taking a look at the sky? Later this week, I mean?”
“The sky? Why’s that?”
“A wishing star shower should be visible above us. By late evening, if our calculations are correct,” he’s been keeping tabs on the readings ever since Sonia first mentioned picking up on intense energy fluctuations above Hammerlocke Hills a few weeks prior, indicative of a potential influx of wishing stars, which are far less common than the abundant wishing pieces. With any luck, Hop could collect an untampered sample or two for himself and Sonia straight from the ozone layer.
“That sounds wonderful!” Jane says, her features lighting up. “That’s reason enough to let Alice stay up past her bedtime. Doesn’t that sound lovely, Mum?”
“A wishing star shower…” Grace hums, closing her eyes for a moment. “When I was a young lass, do you know Professor, where my mother used to tell me those star pieces came from?”
Hop tilts his head, curious.
Grace cracks a single eye open, pointing towards her chest. “The Heart of Hammerlocke.”
“The Heart of Hammerlocke?”
“A Pokémon,” she shrugs. “Ancient folklore. She never could tell me exactly what kind of creature it was, not even her mother could, but she would often say its heart bled for Galar in the form of wishing stars, for better or for worse, until there was nothing left for them to give.”
“I see.” This is the first Hop’s learning of this. There are plenty of mentions of dragon-type Pokémon living alongside the citizens of Hammerlocke, playing vital roles in conquest of territories and bloody wars he would rather not ruminate on, but nothing about a being of that nature. Perhaps Raihan could elaborate more on the matter.
“Obviously, there’s nothing to substantiate it. We still get those showers every once in a while, so there can’t be much truth to it, but I used to wonder how it must’ve felt. Bein’ torn apart like that—for others—until you’ve got nothing of yourself left.”
“Not at all pleasant, I imagine.” Hop says quietly. The thought hits a little too close to home, memories of a wrinkled bedside and frail fingers, of joyless smiles and skin-deep facades coming back to him all at once, as vivid in his mind now as the day he lived them.
Sensing the dip in his mood, Grace places a hand on his shoulder.
“Nothing to think too hard on, lad,” She tells him kindly. “Just an old lady’s ramblings.”
“Twenty-five is hardly old.”
“Stop that, you flirt,” She guffaws, slapping him playfully on the back. “Now you’re asking for a sugar rush.”
After a bit more chatter, Grace informing him of a downtown feud between two of her teatime companions and the blowup that ensued, along with Jane’s questions about her daughter Alice’s Noibat and whether their recent aversion to certain sound volumes is anything to be concerned about, he heads back into the lab.
The interior’s nothing too grand, not yet at least. The walls are a pleasant lavender, light and gentle on the eyes, meant to relax visitors. His workspace is tucked against the farthest corner, comprised of a desk and various perpetually blinking monitors tracking various readings. Expensive and complex equipment is lined against the opposite wall. The hefty sum they cost is enough to make him wince even now, despite Sonia and the Professor’s reassurances they would pay for themselves in the long-run and save him many a headache. Hopefully, any future splurges would be kept to a minimum. Nearest to the front door is the sitting area, boasting a plushy sofa, loveseat, and center table adorned with a vase of Gracidea flowers and a set of Charmander-shaped coasters, a gift from the obvious perpetrator. All in all, a simple set up; one that gets the job done. He’s got some flower stands on the way to join the few he has out front, with plans on getting a proper greenhouse set up out back when he’s finally ready to tackle the mess of weeds and overgrowth that await him.
All in good time, is what Hop repeats to himself. Soon, everything will fall perfectly into place.
A sudden yawn prompts Hop into directing his gaze towards the sofa, where Altais has decided she’s grown bored of her tablet and would instead prefer attention, pointedly holding her arms out for him. Never one to deny his twinkling stars the affections they so rightfully deserve, Hop takes her into his arms, cradling her petite pink body against his chest. Faint traces of static tickle his skin, not enough to deter him from nuzzling her fluffy wool.
“Would you like to sleep upstairs?” He asks. There’s nothing especially interesting up there. A simple studio apartment with all the basic necessities and furnishings, the result of buying out a dilapidated residence with far more use to it than purely the scientific. It’s supposed to serve as a place for him to rest should he pull any overnighters or require an emergency power nap. Thus far, only Altais has taken advantage of the luxury, relishing the peace and quiet. Hop mainly uses the kitchenette for tea, while Eltanin cannot stomach the idea of leaving his post unattended for a single moment, even if it’s only a staircase away.
Altais shakes her head, burrowing further into his arms.
A definite no. Not a big deal. Hop can manage his pitiful workload alongside good company. May as well take advantage of his relative free-time before the spiral into despair that is cataloging draconian behavioral patterns in a way that makes sense for the scholars in charge of tearing his research to pieces begins.
Hop is under no impression he’s the definitive, go-to source for anything relating to dragon-types, no matter how much everyone likes to think he is, but he’s also incredibly aware what scarce information there is generally lacks the nuance they are deserving of, and that any attempts to cohesively group any one species into neatly laid-out categories is asking for inaccuracies, misconceptions and blatant falsehoods. There are particulars to be had and overarching genomes to study and a basic understanding of their environmental evolutionary progress to consider.
To put it simply, the average observer may infer Hop has made a grave mistake in choosing to pursue a field in draconian study, when he knows how fickle they can be; understands on a fundamental level the complexities and oddities behind their behavior and, quite frankly, their existence.
The problem is, he doesn’t care, because he loves them, and so a descent into madness it is for him, because now that Sonia isn’t here to hold his hand anymore, the future is bleak and uncertain.
“Cheers to my impending doom,” Hop bemoans to nobody in particular, earning an eye-roll from Eltanin, who nudges him back in the direction of his desk, all neat and sorted and cleanly thanks to his diligent efforts. Thank goodness. What would he do without him?
‘Gorge on sugar and cry,” Eltanin’s keen eyes seem to say, as if he’s somehow read his mind. Hop wouldn’t be surprised. His Ellie is talented. That he’s a telepath would be par for course.
Whatever the case, Hop can’t reasonably rebuke his point, so he gets to work like the well-trained professor he’s trying his best to be, disallowing his focus to stray until it’s time to head home. Not at all a hassle, given it’s just down the street.
The convenience is nice. Not having to suffer through the morning commute just to get all the way down to Wedgehurst is a welcome change to his daily routine, not that it hasn’t come with its own array of downsides. Hop would be lying if he said the absence of what he once considered a mild annoyance isn’t bittersweet. Seeing Sonia’s face after all that trouble was always worth it, motivating him to do his best under her tutelage.
He still tries his best, he always will, because he knows Sonia wants that from him, knows that’s why she suggested he branch off on his own in the first place.
He wants to make her proud, prove her trust and faith in him is warranted, that he’ll do a good job professor-ing for Hammerlocke, helping the people the same way she helps everyone in Wedgehurst and Postwick and just about everywhere.
Hop will likely never reach her level of acclaim, much less Professor Magnolia’s, but he’ll do his part here the way he knows best and, hopefully, give her a reason to always trust in her spot-on intuition; to trust she made the right choice.
And maybe, just maybe, he can convince himself of that too.
Besides running into Camilla and Sebastian at the drawbridge, the trek home is uneventful.
“See ya tomorrow, lil’ man and crew,” Camilla bids him farewell with a particularly violent pat to the back. If Leon has the strength of a Bewear, she’s definitely giving him a run for his money. “Boss dads are over in the arena if you need them.”
“Please tell them to tone it down,” Sebastian sighs, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. The poor guy looks exhausted. “My heart can’t take much more of this.”
“A lost cause, I’m afraid.” Hop smiles sympathetically. Asking Leon to tone it down is the equivalent of asking a Charizard to trade their flames in for a set of flippers and an endless ocean.
As in, not likely and not worth the trouble of asking.
They part ways. Hop has every intention of taking the elevator up, to start prepping for dinner so Raihan doesn’t have to, but then he hears—feels—the clash of two greater powers just a ways off from where he’s standing, and figures it couldn’t hurt to drop in on the action. Ironically enough, he hasn’t been privy to very many of their battles as of late, his attention primarily focused on making sure his humble little laboratory is running as smoothly as it possibly can with only himself around to man it. His aversion to the profession notwithstanding, Hop enjoys peeking in on the occasion. There’s something to be said about the way trainers and Pokémon can connect with one another despite the ostensively violent circumstances, all rage and aggression and visceral action. It’s brutal and ferocious, untamed and frightening.
In-spite of all those decidedly unappealing characteristics, there’s joy to be found in it.
Hop wouldn’t go as far as to say he enjoys it as much as his friends and family do, but he’s grown to appreciate the amount of effort and thought that goes into every split-second, individual play and command. When it comes to his own skill, he’s all right with predictions and only mildly decent at remembering his type match-ups under pressure when they matter most. His Pokémon are objectively strong, albeit disinterested in demonstrating said strength. Eltanin thinks it gauche. Altais simply doesn’t care for expending the effort. Should the need ever arise for a sound thrashing, be absolutely necessary, he’s reasonably confident he can manage. For now, Hop is content to watch from the sidelines and deal with the aftermath, whether that’s elation or frustration, crushing disappointment or whatever the case may be.
Once the grates are down, the drawbridge elevated, Hop wanders past the lobby, towards the main arena stage, Eltanin following closely behind, Altais riding on his shoulder.
It’s a far cry from its previous iteration. Long gone is the sports stadium inspired aesthetic, the, in Hop’s humble opinion, boring looking stands and silly sponsorship logos plastered along the walls nowhere to be seen. Hammerlocke Castle’s signature architecture is still there, framing the area beautifully with its medieval style. A touch of the past, of generations long since gone, history entrenched in every nook and cranny, rooted within the very foundations.
Rather than a look inspired by the future, by Wyndon and what is yet to arrive, Raihan chose to strip away the appearance of modernity, returning the stadium to its former glory. Gothic depictions of fanged creatures hang upon every ledge, looming over the stage menacingly with little regard for their imposing presence. Where the arches patterning the amphitheater were one well-maintained and warded now lie free-flying dragons. Wild Noivern, Hydreigon and Dragapult, even the uncommon Salamence and Altaria, perch upon their nests, coming and going as they please, often observing the pitch’s on-goings with open curiosity as they care for their young. Raihan has made little effort to discourage their presence, going as far as to warn everyone against disturbing them. The title of dragon-tamer has never been more fitting, his pride, unmatched. The dragons roar and croon for his every appearance. It drives the crowd wild, lights Raihan’s face up with a childlike glee.
At the center of the pitch, vibrant and and stark, as if scorched onto the grounds themselves, lies the castle’s insignia. One part sentimentality, one part respect for the historical, and whole parts lovey dovey-ness, a silhouetted dragon rests upon a sword and shield, crowned with a, well, crown, the surrounding perimeter embellished with wreaths and ribbons.
‘The culmination of our raging desires,’ Leon rather eloquently described to Hop upon its inception, hunched over his computer, proving graphical design to be yet another one of his many hidden talents. ‘Ace, huh?’
Ace indeed, Hop thinks, stopping just short of making his presence known. He tugs at his collar, a blistering wave of heat hitting him full force. Above him, a sun that shouldn’t be shining, not indoors and not this late, bears down on the arena full force. Warping magenta waves of energy pulse throughout the rocky terrain as chunks of falling hail melt into water, touching the steaming ground and evaporating instantly, the subsequent mist only worsening visibility, dampening the voices, snarls and clanging sounds booming across the field.
It’s a mess out there.
Hop really wasn’t expecting otherwise.
“What’s a Defog sound like to you?” He asks Eltanin, slipping his glasses off to wipe the condensation clean. Altais takes them instead. She’s good at cleaning them. Doesn’t get her prints all over the lenses like he always does.
Eltanin glances at him, questioning his decision to interfere. An understandable concern.
Ruining the fun isn’t Hop’s goal here though. He’s reasonably sure neither side can make heads or tails of where they are or what they’re doing. Judging by the echoes of increasingly frustrated cries, it doesn’t seem like a very good time. Instead, it looks like the natural result of very excitable trainers getting their hands on items like terrain extenders and weather rocks becoming carried away.
“Go ahead,” Hop says, leaning his head down so Altais can prop his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “Put them out of their misery.”
Eltanin nods and does as he’s requested, wings arching backward only to flick forward, powerful gusts of wind whipping around them and onto the pitch, clearing the way, accosting his ears with the abrupt return of crystal clear sound to his senses. Screeches bombard him from all directions. He almost regrets asking Eltanin anything at all.
Except, he really doesn’t, because his decision proves prudent not even a second later once the air clears and he can actually see what’s happening. He sees the slab of stalactite hurtling straight for him, the likely result of a Pokémon hurling it forward in an attempt to hit something.
Within the blink of an eye, shimmering steel tears across his vision, slicing the projectile clean in half, both pieces zipping past he and Eltanin, crashing into the ground next to them.
Billowing, obsidian-colored cloth, tapering down into golden tassels effortlessly cut through the slowly waning gales, one firmly gripping a matching shield, the other reaching outward, tassels curling inward. A single golden eye bores into him, the jagged, scarlet edges of a sharpened blade unscathed from the abrupt impact of steel against rock.
Hop smiles.
“Keen as always, Cal,” He says, setting a hand onto the silky fabric. “Sorry for the trouble.”
Excalibur, not at all perturbed by the necessity of the quick save, gracefully salutes him. His gentlemanly poise has long since proven itself infallible; unshakeable even during the most dire of circumstances. For an Aegislash supposedly known to scheme and connive for the sake of soul consumption and infinite power, he’s a great deal more noble than legends would suggest.
“Hop.”
“Hi.”
“Don’t ‘hi’ me.” Raihan’s frowning, marching over with a distinctly displeased curl to his lips. Hop feels bad for being the cause of it and for also not finding it menacing in the slightest. Raihan’s hair is in disarray and so are his clothes, not to mention all that sand stuck to his person. He looks like a sand-man—he kinda is one—enough so that Hop has to stop himself from snickering and making things worse. “Are you all right?”
“Right as rain,” He gestures to Excalibur, still holding his hand. He likes to do that a lot. It’s very cute. “Cal had me covered.”
“Lucky you,” Raihan remarks dryly, his frown growing more pronounced. “Heaven’s sake, Hopscotch, you scared the hell out of me. Don’t wander in here like that. Not when we don’t have the barriers up. You know we don’t this late.”
“Sorry,” Hop scratches his cheek, sheepish. Slipped his mind, really. “Wasn’t thinking.”
“Big brain o’ yours is stuffed to the brim, that’s why,” Raihan pokes his forehead, lips curving upward, previous severity abandoned in favor of amusement. “Spacey smarty-pants have tons of brooding to do.”
“I don’t brood.”
“Sorry. I meant sit around pouting.”
“I don’t pout,” A ridiculous claim to make given the pout that instantaneously forms upon his lips at the accusation. “I don’t do that.”
“Of course you don’t, Sweet-pea,” Raihan says in that sympathetic tone he always uses whenever he’s trying to humor him. “Never.”
“Never.”
“Not once.”
“No.”
“Nope,” Raihan hums, looking over his shoulder at the two hulking figures approaching them. “Tito, Pops, any ideas where that came from? Pretty sure it wasn’t either of you.”
Tito shakes his head fervently, confused as they are. Hop highly doubts it was him. He’s not really the type to indulge in reckless moves like that, not to mention how impossible it seems. Turtonator aren’t known for their ability to toss anything long-distance, least of all at high-altitudes and velocity. Their shells are heavy and would hamper their movement.
On his part, Pops appears equally as befuddled, although Hop knows better than to take this at face value, especially after battle. The gentle Drampa is prone to going berserk on the pitch, losing sense of all else around him until his bloodlust is sated.
“It didn’t fly in from your side,” Hop says, laughing when Pops nuzzles him as a greeting. He runs a hand through the fluffy plumage cascading from the top of his head. “Couldn’t have been them."
“Thought so,” Raihan scratches along Tito’s neck, chuckling at his contented expression. “And since it wasn’t Cal…“
“Got your culprit right here,” Leon declares, approaching from his side of the field, flanked by the presumed perpetrator. He casts him a pointed look, one the Pokémon returns blankly. “Sorry about that, Hoppip. A little too much excitement from us.”
“No harm done.” Hop waves off the Mr. Rime’s solemn hat-tip. He’s a bit taken aback by the ferocity behind the toss, but then, Merlin’s always been something of an oddity, both in personality and behavior. “It was a nice throw.”
Merlin’s shoulders shake mirthfully, his wink positively mischievous.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Leon grins, pleased by the compliment. “Maybe we can work it into a proper strategy one of these days.”
“With barriers,” Raihan replies firmly.
“With barriers,” Leon concedes, turning his attention to Hop. Without skipping a beat, before Hop can even attempt to shield himself from the oncoming assault, he ruffles his hair into a messy nest resembling his own, laughing at his indignant squawk. “Welcome back! Nice day at work?”
“Something like that.”
“Did the starter giveaway go well?”
Hop winces. The pain comes flooding back to him in an instant.
“I…think I’m still recovering.”
Leon lays a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
“No worries, kiddo, it’s the way these things go. You did well,” He inclines his head thoughtfully. “Can’t say I won’t miss having those rascals around the place. They were getting real good at keeping up with us.”
“You’re going to regret saying that.”
“Why’s that?”
“You have at least one walloping scheduled for the distant future,” Hop replies wryly. “A fifth grader and her Sobble are out for your blood.”
“D’aww…” Leon chuckles, all smiles and good cheer. “It was Kayleigh, right? She said that?”
“She did.”
“Ace. I’ve got high hopes for her.”
“Lee’s impending unemployment aside,” Raihan laughs at Leon’s scandalized expression. “You settling in okay, Hopscotch? Any troubles so far?”
“Everything’s okay,” There’ve been few hiccups along the way, as there are during any transitionary phase of anything; nothing worth worrying either of them over. “I’m figuring it out. Day by day.”
“That’s the spirit of it,” Raihan smiles softly. “Anything comes up, just holler. Rai and Lee ain’t Scones, but we'll come running to lend a hand if you need it.”
“I appreciate it.”
Leon hums. “Hey, if I’m gonna be out of a job soon, why don’t you consider some help? Maybe an assistant? I’m pretty good at assisting. How about it? We could be professor brothers.”
Hop raises an eyebrow.
“Is the idea of sitting around in an office all that appealing to you?”
“With the right company.”
“What about the research?”
“I like learning about Pokémon.”
“Collecting samples, analyzing them, and writing detailed reports?”
“Yeah! Sounds fun! I’m pretty good at writing too. Haven’t you told me that, Rai?”
“I have,” Raihan says fondly. “You’re amazing at it. A real talent.”
“Thanks!” Leon grins with all the pride and enthusiasm one does when receiving effusive praise from their significant other. “See Hop? Perfect assistant material.”
“Okay, but you can’t wear any of your caps when we run experiments.”
Leon’s expression immediately falls.
“…never mind. Rai can do it.”
“What happened to being professor brothers?”
“In spirit, Hoppip. In spirit.”
With that potential opportunity for future employment squandered, they perform a quick clean up of the arena, bid the wild perching dragons goodnight and finally head up, where the rest of the Pokémon are patiently awaiting.
“We’re home!” Hop calls out as he steps through door and into the foyer, kicking off his shoes. Eltanin and Altais race ahead of him, eager to reunite with the rest of their group. Tito, Pops, Excalibur, and Merlin follow suit.cOf course, they all make sure to properly greet Lulu, standing stalwart by the rack of shoes and slippers, already anticipating their arrival. To do otherwise would be blasphemous.
“Good work today,” Hop says softly, shoulders slumping at the Duraludon’s customary croon in return. Something’s always been soothing about returning to his warm welcomes, gentle upon his weary heart, no matter how trying or difficult the day. Times have changed, Hop’s grown taller, towering over Lulu instead of the other way around, but those feelings haven’t wavered at all.
Suddenly overcome with the day’s emotion and nostalgia, Hop throws his arms around Lulu, resting his cheek upon the cool steel of his head.
“I missed you,” He coos, smiling when the ‘mon lays his claws against his back. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
“Me too.” Raihan adds on, flinging himself across Hop’s back, his lanky arms reaching around to grasp at Lulu as well.
“Me three!” Leon rounds off the group hug with a brilliant grin.
Lulu blinks up at them, taken aback, before smiling that charming, fang-y, metal-y smile of his.
There’s no purer sight, in Hop’s humble opinion.
Well, maybe except for the way Dee is peeking at them from down the hall, eyes aglow and hopeful. A look that’s one hundred percent Leon. Nothing can convince him otherwise.
Hop gestures her over with a wave of his hand. Dee beams and trots over happily, plastering herself against Lulu’s back, the inability to wrap her arms around the entire group not enough to stop her from trying. Neither is it enough to deter the others from joining in, because the very next moment, a pair of vibrant wings are fluttering over, the added weight of Flo clinging onto both Raihan and Leon’s backs threatening the structural integrity of an already impressive group hug, on the brink of total collapse when Mordred stomps over and inserts herself into the center, enraged by the idea of not being included.
“Heya Dreddy,” is Leon’s muffled greeting. “How’s my princess?”
Mordred screeches with delight, crushing Hop against her chest as she attempts to embrace Leon at the same time.
“C-Can’t breathe,” Hop wheezes. Hugging Mordred’s always a joy, but not like this. Even Lulu’s starting to squirm from all the weight pressing upon him. “T-Too much.”
“That’s how love be.”
“Leon.”
“What? It’s true. Bracing, innit?”
Oh, yes, it’s very bracing, especially when Galahad phases upward from the floors and nearly frightens the life out of Hop at the same time that Gwin and Gwen drift downward from the ceiling and take their corporeal—and very heavy—forms, because they are mischief incarnate and absolutely refuse to give up their juvenile Dreepy ways even as fully-grown Dragapult.
And that’s to say nothing of Leon’s Legion.
“Incoming wave!” Leon proclaims happily, his sixth sense acting up, grinning ear to ear as they are set upon by a tsunami of Dreepy and Drakloak, eager to join in on the fun and cause as much trouble as possible.
Unable to support everyone’s weight any longer, Lulu stumbles backward with a startled cry, creating a domino affect that ends in yelps and screams and a mess of limbs and tails and Dreepy and Drakloak as far as the eye can see, giggling their tails off at the chaos they’ve unleashed upon their household.
Hop finds himself staring up at the ceiling, elbows and knees digging into both his sides, Dreepy crawling into his hair, a Drakloak taking his glasses for a spin.
The sound of heavy footsteps follows.
Hop blinks as a familiar orange snout comes into view, looking a little odd from this angle. All teeth and maw and claw. Arthur observes the scene with no small amount of exasperation and resignation. Poor guy has to deal with all their nonsense on a daily basis.
“Hi,” Hop says sheepishly when the Charizard’s gaze falls upon him. “We’re home.”
Arthur breathes out a steady stream of smoke, eyes glinting with amusement. Setting aside the need to demand order around the place for now, he bends down and playfully ‘boops' Hop’s nose with a single claw-tip.
Hop laughs.
Yeah.
They’re home.