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Grusha doesn't sleep, even after he's barricaded the door and stoked the fire in the wood stove to a near-frenzy. How can he? What if that thing comes back? Niko's scared it off for now, but it knows he's here. If it hadn't been for his pokémon, who knows where he'd be now? Would it have drawn him out into the freezing night to watch him die of exposure? It was no normal pokémon, that was for sure. Pokémon didn't speak, didn't pry open his mind like the door to abandoned cellar to root around in his darkest thoughts. He can't even relax enough to read a book or scroll on his phone, staring into the fire and getting up to feed it every time it begins to sputter.
Niko lies in his lap until the sun begins to come up, eyes fixed on the door. One thing is for certain; Grusha has to get off this mountain as soon as possible. He can call the rangers on the way, call someone, anybody else, whoever's awake at this godsforsaken hour. As he suits up, the light outside is blue, the sky an opaque white, wind whipping through the trees far too fiercely for him to fly down. He'll have to go on foot. Cernunnos can make the journey easily, but it's a long way down the mountain to Medali.
His hands shake almost too badly to get his jacket zipped up, a curse slipping from between his gritted teeth. "Who's online?" he asks his rotomphone, hovering anxiously nearby as Niko pads in circles. The phone opens his contacts, displaying Hassel's name with a green dot next to it. Hassel...? Grusha hadn't spoken to him much (just like he hadn't spoken to any of the Elite Four much) but he seemed like a far more easygoing type than Rika or Geeta. Hopefully less likely to think him a complete lunatic. "Call Hassel," he grunts as he tugs his snow boot on.
The phone titters electronically as it waits for Hassel to pick up.
It was the start of another lively day at the academy, as Hassel unlocks the art classroom door, Professor Gible nuzzling the back of his legs. After draping his coat over his desk chair, the teacher sets down his briefcase and a takeout box of churros. He holds out a churro to the little gible, who inhales it in one bite before waddling away to look at the sculptures from yesterday’s seventh grade class.
Now that Professor Gible was content, Hassel rolls up his sleeves – the first grade class’s paintings had dried overnight and were now ready to be displayed, so the kids could admire their own handiwork. He smiles as he takes out some thumbtacks – it warms his heart to see the little ones drawing whatever they pleased, without fussing over technique. If only his older students could be so confident about their own creations…
The art teacher’s thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of his rotomphone, popping out of his briefcase. Brassius usually texted him if he needed his prescription from the Chansey Supply, or just to show off his current project, saving the calls for lunch hour. Hassel rushes over and grabs the phone, hoping to Arc above that his husband wasn’t in the middle of a migraine attack – only for Grusha’s face to pop up on the screen. What reason could that reclusive young man have, to call him so early in the morning? Hassel had never had much chance to interact with him in less professional settings, so this was certainly novel.
“Rotom, answer call. And turn on video.”
Grusha is sure he looks about as haggard as he feels, pulling a knit cap over his tousled hair as the other line picks up. "Hassel," he greets the other man, a bit breathlessly. "Last night, something attacked me. It got into my cabin, and it-" Grusha winces, disguising the action by pausing and pulling on his gloves next. Just bringing to mind the image of that pitch-black doorway, eyes glinting in the dying firelight, it makes his heart race, dull pain flickering behind his eyes. If he was thinking more clearly, perhaps he could have built up to it, made himself seem reasonable and not like a crazed lunatic jumping at shadows, but he'd rather be wrong than have anybody come face to face with that thing unprepared. "You have to tell the rest of the league. Don't send any more challengers up Glaseado."
He stands, rotom phone following him as he picks up his goggles, prepared to venture into the gale. Niko stands on his hind legs, putting his paws against the door and looking up at his trainer, ears perked. "I have to get off this mountain," he tells Hassel. "So I'm going down to Medali. I just wanted to tell somebody, in case..." In case something happened on the way down.
Hassel steadies himself, hands on his desk as he sees Grusha’s face gone pale with fear and hears his panicked words. This definitely wasn’t a frivolous call, but a possible crisis unfolding on the mountain, far away from the comfort of the academy. “I’m listening, Grusha, but I need more details. Tell me – what did that pokémon look like, if you remember?”
His own mind races with theories – if it was a baxcalibur, it must’ve been been sick or desperate, given their usual indifference toward humans. The average abomasnow or cetitan could rip through a door, but were equally as unlikely. It could be a glalie or a beartic, but surely Grusha, being an ice type specialist, would know how to take precautions… which made the sheer panic in his voice even more worrisome.
"It was... very dark out," Grusha says, doing his best to steady his voice. "I remember it had two..." He waves a hand up and down in front of his face and neck area. "...two tusks, but they were black, and straight like it had blades thrust through its face, and a body made of snow and debris. I can't even say it was a pokémon for sure. It spoke to me." Then, because he's sure Hassel will ask next, "I don't remember what it said."
Hassel really didn't need to know. The fact that it could speak was enough. He takes Cernunnos's ball, gripping it as he opens the door to the howling gale.
“Two tusks?” His voice is skeptical – walrein weren’t native to Paldea and there was no way one could make the climb to that remote cabin Grusha was calling him from. “And you said they looked like blades? And it spoke to you?” It was possible the young man’s mind was playing tricks on him, in his current state. But Hassel refused to dismiss his words entirely, knowing how dangerous Glaseado’s heights could be...and the depths far, far below.
Blades...swords . Had something breached the confines of Area Zero? Or... Hassel's eyes grew wide with realization as he recalled the rumors circulating in the staff room, concerning Ms. Raifort’s latest research into some ancient treasures. Something about a broken sword? No...no, such cursed treasures had been long sealed away. Unless...
Professor Gible, sensing his trainer’s distress, toddles over, clinging to the tall man’s leg with his stubby arms. Hassel lifts the little dragon into his lap, welcoming the calming intrusion to quell his own anxiety as he finally speaks again. “Grusha, there’s no time for speculation about the exact nature of this threat, but you did the right thing, contacting me as a League member. I will inform Ms. Geeta and Director Clavell immediately.”
Grusha bites his tongue when Hassel mentions Geeta. He already got the impression the chairwoman watched him like a hawlucha for any sign that he wasn't performing his job well, but he'd rather her think less of him than risk anybody else getting hurt, or worse. Hassel's look of dawning horror doesn't escape him, though. What did Hassel think it was...?
They had all the time in the world to talk about it later. "Thank you," he tells Hassel. "It wasn't just a nightmare. I've had plenty of them. This was something else."
Once the cabin has been locked, he releases Cernunnos. The giant sawsbuck had shed his massive rack of antlers for the winter, fortunately making it easier for him to dart between the trees. He snorts, pawing the snow restlessly as Grusha throws the saddle upon his back. "...can I ask just one more favor?" Grusha's voice is nearly lost beneath the howl of the wind, but he doesn't dare yell. Something might be listening. "Please stay on the line with me. We don't have to talk. I'm sure you're busy, but I'd like to know someone's there..."
“I need to prepare for today’s classes, but I’ll keep this line open for as long as you need it.” Instinct begs Hassel to sprint down to Clavell’s office right this second, but Grusha’s mention of nightmares gives him pause – along with the magnificent sawsbuck that the young gym leader was currently saddling. That must be the “Cernunnos” that Brassius had gushed about, back when Grusha was still new to the league. There were few sights more beautiful to Hassel than Brassie’s eyes alight with inspiration...but he could not afford such distractions at this moment.
Pulling the rotomphone closer, Hassel scrolls to Clavell's work number while keeping the call open, Professor Gible squeaking as he spots Grusha on the screen. Perhaps the sight of the friendly little land-shark would help calm the younger man. After sending his urgent text to Clavell, he directs the phone to Gible’s toothy visage. “Here...Professor Gible would like to say hello, like the proper little fellow he is.”
With his eyes hidden by his goggles and his mouth by his scarf, it's doubtful Hassel or the gible will notice the small, strained smile Grusha gives. Some small part of him appreciates the attempt at comfort. "Привет, Gible. Maybe I'll see you in person soon."
He tries to call Niko back into his ball, but it bursts open again, the ninetales hopping up on Cernunnos' saddle. Very well; Grusha wasn't going to fight him on this. Niko was the only thing that had driven that monster off. Better to have him at the ready. He starts to haul himself up on Cernu's back when he hears it, and despite the wail of the wind and the compressed video call audio, Hassel can hear it too. An animal scream blended with the sound of a blade cleaving flesh and metal shrieking against metal. The cry seems to come from everywhere at once, unhindered by the snow that normally softened all sound.
Cernunnos rears and bolts into a run, half-dragging Grusha as he clambers into the saddle, forcing his paralyzed body into motion. Niko bites into the shoulder of his coat in an attempt to help.
It was still here. It knew. It saw him and it was going to finish what it started.
Gible’s happy greeting squeaks turn into frightened squeals as Hassel hears an utterly horrific screech, its metallic sound distorted even further by the call audio. Despite being so far from Glaseado, he can feel a chill envelop his entire being as the video feed tumbled around, showing flashes of something whiter than the snow and Grusha’s terrified face as he struggled onto his sawsbuck. The art teacher immediately gets to his feet. “Scheiße! Grusha! Can you hear me?”
The call goes black, followed by a click – disconnected, right when it mattered the most. Scheiße, indeed . With no time to lose, Hassel shoves the phone into his pocket, grabs his jacket and briefcase, scoops up Professor Gible, and bolts out of the classroom, nearly bumping into a surprised Salvatore. “Monsieur Hassel, didn’t I just see you reminding a student not to run in the halls yesterday?”
While he normally appreciated multilingual chats with Salvatore, this was not the time. “I know! I know exactly how undignified I must look! But there’s an emergency over at Glaseado – I have to go.” Hassel holds the gible out to his fellow teacher, who accepts the dragon with a look of bewilderment. “I’ll call my substitute – in the meantime, can you please watch Professor Gible for me? He can have as many churros as he likes. And make sure those first grade paintings sitting on my desk get displayed – very important!”
Before Salvatore could respond further, Hassel had left the humanities wing, dialing Clavell on his way out. “Director Clavell? Yes! Did you get my text earlier? Gut ...my apologies, but I am currently leaving the school grounds. I’ll explain more on the way, but for now: we cannot allow any students near Glaseado!”
As Grusha hauls himself sideways onto the saddle, his hovering rotomphone attempts to follow him, only to be kicked by one of Cernu's flailing hooves, knocking it back against a tree and shattering it. The rotom inside pops free and flees into the forest, its owner now long gone.
Twigs and branches smack Grusha in the face, Cernunnos tearing in mindless terror through the trees. In all the years Grusha had known him, he'd never seen any of his pokémon act like this. The pain in his shoulder as Niko's teeth sink through the material of his jacket into his flesh helps keep him focused, keeps him from wanting to shut down completely like he almost had last night. He manages to grab the horn of the saddle and pull himself upright on it, fingers finding the harness around the pokémon's neck. "Cernu, focus!" He commands, digging the fingers of his gloves into Cernu's fur. "Focus on my voice. Find the path again. We have to get to Medali. You know the way."
Cernu's frantic sprint settles into a more measured gallop as he glances back at Grusha, ears still pinned to his skull. Niko whimpers as Grusha mutters soothingly to both pokémon. All they had to do was keep going, keep calm. Maybe it wouldn't even follow them down. It could have spotted some other prey, not paid attention to him at all-
As they pass out of the trees into an open snowfield, the drift beside them explodes, something long and glittering leaping from beneath the snow and falling into a sprint beside them. The early-morning sun glints off the shards of ice embedded in its body and the metal blades jutting from its face like tusks. Its body is lithe and feline. It might have even been beautiful, if it wasn't for the way just looking at it made Grusha feel as if he'd fallen through the frozen surface of a lake and been dragged to the bottom. He can't breathe. He can't look away.
Cernunnos tries to flee, turning so sharply that Grusha has to grab on to Niko to prevent him from flying off, but the strange pokémon keeps pace easily. It almost seems amused, bounding playfully through the snow, simply keeping up, not attacking.
Grusha.
The same mocking voice he'd heard last night. Grusha tries to choke out a command, but he can't bring himself to make a sound, the wind rushing in his ears. The beast doesn't break eye contact, its gaze glittering fiery in the rising sunlight.
You'll never be free. You run like a prey animal from the shame of your past. Turn and take its throat in your teeth. Let me be your fangs.
Niko snarls, his fur shimmering before he lets loose a dazzling gleam, briefly lighting up the gloomy snowfield like a flashbang. But the beast had learned from their last encounter, and it dives beneath the snow before it can be hit. It doesn't reemerge, but the heaviness in the air hasn't lifted. Grusha grips the harness in his numb fingers, his other arm tight around Niko even as the ninetales squirms to get free.
There's no further sight of it. It's only when they're at the foot of the mountain, where the grass has begun to sprout through patches of snow, that Cernunnos finally slows, his sides heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. Medali is in sight, the city still waking up as Grusha slides from Cernu's back, his limbs threatening to collapse beneath him.
Within the stirring city, the Treasure Eatery was already open for breakfast, though few customers dined at this early hour save for one: Medali’s unassuming gym leader, Larry. He was still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he took his usual seat at the bar, setting down his briefcase and continuing to scroll his rotomphone. He groans; there were so many unread emails waiting for him already. For now, he sets the phone on the counter and scritches the fuzzy space between his komala’s ears as she clings to his arm.
“Hey Larry!” The head chef, Lola, greets him as she chops vegetables in the kitchen, happy to see her best customer. “How’s your morning so far? Did you want your usual breakfast order?”
“Morning. Yeah...same as usual, Lola.” Larry had never been the talkative type, especially before breakfast, and he was grateful that the Eatery staff understood that fact. While he continued checking his notifications, a new one buzzed; there was a message from Hassel in the Elite Four group text. Larry rolls his eyes; the old man probably sat on his phone while getting ready for work, or one of his dragons had stolen it to send them all capslocked gibberish. Hassel didn’t typically use the groupchat until after school hours, so surely this message was safe to ignore.
“Here you go, Larry. Piping hot!”
Lola’s voice brought Larry’s bleary eyes relief, as he turns off his phone to behold the delicious-smelling bowl of okayu rice porridge in front of him, garnished with his favorite pickled plums. There was also a tiny matching bowl next to it on the tray, full of fresh berries for Coffee the komala. “Ah...thanks, Lola. Itadakimasu .” The salaryman smiles ever so slightly as he folded his hands in the traditional gesture. Before he picks up his own spoon, he holds out a juicy oran berry to Coffee, watching as her tiny paws accept it. “Eat up, Coffee – we got another long day ahead of us.”
Grusha can barely feel his legs under him as he leads Cernu into town. The sawsbuck had refused to reenter his pokeball despite his exhaustion. Worried about his trainer, no doubt. Although he knew it must be warmer down in Medali, he can't shake the cold from his limbs, clinging to him like sodden clothing. He needed to get inside, warm himself up, as if that would chase the chill of the icy cat's words from his mind.
Why was it asking? Why didn't it kill him then and there?
Shaking his head, he pulls his goggles and hat off, drawn by the warm lights of the Treasure Eatery. He'd been here quite a few times; the quality of the food made the journey down the mountain worth it when he didn't feel like cooking, though he'd never enjoyed how crowded it usually was. Right now, that didn't matter. All he needed was a wall between himself and the mountain.
Cernu eases himself down to the ground, sitting on the patio outside the Eatery, gaze turned towards the peak. Grusha pats him between the ears. "Alright. Keep watch, if you insist," he mutters, before pushing open the door to the balmy interior of the restaurant. Niko follows him, sniffing at the air before spotting Larry and giving a little yip.
Right as he was savoring spoonfuls of rice porridge, Larry pauses, hearing the restaurant’s front door open. It was very unusual to see another customer at this hour – could it be a challenger? Would Geeta really do that to him, allowing challengers to take on the Medali Gym in the morning, when he was barely awake? Ugh. Maybe he should have read those emails after all.
He turns to see just who would visit the Eatery right now, expecting a chipper Academy kid but spotting Grusha instead. What business could that guy have here? Larry had barely seen him outside of the occasional League social functions, where they both kept to themselves. The other gym leader looks wet and disheveled, still shivering even in the restaurant’s comfortable interior. An equally scraggly Alolan ninetales was by Grusha’s side, yipping at Larry.
Well, so much for avoiding eye contact. He held up his hand in a lazy wave. “Uh... hey, Grusha.”
Grusha looks over, his pale eyes seeming to stare straight through Larry. In addition to his bedraggled appearance, his shoulder has started to bleed quite badly from where Niko had bitten it with his little needle fangs, a dark stain soaking through the nylon fabric. He doesn't particularly feel it at the moment, but his mind dimly reminds him that it's there, and he should maybe seek medical attention. Niko vigorously shakes droplets of melting snow from his pelt, following after his trainer with a low whine.
"Larry," he murmurs in response, sinking into one of the chairs at the counter. His legs and back ache, old injuries irritated by the tension of clinging for dear life to the reigns. "What are you doing here? Didn't Hassel call you?" Surely he would have contacted the other league members…
Oh. Oh... crap. Larry grimaces to himself. Maybe he should have checked the groupchat after all. “I saw he posted something in the Elite Four group text some time ago, but I doubted it was anything urgent.” He opens his phone and navigates to Hassel’s message – and drops his spoon as the words sink in, along with his own guilt at not reading it sooner. Larry’s forehead meets his palm. “Ah, damn...guess I should've listened to the old man this time, judging by what he said and how you look.”
Now that Grusha was closer to him, Larry fully realizes the rough shape the younger man is in, with a wound on his shoulder seeping through the thick fabric of his coat. He reaches down into his briefcase and rummages for the bandages he carried around for paper cuts, holding the entire box out to Grusha. At least he could handle this particular emergency, compared to the one Hassel had described. “Here. Don’t have anything fancier, sorry.”
Grusha doesn't even glance at the bandages; instead, his hollow gaze is fixed on Larry through the lank strands of his hair. Without looking away he swipes his arm across the table, sending Larry's bowl of porridge crashing to the ground, shards of porcelain and hot rice pudding flying everywhere. The quiet chatter of the other guests and the clink of utensils ceases immediately.
"People could have died ," he hisses, leaning in towards Larry. Despite the ferocity of his words, he's still faintly shivering, his lips blue. "This is your job."
The salaryman flinches at Grusha’s sudden change in demeanor, instinctively shielding Coffee close to his chest as the little komala begins to stir in her perpetual sleep, disturbed by the commotion. “Whoa, now! I know I screwed up big time, but there’s no need to get violent about it, pal.” He could feel his own heart beat faster – he’d seen his share of annoyed customers, but there was something utterly off about Grusha’s temper, like it wasn’t his usual personality at all...
Lola and several other staff members rushed to the scene, at the sound of broken plates. “Larry? What’s going on? Grusha...what on earth?” The head chef folded her arms, giving Grusha the icy stare she was so infamous for. “Young man, I know you’re a gym leader too, but you can’t just waltz in here and challenge ours without an appointment first!”
“It’s fine, Lola, I swear…” It definitely was not fine, but the last thing Larry wanted was to get others entangled in the mess he had caused. Arceus above, I really screwed this one up. He turns back to Grusha, gulping back his fear even as he feels Grusha’s eyes pierce him like swords. Coffee clung tighter to his lapels as Larry strokes her soft fur, trying to soothe both the komala and himself. “Look, Grusha, I’m...I’m sorry. I’m not cut out for this stuff, but we can’t worry about that now – just try to calm down and tell me what I need to do.”
There's a faint ringing in Grusha's ears, breath whistling in and out of his clenched teeth. Despite the cloying warmth of the restaurant, the chill clings to him, sinks daggers into his joints. Niko seems just as confused as Larry, ears pinned back as he peers up at his trainer, who looks about ready to embed his own teeth into Larry's throat.
"There's something on the mountain," Grusha murmurs, almost a growl. "That wants to bury you alive. You and everybody else in this dull little town..."
He can almost feel it, the icy blade pressed to the soft underside of his jaw, just waiting for the signal to open his neck and spill every remaining drop of warmth onto the snow.
While Larry had never paid much attention to Grusha’s eyes before, he felt compelled now by whatever force had a grip on the other gym leader – and what he saw was beyond unnerving. But while his own feet felt frozen against the restaurant’s tiled floor, he hears Coffee begin to growl. Normally she was silent or made soft squeaks of contentment in her sleep, but the noise currently coming out of the sedate little pokémon was low, utterly hellish in its sound.
Coffee's growling goes ignored. Such an underpowered pokémon had no hope of protecting her trainer from the wrath of the thing in the mountains. As Grusha leans in closer, Larry can pick up the scent of sweat and wood smoke and the piney musk that Cernunnos' fur had left on his coat.
“Uh, Coffee? Are you oka-” Before Larry can finish his sentence, the komala leaps from his chest, launching herself at Grusha with enough force to knock him to the ground. Grusha grabs for the edge of the counter in an attempt to keep himself upright, landing on the floor hard enough to rattle the remains of the dishes he'd knocked over earlier.
Coffee’s tiny claws glow with pink fairy-type energy as she unleashes Play Rough, yowling the entire time. Niko yelps, barking and whining and pawing and snapping at Coffee as he tries to get her off his trainer without hurting her as well, receiving a few scratches of his own for his efforts. Grusha throws his arms over his face as the little pokémon does her best to absolutely shred him, bits of down from his coat floating in the air as she rips into it.
The remaining restaurant customers scream, some fleeing out the front door while others crawl under tables. Larry calls out to her, his voice shaking, hands fumbling as he grabs her pokeball, only to lose it over the counter – he had never seen his own pokémon act this aggressively, ever . “Coffee, STOP! NO! NOOO! ”
Larry’s commands are futile. Coffee doesn’t stop until her wrath is satisfied, leaving Grusha on the floor with a nasty scratch on one cheek and likely a few bruises, before clambering back up her trainer’s leg, hiding herself under his suit jacket and shivering anxiously, scared by her own aggression.
Grusha lies there for a moment, wheezing as he tries to get his breath back. His whole body hurts. It feels like he's been hit by a truck and dragged beneath its wheels, which is unfortunately not a feeling he's unfamiliar with. Gone is that saturated, icy feeling; now he just feels smothered. "Wh..." he rasps, squinting as he raises his head just enough to look at Larry.
The salaryman stands stock still, his only movement being his hands as he holds Coffee and strokes her fur, his eyes blankly staring down at Grusha as the younger man lay in a mess of fluffy down and broken dishware. Larry’s own business suit is splattered with drying rice porridge and komala hairs. It felt like a million years before his body willingly moved again, slumping down against the bar counter, closer to Grusha...a million more before he could bring himself to talk.
“That...that thing that Hassel mentioned likely did this. You were acting real strange, for sure.” As Larry surveyed the damage, he held his head in his hands - he could already envision the legendary scolding he would no doubt get from Geeta, should word get out.
Lola reappears from the kitchen with the wait staff, some of them wielding kitchen knives and at least one having dialed the emergency number. Upon seeing Larry and Grusha in a sorry-looking heap, Lola rushes over. “Oh gods, what a mess! Larry, what did this young man do to you? I should ban him from this restaurant for breaking those plates alone!”
“No, don’t ban him just yet.” Larry shakes his head, still swimming in disorientation. “I... got a text from Mr. Hassel about this situation. Grusha’s not being himself... and some of this was my komala's fault, too.”
The head chef raises an eyebrow in complete skepticism. “He certainly seemed in control of himself when he got here! I believe you, Larry, but I don’t want to see Grusha around here for the next week.” Her expression softens. “Though I’m not heartless enough to kick him out in that state. I’ll go get the first aid kit and some towels while we wait for the flying ambulance.”
Larry sighs. As if today needed to get any worse. He turns back to Grusha and offers his hand to help him sit up. “Here. I know Lola’s pissed right now, but I’ll help out with whatever you need. You look like hell.”
Grusha grabs Larry's hand in one of his soggy gloves, wincing as he forces his battered body into a sitting position. It takes a moment for those words to fully sink in. Not himself...?
Now that he thinks about it, last night when it had tried to draw him out into the cold, he'd almost been ready to listen. It was playing with him, making him do things he wouldn't normally... Or, maybe it was simply delving deeper than he cared to go, dredging up thoughts he'd sunk deep in the recesses of his mind. There had been times he'd been tempted to give himself up to the mountains for good, and times he'd wanted to lash out and yell and tell everybody what he really thought of them. Thoughts he'd never dare act on, but that were there nonetheless.
"I'm sorry," he manages, reaching up to tug his scarf free from his neck. Some of the blood running down his cheek has dripped on it, staining the dark blue yarn black. "I don't remember what I said to you. I came in, and I think I got annoyed at you for not answering your phone, and then I was on the floor." He lets out a small laugh, which turns into a cough. Niko sits beside him, Grusha absently putting an arm around the ninetales.
Larry carefully lets go of Grusha once he’s upright, trying to avoid the sharp edges of the broken dishware still laying around. “Eh... it’s fine. I’ve heard worse. Been through worse.” Though after today, I’m not sure about that last part. “Right...let’s get you cleaned up, so your ninetales friend won’t look so down.”
Before the older gym leader could say anything else, the front door flies open again. Larry braces himself, expecting a second round of the same presence that Coffee had so fiercely attacked – only to see Hassel’s tall frame enter the restaurant instead.
Slamming open the restaurant door, Hassel strode in, ready to chide his fellow Elite Four member. “Larry! Rika called me earlier when you didn’t pick up right away! What were you think-”
He cuts himself short when he sees Grusha’s battered form, sitting with Larry on the floor near the bar. Ignoring the stares of everyone else remaining in the Eatery, Hassel rushes over to their side, kneeling down to be closer to their level. “Oh gods... that thing got here before I did, didn’t it? I thought I had enough time, stopping at the League to grab the rest of my team and making calls along the way...I’m sorry, Grusha.” He turns to Larry. “And I’m sorry I was about to upbraid you – I absolutely should’ve called you earlier instead, but you should read your messages too!”
Hassel looks over the bleeding cuts and ruined ski coat covering the young gym leader, shaking his head in disbelief. What in Arc’s name was this thing capable of? For now though, he had to focus on helping its victim. “Grusha, if you can stand up well enough, I can treat your wounds over at that banquet table... once Larry brings me the restaurant’s first aid kit.”
"It's alright, I'm not dying," Grusha halfheartedly reassures Hassel, reaching up to grab the counter and hoist himself back onto his aching legs with difficulty. How far was that banquet table? "Just a little scratched up... Could use a hand, though." At the moment, he also doesn't have the heart to tell Hassel that it probably didn't matter if he'd gotten here a few minutes earlier. That ice cat had found him almost the moment he'd lost the call.
Realizing that Grusha was around the same size as Brassius, Hassel tosses his own coat over a bar stool and rolls up his sleeves. “I’ll offer you more than a hand, actually.” He gingerly scoops Grusha up under his knees and arms, careful not to bump him against anything as he lowered the younger man onto one of the booth seats at the Eatery’s largest table. Larry soon joined them, bringing the first aid kit and towels Lola had provided.
“I hope your trip to this table wasn’t too rough,” Hassel jokes, trying to lighten Grusha’s mood. “When you work with dragon types for as long as I have, first aid training is a necessity.” He gently holds a paper towel to the cut on the young man’s face. “In my honest opinion...this doesn’t look like a sword wound. But regardless, it needs cleaning before I can bandage it.”
Normally he'd have found the act of being carried humiliating, but given that he could barely move his legs, Grusha swallows his pride this time, giving Hassel a wan smile for his attempt at humor. He'd planned to explain the situation properly once he was in front of the rest of the league higher-ups, but he didn't want to lie to Hassel, especially when it would make Larry look like a poor trainer in the meantime.
"It's not," he says, wincing as Hassel dabs at his cheek. "Larry said I wasn't acting like myself when I walked in, that something was really wrong with me. I must've been making a mess, because his komala had to knock me on my ass to snap me out of it. I'm not sure what would've happened if she didn't..."
Hassel pauses with bandages in hand, staring at Grusha, then at Larry, who now looked like he wanted to disappear. “Is that correct, Larry?”
The salaryman nods, refusing to make eye contact with Hassel. “Yes. Never seen her so... violent before. I tried to call her off, but... well, you can see the results.” He closes his eyes, looking completely defeated. “It’s still my fault, I know. Go ahead and report it to Geeta if you must.”
“Given the circumstances, I’m not going to report this incident to La Primera right away. But I think you and I need to review that pokémon safety meeting at a less dire time.” Hassel crosses his arms, as if Larry was one of his pupils caught pulling a prank. “Obvious evidence aside, I find it easier to believe Grusha’s wounds were inflicted by the Glaseado beast than your sweet little Coffee. But, as I tell my students, even a baby dragon can breathe fire. As my colleague, you should certainly understand what that means.”
He continues applying a bandage to Grusha’s cheek. “My apologies for that interruption – it looks like your shoulder needs tending, too.”
Being patched up like this reminds Grusha of when he was a little kid, when his grandmother would scold him for falling out of trees while wiping his scuffed hands and knees with the roughest wash cloth known to man. "That one was Niko," he says, tugging his glove off and sinking his cold fingers into Niko's damp, plush fur. The ninetales still looks a bit guilty, ears drooping as he tucks his tails around himself. "He was trying to help. Hard to hold on to someone when you don't have hands.”
As he tugs his jacket off his shoulder and peels back his undershirt, he wonders what's coming next. There's no way he can live in his isolated little cabin, not while that thing is roaming around. Staying on the mountain at all would be far too risky, and he's not sure having other people around would deter it or if it would only put them in harm's way. It had every opportunity to go after someone else last night, but it had waited for him to put himself out in the open. If it wanted to kill him, it probably would have by now... but he's not sure he likes the alternative any better.
Its words drift back to him. Let me be your fangs . Perhaps it was a pokémon after all. Didn't pokémon approach those who they wanted to train them? Seemed like this one had made up its mind.
“Guess we’ll have to move the gym for now, won’t we...?” Grusha says, teeth gritted against the sting of the antiseptic. “What a pain.”