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Volo never really liked October.
While the cold, crispy air right after the stark heat of the summer used to be as relaxing to him as it was to most, the fall scent brought back far too many memories. Even the cooler Unova days couldn't compare to the beautiful, bittersweet autumns of Sinnoh, the subtle cold chill year round only getting true meaning during the pre winter months. He didn't know if the Unova weather just wasn't enough for him, a crude stand in for the angelic feeling of cold Sinnoh air, or if he simply couldn't stand the thoughts that came yearly with the weather reminding him of the torturous, long past he tried so hard to leave behind him.
Maybe that was why he was so miserable. The man was already on his third or fourth cigarette in a row, hastily wiping off tables and sweeping up stray coffee grounds off of the floor. The coffee shop was closing at another ungodly hour and Volo could swear he saw the crack of morning, broken clock ticking away as he swept excess crumbs of whatever it was. While aware that he wasn't supposed to smoke inside the building the man could honestly care less. It was one of the only things keeping him sane, afterall, and he always made sure that the smell was gone when he left for the night.
That was why Volo wasn't surprised when a strong fist knocked him in the face.
The man took the cigarette out of his mouth and flinched back, feeling a thick stream of blood drip down from his nose. Putting out the nicotine on his forearm Volo leaned against the front desk, feeling both the pain from the cigarette burn and his clearly broken nose.
"Couldn't use your words, hm?" Volo choked out, wiping blood off from his sick smile. It wasn't surprising to see an enemy from his past pop up time and time again, and out of mere boredom Volo decided to play the villain they remembered. He knew how rewarding it was for someone who thought themselves as a hero to beat up the bad guy. If that was what he decided as his purpose in life, then the man sure as hell would play it.
This person, however, Volo had never seen before. They looked… eerily familiar, with soft grey hair and sideburns that looked so sharp that they could kill. His face and hand were spattered with Volos blood, mouth twisting in a shaky, almost manic smile.
"What did you do to him." The man said, his voice nothing but a short quiver.
Volo smirked. "I've done a lot of things to a lot of people. You're going to have to be a bit more specific."
The mystery man's face twisted deeper into anger. "My brother. Ingo."
Ah, Volo remembered Ingo. That must've been why the man looked so familiar, the two looked almost identical. Even their amount of sheer grubbiness was the same, the empty eyes forced open only with pure loss. Volo could've mistaken him for the other if it wasn't for his comically large smile. Volo wasn't even sure Ingo could smile, actually. He'd never seen his stern expression even twitch.
"Ah, yes. Ingo. I recall when I-um…" Volo didn't really know if he actually did anything to Ingo. Their reactions back in the day were rather peaceful, actually. Ingo's demeanor was completely different from his personality. The man was super sweet and enjoyable to talk to despite his intimidating face and loud voice, so Volo would be surprised if he'd done anything to him. Plus, Ingo wasn't of any use to 200 years ago Volo with his memory wiped.There wasn’t much motivation for Volo to hurt him.
“...What did I do to him again..?”
Volo could see the subway master’s expression change, shifting from the usual strange smile to a look of pure, unbridled rage. He reeled back his fist for another punch, the broken barista feeling wind against his cheek as he just barely dodged it. Volo didn’t expect the man to be so strong based on his rail-thin frame, but the feeling of his fist hitting his face still stung as if it was just punched. He had obviously been practicing.
“You took him,” his aggressor growled. “The person who came back to me is not my brother. He may look like it and sound like it, but that is not him. Give Ingo back.”
Oh.
Volo dropped his villainous smile, relaxing his face to a more concerned expression. “Even I don’t have the power to keep people when Arceus wants them gone.” He said, perching himself on top of the front desk. “Let me ask you something, though. Do you believe people can change?”
“What?”
The blonde sighed softly, taking out a pack of only slightly bloody cigarettes. “You might want to take a seat, this is going to be heavy. Want one?”
The subway master stayed standing but eyed the box warily, halfway tempted to take one. Volo lighted one of his own, his old blue lighter clicking as he set the tip on fire. If he was honest, the merchant didn’t care how much he smoked a day. He couldn’t die anyways. There was no use in trying to keep himself extremely healthy, so a few smokes wouldn’t absolutely destroy his insides.
Volo smiled as his companion took a cigarette out of the box, offering the lighter to him. The other acted as if the thing was on fire itself, using the lighter as quick as he could then shoving it back into Volo’s hands. He almost laughed at the hostility, but they had far more pressing matters on their hands.
“Alright, I’ll get straight to the point.” Volo breathed out a puff of smoke. “Your brother will never be the same as he was before he went missing. There’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”
The man’s fluffy grey hair bounced as he turned to leave, almost as sour as when he came in. “I have no need for your useless words. If you’re going to say things I already know, I will leave.”
Volo grinned, sad smile gracing his face with only a hint of mischief it had back then. “Ingo spent 10 years completely alone without his memory. He had nothing with him, no friends, no family. He was completely alone. That experience changes someone inside. It’s traumatizing to be alone for so long, as you might know yourself. How long has it been since he got back? A month?”
His company nodded, hesitant. “He hasn’t been himself. He doesn’t eat or talk to me or Elesa. We’ve had to close the battle subway again because Ingo has no motivation to battle.”
“So while it might not have been so long for you as it was for him, you both have changed so much you aren’t as recognizable to each other. If you need an example, look at me. I bet I look nothing like I do in the history books, hm?”
Volo was right about that part. He looked much more sickly, with his gray eye sunken in and creating a dark shadow in his skull. His long blonde hair was already fading to a soft white at the tips, almost reaching the length of his heavy brown trench coat and soft blue sweater. Half of a pair of horn rimmed glasses could be seen, the other side covered by the one constant: a layer of beach blonde hair.
“200 years really does something to a person. 10 years does a lot to someone as well. What I would suggest would be to give your brother time. He will never be the same, but with some patience you two can most likely rekindle your relationship. You are both strong, emotionally and…well, based on how hard you hit me, physically. Just don’t be upset when he isn’t like himself anymore. I’m no therapist, but If you ever feel frustrated I’ll be here. If you still don’t want to murder me in cold blood.” Volo laughed softly to himself, taking one final drawl of his cigarette. “Well, thank you for listening to me talk. I’m not as scary as history makes me seem anymore, I promise.” He held out his hand for the conductor to shake, which, to Volo’s surprise, he did.
“I know you aren’t lying. I’m very good at telling when someone is.” The man’s smile perked back up, brushing some hair out of his face. “I am Emmet. While I still do not like you, Volo, I will be back.”
Volo sighed contentedly to himself. “I’m glad. Before you go, though…” The blonde pulled himself behind the front counter, starting up one of the machines in the back. “How do you like your coffee?”