Chapter Text
For Ingo, it had really only been a moment.
Ingo did not consider himself to be very inattentive. In fact, he’d say he was quite the opposite. He and Emmet both had an eye for detail-- something that decidedly came in handy in regards to their jobs. Having a detail oriented state of mind was important when operating heavy machinery. If even a single dial was over its limit or a single gear out of place, the entire transit system could be thrown into chaos. (As Emmet might say; they had to be verrry careful.)
Which is why it seemed so odd that he might’ve somehow missed however much time it had taken him to end up… wherever he was.
It certainly didn’t feel like very long. Mere seconds. But given the sudden disparity of his surroundings, it must have been. He had closed his eyes to the darkness of the Red Line tunnel before him, and he had opened them to rolling grasslands and sharply peaking mountains. Oh, and a Graveler trying to kill him. Mustn't forget that.
He turned and ran, because what else was he supposed to do? Fight it off, he supposed, if he'd had his Pokémon with him. Unfortunately he'd handed them off to Emmet for healing before heading down to check the tunnels one last time so they could head home for the night. Which meant he was soundly defenseless at the moment.
Not even an extra ball he could use to try to catch the thing. Or give himself a few extra moments of reprieve.
What had even happened? How had he gotten from the tunnels beneath Gear Station to… wherever he was now? Where was he? The sun was shining overhead, just barely obscured by a handful of clouds, but it had been nearly midnight last he'd checked. He was pretty sure there weren't mountains like this in all of Unova. They had Twist and Reversal, but Twist was full of industry and Reversal was a far gentler slope. And besides; neither of them had this sort of vegetation.
Had it been the result of a move? The doing of some psychic Pokémon which had made a home down in the tunnels that he'd accidentally disturbed? Was there any kind of Pokémon out there who could cause such vivid hallucinations? (Assuming this was simply a very, very vivid hallucination, and not the far more terrifying option.)
The chase landed him at a dead end, and he spat an uncharacteristic curse as he whipped around to face his pursuer. No sooner had it given a roar and reached forward to grab him when a flash of something blue and pink darted over Ingo's head, tackling the Graveler to the side. He could only stand and stare as his strange savior pummeled his would-be attacker with hefty claws. After a particularly brutal looking strike (as well as the sickening burble of poison taking hold), the Graveler lumbered off, and Ingo's assist turned to look at him.
Well, definitely a Pokémon, though not one he had seen before. Tall, even taller than him, sporting light blue fur and a single pink-ish feather (or something?) trailing from its head.
"Thank you," he said. It just stared at him. He wasn’t sure if it could understand human speech, but it was polite to offer his gratitude regardless. "I would surely have been derailed without your assistance. For that, I am grateful."
The Pokémon made a noise (something like "sneas," if he'd been asked to write it down), stepping forward and gesturing at him. Then over its shoulder. When Ingo failed to respond, it hissed at him.
He held his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're trying to convey."
It rolled its eyes. Apparently exasperated by his inability to grasp the meaning behind its vague motions, it reached forward and snagged its claws on his jacket. He winced at the tug of fabric, but defying this strange yet clearly ruthless Pokémon didn't seem like the best of decisions. So he simply let it haul him up and over its shoulder, where it promptly--
…Deposited him into a large basket he hadn't noticed strapped onto it.
So either it belonged to a human, or was vastly more intelligent than the average. Intelligent enough to craft something like this.
Once it seemed satisfied with how Ingo was settled, it took off running, and he found himself gripping the woven edges of the basket to keep from being jostled. He was still confused, though no longer being in imminent danger was certainly making it easier for him to get his thoughts in order.
He was pretty sure he could rule out this being a dream. Between the wind rushing past, the feeling of woven fibers under his fingers, and every other little sensation he could pick up, it all felt a little too real. A hallucination could be eliminated by similar criteria. Which was unfortunate, because if it wasn't a product of his mind or some outside influence that meant it was actually happening. Which then meant that without warning and seemingly without cause, he'd been randomly transported from the tunnels beneath Nimbasa to wherever he was now. It must have been the work of a Pokémon, but he couldn't fathom any that might have such an ability in their arsenal. To transport someone an unclear distance without so much as a hint of a warning.
Where was he, anyway? As he’d mentioned before, Unova had mountains, but none which dipped and rose so sharply. Few sheer cliff walls like these. (Cliff walls, he noticed, that the Pokémon carrying him was scaling with ease.) Carefully, with one hand on his hat to keep the wind from blowing it right off his head, he peered out over the edge of the basket to try and get a better grasp on their surroundings.
Cliffs, valleys, and slopes. Sparse grass and jutting boulders. In the distance, rising high above everything else he could see, was the sharp peak of a mountain. Clouds swirled around the very top of it.
It… almost looked familiar. Perhaps if he could get a better view of it, from further away--
The Pokémon stopped moving all of a sudden, and he very nearly piped up to ask after the reason for the delay when another voice interrupted his thoughts. A feminine voice, on the younger side if he had to guess, speaking in a language he could only just understand. A very, very strange version of the Sinnoh dialect. Extraordinarily localized, if he had to guess. Which was unfortunate, because he'd only been to Sinnoh maybe once or twice before, and thus had never really spent time getting a grasp on the language beyond the basics. He did know the basics, though-- trainers came to their Subway from all over the world. They had translators on staff in case of an emergency, but he liked to be able to at least exchange pre-and-post-battle pleasantries with anyone, no matter their place of origin. It wouldn't do to have to interrupt a battle so one of them could go get someone to translate.
The Pokémon hissed. A different hiss than the earlier one, and Ingo wondered if perhaps that was just its usual way of communicating. It reached up, claws grasping, and Ingo took the hint this time. He latched onto one claw (mindful of the sharp edges) and let the Pokémon haul him out and set him down on the ground in front of it.
The girl who had spoken looked to be on the younger side, in line with his earlier assumption. She also looked very startled to see him.
"Hello," he said, doing his best to not sound too obviously foreign. It wasn't working great. He remembered everything he'd learned just fine, the issue was simply that he hadn't learned much in the first place. Never had a need to. So everything he knew was pretty specific to a battle situation. He'd manage. "I am… lost."
The girl narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
"My name is Ingo. I am a Subway Boss.” He had those particular phrases down pat. He could introduce himself and his title in a dozen different languages. “I am lost."
She blinked. "What is a… sab-way?"
…Hm.
That was…
…Quite strange.
"A… train?" He stood up straight, imagining a station sign in front of him and pointing sharply forward. "All aboard!"
"All… aboard." She stared at him, her narrow expression turning to something a bit more exasperated. She shook her head. "I am Irida. I am," and then she said something he absolutely did not understand.
"Sorry, what?"
"What?"
"I don't know," he gestured helplessly. "Speak. Not very good."
"Ah." She pursed her lips. Then, in halting Galarian; "Do you… know this?"
"Ah! Yes, that is one I am far more familiar with." He bowed his head. He'd have to make a mental note to take some lessons later. Being so inadequately prepared for a passenger wouldn't do. "I apologize for the delay. My understanding of the languages of Sinnoh are somewhat lackluster."
Irida held up a hand. "Stop," she said. "I am learning."
"Ah. I apologize."
"Come with me," she said. Then; "Sneasler. Come on."
The Pokémon, which had settled against an outcropping of stone and appeared to be checking its nails, looked up at her words. Then it made another hiss (once more different, this one seeming more like a dull acceptance), standing up straight and gesturing to Ingo.
Getting the gist this time, he followed.
"You are Sneasler, then?" A nod. So this one, at the very least, could understand him well enough. (He briefly wondered why; if it was simply a matter of Pokémon simply understanding the meaning behind the words rather than the words themselves or if this particular one happened to be multilingual.) "Thank you once more for coming to my aid. Truly, it's doubtful I would have made it away from that obstruction alive had you not intervened."
Another hiss. Prideful, as far as he could tell. The wordless equivalent of a smug you're welcome.
"You're very capable with your moves. Had I brought my Pokémon with me, I'd be grateful for the chance to battle." He sighed, once more sweeping his hands over his pockets as though his Pokémon might've appeared in the last half hour without him noticing. "Unfortunately, it seems I've arrived at this station without them."
And without his brother.
Oh, Dragons, Emmet was going to be furious. Even if it hadn't been his fault, up and disappearing without warning like this was a terrible disruption of the schedule.
He could've smacked himself then as the mention of their schedule reminded him that he hadn't even thought to check his Xtransceiver. It was strapped to his wrist as it always was when he wasn’t sleeping or showering, and he slowed down as he raised it to see if he could get a connection.
It didn't turn on.
He thought for a moment it might’ve died, but-- no, it was definitely charged. He remembered very clearly plugging it in on his lunch break. Which had only been a couple hours ago. (Or, so he believed. The sun shining in the sky betrayed that notion somewhat.)
He tried holding down the buttons, manually restarting it, everything short of prying off the back to check the battery. Nothing. Which was not good, because not only did it mean he couldn't contact Emmet, it also meant he was without a way to check the time or add events to his itinerary. Two things which were very important for operation.
He was in an unfamiliar place, where the people spoke an unfamiliar language, and he had no way to contact home or even keep track of his own life.
His breath caught in his throat.
Where… was he? Sinnoh, almost certainly, but where in Sinnoh? How had he gotten here? How was he going to get home? Where was Emmet? Was he alright? Had he been dragged off to some unknown location as well? Was he looking for Ingo? Would he think something bad had happened? Would he jump to the worst possible conclusions? Would he think Ingo might have left on purpose?
He hardly even noticed he'd stopped walking until there was a sharp call of his name, and a hand waving in front of his eyes. He blinked back to the present to see Irida standing in front of him, expression knit into something concerned.
"I'm fine," he said weakly. "I am just… derailed. I need a moment to get back on track. We apologize for the unavoidable delay."
"What?" Irida pursed her lips. "Nevermind. We need to go. Storm soon. Sneasler."
It was apparently a name and a command all rolled into one, because a moment later Sneasler once more hauled Ingo up and deposited him into its basket. He might've felt a tad demeaned by it all if he wasn't grateful for the assist. The enclosed space wasn't too bad either. Not quite Emmet's jacket wrapped around him, but it would do. As the basket started moving, he reached up to tug his hat low over his eyes, then flip his collar up to shield his face from the sun. From there, he was content to let himself drift.