Chapter 1: In which we try to talk to eachother—Revised.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He's... trying, the Typhlosion thought. Surely that's what matters?
"Please, please please , I promise I'll get it this time, I swear it's actually starting to make sense!"
The Typhlosion's nose twitched; a substantial part of him doubted that.
But who was he to tell him otherwise? This amount of effort was admirable. Stupid, yes, but admirable. The human focused on the pokemon, waiting for the next flashcard for him to be thrown at him—literally. The Typhlosion flicked his wrist, sending the small card cutting through the air. He snatched the card mid-flight without even looking; that was how many times they've done this. At least he was getting better at that. The Typhlosion sat back in his chair, gesturing for him to start. The human puffed out his chest.
"Audino, that's an easy one! It's normal type, either has Healer or Regenerator as an ability," he practically boasted, then looked at him for approval. The badger let his silence say all he needed. The human's eyes flicked discreetly down to the card as he flipped it over. "Psh—Klutz isn't even a real thing, how was I meant to remember that?" He slammed the card into the towering 'Still Learning' pile, sending several cards floating down to the floor. In all honesty, he wasn't sure either: for what purpose did anyone need to memorise all 156 Unovan native pokemon, just to get into the school? What was the point of going anyway, if they weren't gonna teach him that?
The badger would only count his blessings: he was technically a student too, but was excluded from having to learn them all.
A burnt spot on the table seemed infinitely more interesting right now. He grabbed blindly around the counter until he found the next card, and looked at it with mild interest. It read 'Timburr'.
"Pure Fighting. Guts. Sheer Force. Iron Fist as the hidden ability," he recited. As he reached for his phone, the Typhlosion growled softly in warning; he allowed himself a small smirk as the human rolled his eyes back. If he was going to suffer watching him revise, he would be bored too.
He threw the 'Zoroark' card.
"Pure dark. Illusion."
Then 'Amoongus'.
"Grass and Poison. Effect Spore. Regenerator." He countered.
The Typhlosion flicked past 'Scolipede' , and to 'Maractus'. The human caught the card lazily. "Wait, Maractus? Seriously?"
He only blinked in response, illiciting a disbelieving scoff from him. "I swear, I've never heard of this pokemon in my life." His eyes lasered in on the card intensely as he pulled a stool forward, and threw himself onto it. "So, it's gotta be Grass," he said, sinking his face into his hands. "Yeah. Pure grass, let's go with that. And... it's a cactus, so Water Absorb wouldn't be too crazy of a guess."
The fire-type must've been smiling, judging from the confident grin starting on his face as he continued. "Deserts are sunny, right? We'll go with Chlorophyll too. And..."
Could he really get it?
"...Dry skin!" He declared, shooting to his feet. He could only watch in sympathy as the human flipped the card expectantly, only to throw it onto the ever-ravenous 'Still Learning' pile which accepted the offering greedily. "Doesn't even matter, one-in-a-hundred chance of it comin' up in the exam, right?"
He nodded, if only to comfort him. Shrugging, the human shovelled his hands into his pockets. "Doesn't even matter," he repeated to himself like a mantra. The pile of cards which he knew trembled before the might of the ones he didn't: it was looking like a late, late, night tonight.
"I know, it's a bit much," he said. The Typhlosion snorted at that; understatement of the century, if you asked him. He quickly sobered under the withering gaze he received in response. "And I'd probably be bored outta my mind if I had to sit around watchin' someone else trying—and failing—to learn these. I'll stop bothering you with them: and don't try and thank me, either, you probably don't wanna spend your last day of summer mulling over this with me."
The trainer didn't even bother waiting for a response before scooping up the pile of flashcards awkwardly, and retreating up the stairs. He said the complete opposite, but Paprika had a persistent feeling that he had done something wrong. The Typhlosion rested his head on the cold, hard counter with a puff of smoke, ruminating over the conversation worriedly. For the last few months his human had complained incessantly about him being 'too much of a worrier'; he'd argue he just wasn't paying attention before to whatever the hell he was doing! Maybe as a Quilava, he wouldn't question leaving revision 'till the afternoon before, but now he knew painfully better: trying to remember over a hundred flashcards in a day was reckless at best, and downright impossible at worst.
Smoke billowed above, stroking the roof with dirty streaks; the Typhlosion had to remind himself it was coming from him. Yet another irritating change he's had to suffer. All this damn smoke his body thought was a good idea to start pumping out like an industrial factory tormented him wherever he went. He darted to the nearest window, silently cursing the finnicky handle: Mother still hadn't gotten around to fixing it, and now was the worst possible time for it to be acting up! The badger gripped the white handle with resolve, planting his feet into the tiles as best as he could, then put all his weight into a firm tug.
No dice huh? The handle remained stoic in the face of furry, smoking adversity. And that hurt like heck: he couldn't help but quietly curse the non-paw friendly infrastructure as he waggled his paw in pain.
He chuffed impatiently. You know what? He would just—
Star-shaped rays are shot at the opposing team. This attack never misses.
—it then! With a flick of his wrist, and considerably more effort than he'd like to admit (he was out of practice, okay? He was a lover, not a fighter) a salvo of stars honed in on the handle, knocking it open with a chink. He swung the window open, breathing in a breath of victory as the smoke begrudgingly began to flow outside. Problem solved: how hard had that been? Definitely harder than trying to talk to his trainer again. He could work himself into a right funk when he wanted to, and the Typhlosion had a sneaking suspicion he was in one of his moods right now.
He turned towards the staircase he had disappeared up, his maw burning hotter; it felt like looking a Garchomp in the jaws, and he did not feel like being eaten today, no thanks! Swivelling on a hind-paw, the Typhlosion propelled himself away from the windowsill and quickly refocused his gaze elsewhere: that was a later problem, and this badger lived in the moment. His attention settled on the worn door to outside, scarred with scratch and scorch marks. He entertained the idea of going on a walk, just a quick one, for some fresh air.
The fire-type huffed decisvely, walking towards the exit: that's what he would do.
His paw rested on the handle. It was cold, but not uncomfortably so: a pleasant contrast with the normal heat that swelled inside him. Swinging the door open, the Typhlosion was grateful that at least one handle worked in this household. The badger sighed pleasantly as the light caressed his fur, painting his fuzz and his face shades of warm oranges and yellows: it was the beautiful thing about Flamionis Town, the afternoons were always so enthralling. He took in a deep breath, drinking the fresh (and smoke-free) air with a passion. Ma had been practically begging him to go outside more, but he always shied away from it: why sacrifice the comfort of a sofa, or a warm cup of tea, for the unpredictability of the outdoors?
Though now? Maybe he could warm up to the idea .(He wouldn't tell her that, of course. He had a rep to uphold as the furry, angsty teen.)
He looked left, then right, nervously before relaxing into a light trot on all fours- it was more comfortable this way, but Ma was insistent on making sure he walked bipedal around humans, something about 'Acting as human as possible to be treated as humane as possible.'
She had always been... weird about that. But all human mothers were weird about their nagging, as far as he could tell.
It didn't take long for him to stray off the desire path he had watched grow over the years. The Typhlosion was craving a taste of something different: he eventually stumbled upon a sluggish river with a few hardy reeds growing beside it. It wasn't much to gawk at, but what the heck? Didn't have anything better to do for a minute or two.
He sat cross-legged towards the water, leaning over the river edge tentatively to gaze at his own distorted face swimming in the ripples. The badger pinched his cheek with a fore-finger, half-expecting to just wake up. But he didn't. That was really him, huh? He still couldn't clamp his jaws around it. Evolving from a Cyndaquil to a Quilava the first time was jarring enough, but he was, what, triple the height now? He could never forget the tears he shed from finally being able to reach the cereal box for the first time, that sweet and milky victory which was always so far yet close at the same time was now easily within reach to his 'grubby little paws' as Mother affectionately called them. He stared into his own hazel-brown eyes, how they blinked back almost confusedly as if to say, what were you expecting? It seemed so far ago when he had sky-blue eyes, pretty much his only defining feature from any other Cyndaquil thrown at a rambunctious pre-teen. When he evolved, he despised them so much, feeling as if he was just a nobody now: but his trainer just stubbornly loved them until he did too, his common strategy for most things in life.
He sat their in silence for a couple more moments, just staring at himself with a small smile. The Typhlosion absolutely hated him for that.
"Excuse me?"
He yelped, hurtling flames towards the plant life unfortunate enough to be under the badger's rump and launching himself tumbling backwards:yet another one of evolution's gifts, those stupid, and volatile back-burners that knew nothing but to incinerate. And now was a terrible time for them to be acting awry: it was so dry that the flames had a feast in front of them, graciously served by the Sun's heat, wotj the lack of rain and the dry weeds for fuel.
"I hope-"
The badger leapt onto his hind-legs, watching as the fire eagerly ate its meal. 'Forget sand attack,' they said, 'It's pretty much useless,' they said. Well look where he was now! With an indignant yet nervous chuff, he dropped to all fours began kicking mud with his hind-legs into the fire, watching as it...grew larger? The Typhlosion rubbed his eyes, squinting, twisting his body to glare at the flames. He knew that he had just gotten a lot stronger, but it was still quite the weak fire, and that amount of mud should smother any flame...
"Please, I just-"
He stared the fire down, wondering if Typhlosions could will fires into submission. The bite-sized inferno only crackled indifferently back, searing a nearby rock greedily. The fire-type, who was considering just throwing himself into the river in shame—
"MY GOOD SIR!"
—Ah. So those weren't just his nerves talking to him. The Typhlosion slowly spun around, clambered back onto his hind legs and scanned the area. If he had to guess, the sound probably came from the river. The waters lazily rippling were a stark contrast to the timorous fire behind him: a part of him wished to he could just melt into the waves, anything to just escape right now.
"You have quite the problem on your hands, do you not?".
The Typhlosion was somewhat aware of how he shifted his weight onto his right paw, and then his left, weighing his options up. It wasn'tw like he really had any other choice at this point. He had already proven himself laughably incapable of controlling his own flames, and there wasn't much pride to suck up left that that hadn't already gone down in flathemmes. He nodded whilst fiddling with his paws.
"Then it is decided~!" The voice announced proudly. "I haven't kept you waiting for too long, no? Worry not, stranger: your problems are over!"
Yeah. Thanks. He would roll his eyes, but he had little idea what this pokemon could see—he recalled vaguely his trainer meeting a humanoid psychic-type, with a distinct red crest in its chest that could tell his sarcasm thirty seconds in advance. He wasn't risking anything with his potential saviour of a 'mon.
"It would be most assistive if you stood aside, please." The voice trilled, and he obliged without a second thought. He took a few steps to the left, eyes darting from the flames feasting on the river bank to the river itself: where he imagined the somewhat regal, disembodied voice was coming from. He wasn't going insane, right?
The voice cleared its throat loudly, before booming, "Feast your eyes...!"
A single wisp of smoke escaped his clamped maw, and he quickly muffled the gases with a paw. The only thing to feast his eyes on in front of him was the fire in front of him feasting on the plant life. What was the point of asking him to do that?!
"A spectacle, like no other!~"
He edged towards the river channel, leaning over the edge to watch how the water seemed to shine with a more confident luster: it bubbled slowly but picked up in pace, every movement radiating and reflecting light in all directions. He let his eyes wander aimlessly over the sight, marvelling quietly in the beauty. A bubble rose lazily into the air, slowly yet surely joined by countless others in a torpid dance. He reached out with a childlike astonishment, relishing in the muted pop and comforting sootheness of the water within. He had to admit, this was pretty impressive, more than worth starting a fire for. He noted how the bubbles moved in a distinct pattern unlike the sudden assault of bubbles a normal beam would produce. This felt coordinated, strong: the air itself shimmered with might. A harmony bloomed from the water, the bubbles dipping and rising in response to the rhythm like instruments to a conductor. No, they were instruments- and this mysterious voice conducted them with the same finesse as he could fire(well, at least he was meant to...)
"Prepare your mind for...!"
The bubbles grew agitated, emitting low humming sounds and begun to coalesce towards the flames with a fervour. He strained forward on his stance, squinting intently ahead. The voice was already impossibly high, yet it sung higher- so high that he felt as if his throat hurt. Though, he had a gut-feeling the song was reaching its end. A pang of disapointment protested in his mind, but he quickly pushed it down.
The vivaciousness of the bubbles matched the various vocalisations effervescing from the waters, growing louder, and bolder, and faster, until—
The user bursts into song, emitting many bubbles. Any Pokémon suffering from a burn will be healed by the touch of these bubbles.
"SPARKLING ARIA!"
The voice crescendoed with a high-pitched shrill that rattled his teeth: the fire-type grimaced, finding himself clamping his paws over his wailing ears to drown out the sound assaulting the newly-sensitive organs. It helped a little, but he felt as if he could hear it in his soul. Forcing his gaze upwards through the racket, the Typhlosion willed himself to see the move through. The bubbles swarmed the fire like locusts, slamming into the flames with a cumulative might that could probably implode a car. For a brief moment, it dawned upon him just how powerful that was—all from some petite little bubbles?! Man, he would just never get how some Pokemon's power worked, and how humans... are somehow still the dominant species? The Typhlosion, shooed the thoughts away, refocusing himself on the show. Those were thoughts for later, he reminded himself.
Fortune seemed to be grinning down at him—his legs moved faster than his lagging psyche, sending him chugging into a nearby tree with less than graceful thump. He deserved it anyway: seems like the vegetation was back for its revenge.
"Oh, s-sorry fair sir, I seemed to have gotten somewhat carried away..." it said. That was fine. After all, it was him being unaware that started this. The Typhlosion was mostly uninjured anyway: he confirmed this with a quick pat-down, sighing in relief. It seems as if he was more hardy than he thought. He puts one paw down on the soggy earth, then another, propping himself up with a small grunt.
"Heavens, I've been a tad impertinent to you, haven't I? Not even bothering to show my face to a dear, dear, guest to my humble habitat- I must implore you, dear Typhlosion, to gift a trifle of patience to me." it giggled, sending small ripples outwards through the water. After a short pause, the voice continued, now laced with tones of worry.
"Oh, but I haven't done up my hair, or set my pearls into place- please, wait for a second...!"
It didn't really matter to him that much- he was never one for appearances, anyway. He gently lowered himself onto the banks again, finding a suitably dry spot to sit on.
He could wait..
And wait... and wait a little more for good measure. If this was some sorta practical joke, making him sit here like a fool, it definitely wasn't a funny one...
Paprika glanced lazily at the charred and soggy surroundings, feeling hotter than usual at the ruined plants. Just couldn't not burn something for 1 day, could he?
He exhaled decisively- no, this just wouldn't do. He definitely didn't go as far as attending the Swords of Justice rallies, he never did like how pushy they could get with their ideals, but he did consider himself somewhat of an sympathiser: alas, he had a duty to himself and the Earth to at least try and clean his own mess. Just a tiny spruce-up until the mysterious voice came back.
And so clean he did. He stood to his feet, taking a full stock of the small scale carnage he had caused. The few plants that weren't immediately obliterated were charred and definitely dead: he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if he left his grassy sins laying there. After uprooting the dead fauna from the scorched patch, he scooped up some mud from the riverbed and relished happily in the cooling sensation of mud between his paws. How long had it been? He used to indulge quite often in mud baths as a Quilava- it always felt nice to be cooler, if only temporarily. He would've done it more if the mud baths weren't promptly followed with a brutal hosing down from Mother- he rubbed his fuzzy shoulders, phantom shivers from a scarier, soppier time. Burying his memories with it, the badger spread the soggy substance evenly on the ground giving it a few good stamps for luck. He kicked some excess dust on top too to hopefully mask the artificial look, then took a step back to look down at his works proudly. Maybe some bored grass-type would seed bomb the area; maybe something new would grow.
"Has anyone ever called you peculiar, Typhlosion?"
He didn't yelp this time, and the surviving fauna were grateful. He pivoted deliberately on a foot to face the channel again. The pokemon allowed his eyes to land on a damp swath of cyan hair, strewn carefully onto the ground. It snaked forwards then backwards, adorned adoringly with a smorgasbord of pearls and other trinkets he assumed were salvaged from the channel. Though, 'salvaged' was probably the wrong word, now that he thought about it: he couldn't sink his teeth into it, but there was definitely a method to the meticulousness, a clear colour scheme that complemented the hair nicely and drew attention to the seal. Whatever it was, it undoubtedly looked good.
The monster laid its head on its flippers, glancing at him curiously. The few larger sky-white pearls were crowned on its head, tinking softly as it shifted. Like a cherry on top, it had a light pink, spherical nose pulsing slightly with the gentle flow of the water.
If he had to guess, it was some sort of seal-mermaid thingy? He could occasionally see a finned tail flick out of the water expectantly, just as purely white as the rest of its body. Well, apart from a small black blemish on one of its flippers. Though as soon as he saw it the monster covered it discreetly but quickly.
"It is rude to stare, no?" it admonished. Wow, uh... he was really staring for a bit, wasn't he? He looks away apologetically. "However it is understandable- our kind isn't commonplace here, are they?"
He shook his head slowly, considering the statement in his mind. That seemed about right.
"Prima...that's a good name. Call me Prima, for now. That'll do nicely." He watched mildly as the pokemon (now dubbed Prima, he would have to scratch that down later,) hoisted itself out of the river, leaning forward enthusiastically to extend a flipper to him.
The one without the black mark, that is. Meeting new monsters was nice, wasn't it? His trainer always said so, even if most of their 'meetings' involved him taking the piss out of them. He exhaled a string of smoke decisively as he reached forward, cementing the new acquaintance made.
"What may I call you, Typhlosion?" quizzed, shifting its(his? her?) weight onto the side and tilting its head to meet his gaze.
"Paprika," he said, breathing out of his mouth calmly. "That's my name."
Did he say something wrong? He felt that the silence afterwards where they just stared was a little too much.
Its eyes misted over slightly before it let out a chortle. "Oh sorry, its just that," —it took a second to compose itself, before continuing in the usual sing-song—
"—Paprika, as in the spice?! Unheard of~!"
He planted his foot more firmly in the mud, quickly relaxing his taut expression. He had always thought it was a cool name, and it wasn't like 'Prima' was much better! If anything, sounds like somebody got a name made up on the spot, whereas he had a super-cool unique one, thank-you-very-much!
Gliding gracefully across the ground on water that wasn't there, Prima propped itself up against a nearby rock. It rubbed its nose thoughtfully, before turning back towards him with a small flick of its tail.
"What brings you here, erm...'Paprika'? Just to enjoy the waters?" It drawled, bemused- its voice having lost quite a margin of its sing-songiness. He felt himself relaxing slightly at the change in tone, releasing pressure he didn't even know was there until it was gone: this seemed like this was more like Prima's natural voice, like he was actually talking to a person now.
"It's a nice break from the usual environment, I'd say. It is good to get some fresh air every once in a while." He breathed in again, but decided against adding anything else.
Prima hummed in agreement, running a sharpened rock he didn't notice before through its hair as a make-shift comb.
"It's, uh, nice out here, isn't it? I don't think I've ever seen a river so clean!" Paprika commented, lasering his gaze on the ground and focusing on the sensation of baked mud against his paws.
"I would agree, if one would allow me to toot my own horn!" Prima replies, with a rippling chuckle. It looked gratefully ahead at him, flippers still running aimlessly through its hair.
"..." (What was it expecting? How... how was he meant to respond to that?) "W-whuh?"
The sound comes out more akin to an engine spluttering than any sensible reply. He watches the seal's eyes widen slightly, before it lets out a boisterous, jovial laugh.
"Ohohoh~! I have found myself a riot, have I not?"
The lark was infectious, loaded and undoubtedly pleasant to his ears; but it felt recited, structured in every crest and trough in tone. More like a song than an authentic response. "I do wind myself up sometimes, I really do..." it sighed, wiping a dry cheek with a wet flipper. But seeing the confusion seared onto the Typhlosion's face, it decided to grace him with an explanation.
"I have taken up the role as a sort of... caretaker of this river," it began, leaning forward as if it was telling a secret.
"Now now, I shan't edulcorate the matter. It isn't the most grand of tasks, but it is undoubtedly mine."
Small bubbles dutifully ensured Prima's hair wouldn't drag in the mud as it turned to face him.
"I revel in keeping it clean, healthy, and most importantly, alive." A strange relish welled in its voice, and Paprika couldn't help but cock his head dubiously.
"Ah, but I digress. If you would, mayhaps grace me with your tale, Paprika."
He snapped back to atention of his name, but managed to steel himself before he burnt anything else. The sensation was like trying to keep in a sneeze. But there wasn't any backing out of this now. If Prima could talk so freely about itself, he could too.
He inhaled and released his breath slowly, slow enough that the wisps of smoke exhaled were small and unassuming. "I wouldn't say there's much to talk about: I'm no-one special."
He locked in his sight on a small stone on the mud near him, kicking it around passively.
"I've lived with my human as long as I've remembered- but if I recall right, I was his starter. Back when we were both younger kids I guess. For some reason he picked that lil' Cyndaquil who didn't want to know what a friend was." Prima looked at him with interest, nodding wordlessly. He took that as a sign to continue. "We've been together ever since,I'd like to think I'm his Mother's other son first, his pokemon second."
"Their fuzzy, crackling, clawed son?" Prima interposed, voice dripping with mirth. He couldn't help but snort at the remark, stifling the smoke pulsing out of his nostrils with his paws.
"Y-yeah, that!"
This wasn't too bad, was it? Just talking, making a new friend. Maybe he should go on little walks more.
"So, what changed?" It said, adorning an expression slightly more serious. It astonished him how quickly it could change from passive contentedness to confrontation.
"...Changed?"
"Yes, yes, something had to." Prima retorted snappily, almost like a parent scolding a child—patient, but weary. "I have lived here for a few months now, and I have never so much as heard of you. What spurred you towards this river today?"
Wisps of black climbed skywards. If the frown wasn't enough evidence for his dread, that was more than enough to condemn him.
"I evolved recently, I guess." He wheezed out, between bouts of trying not to choke on his own smoke forcing its way out of his throat. "Me and that human got into just a little disagreement, nothing too bad. I wanted to give him some time to cool off. He's got a test tomorrow..." His voice trailed into a croak as he finished, and the Typhlosion had to remember to breathe.
Prima responded quietly, softening its gaze on the Typhlosion slightly. "Ah. It is the last day of summer break, is it not?" It responded. Paprika met its gaze with a minute tilt in his head. "I just try to keep well-informed. Knowledge is power, even if it seems meaningless." It explained.
"And he is struggling to learn the content? If I may ask, what is the test?"
Paprika opened his mouth, then closed it again. To be honest, whenever he had tried to explain to him, the details went in one ear and out the other: the only thing he could confidently say was that it involved most of the pokemon native to Unova. "It's the typing and ability of Unovan pokemon," he said eventually. Suddenly, Prima seemed even more interested.
"That's it?" It confirmed. Paprika, nodded slowly. With surprising fervour, it waved him off with a flipper. "Pah! Child's play! Assuming he had all three months, he could learn just two a day and be done with time to spare."
Paprika coughed—it was clear it had never met his human before. Prima blinked, pausing the continuous rhythm of brushing its swirling hair for a brief moment. "He did use all three months, right? Didn't just... wait 'till the day before?" The Typhlosion rubbed his nose. "He's studying right now, isn't he?"
That, he answered with a sheepish nod. The seal groaned, shaking its head in disapproval. Its previously kind eyes hardened. "Sit, Paprika. Quickly! You will listen to what I have to say, and relay it back to him." It commanded. Paprika decided to save his questions for after he had found a relatively dry spot to sit.
Scratching his ear, he asked, "What, are you some secret expert on pokemon too?" It chuckled lightly.
"Less an expert, more an avid amateur researcher," it responded. "I dare say I am quite knowledgeable. There are more Unova pokemon than any other region—155, I would like to say? #001 to #156 in the local pokedex."
"155?" Paprika echoed. "I could've sworn he told me there were 156..."
It smirked, slyly commenting, "It only goes up to 155, my friend. Maybe he's more of a lost cause then I thought?"
Paprika puffed out smoke thickly at that notion; he was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. "Maybe there's a number 0 in the dex," he theorised. It was a weak argument, but Prima relented with nothing more than a chortle.
"Anyway, I would suggest grouping them by common traits to remember them easier. Take Leavanny, Maractus, and Lilligant for example. They're all grass types with a common ability," Prima explained.
"Chlorophyll, I think?" He finished. Prima nodded, all too eagerly clapping with its flippers.
"Exactly! Of course, they're more complicated than that; Leavanny also has the bug type, for example, and Lilligant's secondary ability is Own Tempo." He nodded, digesting the information—who knew this strange seal would be surprisingly knowledgeable? "But making such groupings can do wonders for the memory! But, you must tell me,"
Prima's dramatic pauses made his fur prickle. "What is it?" He asked.
"He is at least using active recall, right?"
Paprika stared.
"Just—flashcards, that sort of thing?" Finally understanding, he nodded once more. Prima sighed in relief. "Thank God. WIth a bit of smarts—and a lot of hard work—he shall be fine. Such basic information doesn't take more than rote memorisation, anyway. Any questions, Paprika?"
"No, no. That was really helpful though!" He said with a smile, wondering how long you were meant to hold them for. He was still used to just hiding behind his trainer's legs whenever a situation turned awkward.
"Well? What are you waiting for then?! There's no time to waste! Shoo!" It huffed, waving him away with its flippers. Paprika rolled back onto his feet, waiting a split second before beginning to walk away.
"Oh, and Paprika?" Prima called.
"Yes?"
"Good luck," it responded, slipping back into the waters with a wink. "And do visit again! You're a delight to talk to."
Paprika hummed in response. 'Delight to talk to'; that was certainly a new one.
Notes:
27/05/2025, replaced what the human was learning with something more realistic. Hopefully got all the typos out with this one.
Chapter 2: In Which we Right our Wrongs-Rewritten
Summary:
Takes place immediately after the last chapter. After a bit of soul-searching(and fire-stopping) our favourite fire-type tries to talk to his trainer.
28/05/25, no major changes. Just tweaked slightly to match first chapter.
Chapter Text
C'mon Paprika, how hard could it be for him? His human was smart. Probably.
It had gotten darker since he last was in the dining room, the counter previously painted gold by sunlight now a mellow marble. It felt so, so empty. Sure, he never had a problem with a little peace and quiet around to just enjoy himself for a while, but this felt unnatural—the kind of silence you see in the movies when something really bad is about to happen. And it definitely did feel that way: he had that weird swirling dread about his navel that threatened to hollow him out from the inside. He was anxious, and trying to figure out why made his head hurt.
Deep breath in. He could keep it together. Focusing whatever power his moves came from inwards, the Typhlosion pushed it outwards with a sigh.
The user quietly focuses its mind and calms its spirit to raise its Sp. Atk and Sp. Def stats.
He relaxed his shoulders and looked upwards to watch the wisps of smoke disappear into the darkness. Filled with resolve, the Typhlosion practically tip-toed towards the staircase, doing his best not to think about what he'd do once he got there.
Not to think about how he could be greeted with his trainer's disappointment and annoyance, how he could just be wasting his time, how—
—No, he was overthinking it, again. The Typhlosion gave himself a small pound on the head as if reprimanding his stubborn brain, with its stubborn thoughts... not like it would do much, anyways. It never did. Still, that was a matter for later. Right now, he just needed to focus on the matter at hand; that would have to do, for now.
He clambered up the staircase slowly yet surely, nearly falling over a more than embarassing number of times: he was just glad there was a handrail here, or he'd be in a whole world of pain right now. It definitely felt kinder to his paws than anything else in the house. Mother had comissioned a more paw-friendly rail a few months ago, promising the everyone that she 'knew what she was doing'. Of course, they had all waved it off as another of her eccentricities, but Paprika was silently thankful for it now.
He still hadn't adjusted to his new perspective on the house now, and it was pretty difficult to tell where he was going in the dark: he was roughly heading to the light peeking out of a bedroom door which illuminated the surroundings slightly- namely a quilava sized dog flap with a crudely painted 'P' on it. He stopped, running a claw over the letter whilst making sure not to accidentally open it yet. It was... strange, really. Even now, the memories seemed to just flood back.
The ten year old Youngster practically ran home from Flamionis' lab with the Cyndaquil holding on for dear life, having moved faster and further than ever before in its life. The fire starter could only make out a few phrases the human promised to him against the wind, but it knew all of them just reeked of joy. It wasn't sure how to feel.
Its fellow monsters were either ecstatic to see it get chosen, bitter that it wasn't them or disillusioned with the reality of their situation- waiting another just have a chance at truly living. It could sympathise, too. They were well-fed and regarded with happy smiles and warm voices, but never anything beyond that. The food was nutritious and filling yet tasteless and loveless, but the Cyndaquil didn't care that much. After all, what is taste when the best thing you've eaten is a stale apple you've scavenged? What is love, when your world is 4 bleached white walls with the hum of fluorescent lights your entire life?
IT SQUEAKED , the sound alien and intruiging to it all at once. It hadn't been prepared for the sudden jolt when the kid tripped, having trusted in his grip on it. The Cyndaquil instinctively dug its claws down into the arms carrying him: it would've drawn blood, if the Youngster wasn't so over-prepared for his first starter. He had been planning this for months, and it made him giddy with the knowledge it was all finally coming together. He would take the cynadquil home, introduce it to his life and friends and mum, they would play together and battle together and win together.
It felt the human grinning, looking up at the sight idly. Strange. It couldn't recall doing anything to deserve his approval yet. It turned, looking dispassionately ahead and regarding the oak door in front of him with a small snort. The home looked worn but lived in, the smells, sounds and sights telling countless stories. It was a sensory buffet, for a lack of better phrasing. The prospect was... overwhelming.
It burrowed itself into the Youngster's arms, ildly nibbling on the clothing. The trainer let his gloved hand rest on the Cyndaquil's head gingerly, doing his best not to spook it. The monster chuffed indifferently, neither shying away nor leaning into the touch.
The Youngster was luckily unaware of the Cyndaquil's neutral response, taking it as cue to continue.
"Oi! Don't be nervous, okay?"
No response.
"If I'm with ya, nuthin bad's gonna happen: that's a promise, alright?!"
Hm.
The Cyndaquil chewed on the sleeve thoughtfully. Tastes of spice and warmth and sturdiness thrummed against his tongue. Being this close to the Youngster, it could feel the boy's chest rise and fall as he panted from the exertion of hurrying home, but also from a strange welling of satisfaction. His heart drummed stubbornly against its furred body, and each beat sent waves through the monster like an evening rainfall. The movements were subtle, but constant.
Comforting.
The boy stopped before the oak door, not bothering to knock before shouting his arrival to the inhabitants. The cyndaquil in tow shifted until it was more comfortable in his arms, resolving that it would probably be in here for a while.
Not that it particular cared, though.
Paprika could still feel the anxiety scratching away at his resolve. If he didn''t do it now, he'd probably just prance off into the setting Sun and never come back, just like they did in those old-timey cowboy movies. Although he wasn't sure what he would do afer that—start a travelling circus? C'mon, he was better than that.
He dropped to all fours in front of the flap, gently pushing it open with a claw to let the artificial light wash over him. Good—he had his headphones clamped over his head, and he was at his desk, furiously scribbling over whatever he was doing now. He was weird but consistent like that. The badger could respect that in a person. Two piles of flashcards climbed into the air, one notably higher than the other—he just hoped the smaller one was the ones he didn't know, but the Typhlosion wasn't feeling optimistic. Should he get up now? No, his head was in his hands and he drummed a pen on his temple. He should wait, just a bit. For what felt like hours, he lay there, shifting impatiently and waiting for his moment. It didn't come.
Eventually, the badger steeled his resolve. Well, it sure did seem like it: just a month and a bit after evolving he had already made his first other friend, so who's to say what else he could do now? Look, here was the plan:
Firstly, he was gonna sneak out before his trainer even knew he was there, take a visit down to the river and ask Prima for some more advice- it seemed reliable enough, right? Surely somebody so passionate eager to teach was in his corner. And, it had specifically asked them to come back, too! He was killing two Pidgeys with one stone, here.
Secondly, he would grovel, beg, barter, do anything to help. Even if it took a thousand hours of listening(though he would prefer if it didn't come to that, of course.) the badger would see it through.
Thirdly... the Typhlosion chuffed astutely. There wasn't really a third step. But he had heard a lot about the power-of-three rule online and stuff. Hopefully it would translate to real life.
It was a simple, effective 3-step plan. Foolproof, absolutely foolproof!
The Typhlosion, couldn't help but let a smirk sneak onto his face in a toothy grin. Confident in his skills, pulled his head swiftly out of the door flap to execute-
He... he didn't? Alright. The badger huffed lowly, applying a little more force this time, digging his paws into the floorboards to push himself out, scrambling desperately before eventually slumping down in defeat.
Okay.
This could be a minor problem. He scratched the floor in front of the flap urgently, and tried his best not to cough up a smog whilst looking for an escape route. He craned his head upwards, finally noticing how cramped the fit into the flap was and silently cursing himself for not noticing- looking for something, anything of assistance. Come on, come on... Pocket balls, specifically a Love Ball with a fire emblem carved into it: magazines, pokegear, a tennis racket: nothing he could actually use! Is it really that much for a Typhlosion to ask for a axe, or something with a little force behind it?
Force...that's it! He would just have to force his way out of it! He was a big, strong Typhlosion now, and surely he got something else other than overactive arson tendencies—he had to. The Typhlosion sucked in air, and gave one, last ram against the frame, finally—
—SLAMMING his head backwards against the flap, the stubborn thing surprisingly holding firm. The impact, however, knocked over a black and white tennis racket mounted on the wall, which promptly whacked him on the snout as it fell: and that unlucky Typhlosion knew that would feel it for days. Throbbing dully and tauntingly, the pain that followed after the intial shock only worsened. He tentatively stroked his poor sniffer with a paw, hissing out smoke in anguish.
The human didn't hear but most certainly felt the impact. Paprika only looked upwards in abject horror, desperately trying to wiggle out of the flap as his human took off his headphones, kicked away from his desk and stood up.
"What the..." He began, his eyes scanning the room then trailing down to the fallen tennis racket.
And the Typhlosion underneath, smoldering in a mix of embarassment and surprise.
Chapter 3: How to Dislodge a Disgruntled Typhlosion-Rewritten
Chapter Text
You went through a flurry of emotions as you looked at him.
Anger, annoyance, puzzlement...
But you eventually settled on a invasive, overwhelming laughter.
"snnrk-!"
Between squinted eyes, brimming with tears you could just about make out a Pokemon pinned to the floor, looking up at you with a mix of bemusement and irritation. A part of you felt kinda bad right now, snickering above an obviously distressed Typhlosion. But on the contrary...
How could you not laugh?
You still hadn't gotten used to him being, well... so much bigger. The Typhlosion was just lying there defeatedly, narrowing his forest-brown eyes and puffing out his chest in a fruitless attempt to retain some dignity. He blew soot and smoke scathingly towards you, like you were the one in his room; he had such an intense expression that, if he didn't have a flippin' tennis racket perched on his snout that he couldn't dislodge, no matter how much he shook you might've felt slightly uncomfortable.
Emphasis on the 'might.'
You grimace internally as your attempts to speak melt into nasally wheezing, then clutching your navy green coat and collapsing against the wall in a fight against yourself for breath; the Typhlosion audibly rolls his eyes, slumping his head against his paws as he waited out your laughing fit. Eventually, you manage to get a hold of yourself, stumbling back to your feet raggedly.
"s-sorry, I just-"
You take a second to draw a deep, shaky breath, hoping you could actually get through a sentence this time:
"What... happened?"
The Typhlosion raps his claw against the door ponderingly before answering.
"Alright, alright," you say, lowering yourself to sit opposite to the Typhlosion. "I'll bite. But you better have a pretty good reason, or this one's going on the Wall."
Yeah, this one was gonna be good!
You smirk smugly as he groans and deflates, defeated. What Mum had innocently started as a 'Wall of Fame' for the denizens of your household had quickly become an immortalisation for any and every worthy screw-up. Hey, you didn't want this back and forth either, but how were you meant to react to a framed picture of your hospital visit after a Sewaddle attack? If you were there, you would know that bug was no joke. Bug buzz was deceptively destructive; 90 power units on any move isn't something to scoff at.
Eventually you both reached a dry spell: one of the great injustices of growing older was neither of you were still silly—or stupid- enough to do something worthy of the Wall: and you suspected he thought the war was over.
But war? War never truly changes.
You maintain eye contact with the increasingly anxious Typhlosion as you reach for your phone, slowly and dramatically turning it around for the camera to face the badger head-on. Shortly after you raise the camera to your eye so that every detail of this moment was captured in glorious digitisation, lining it up juuust right. Once you were satisifed that the raw beauty of the scenario was all within the lens you let your thumb slip down to the capture button gracefully and hover it there cruelly, teasing the Typhlosion with his fate. The pure distress on the monster's face was worth a book in itself, and you got the pleasure of seeing each and every word in slow-motion.
Oh sweet, sweet summer child—you laugh evil as he shakes his head, his ears desperately whipping from side-to-side as he tries to will you to put the camera away.
"Sorry bud," you say remorselessly, "I don't make the rules, I just follow 'em." You try to look as serious as possible, but you couldn't help but let a few chuckles slip out from your quivering lips. It was comedy gold here after all! Didn't see this everyday.
Branding each and every second into your head, you apply an innocent amount of pressure to the button-if you focused hard enough, it seemed to play out in slow-motion:
The panic crackling in the Typhlosion, making your day just somewhat better as you hear the melodious tune of victory;
The loser themself, shifting slightly as he inhales, making a low phlegmy noise as he undoubtedly prepares to say things that woud incur Mum's wrath,
The baring of his teeth, followed shortly by a deep black blob hurling at your face...Huh?! A tactical counterattack?!
Filled with furry fury, the mass launches towards you intently, as inevitable as your epiphenany in the face of your doom: you had gotten complacent, docile with your victory: how could you let your advantage blind you?!
O, what fate befalleth the condemned? Hubris truly is the smiter of mankind...
A clear splatting sound against your forehead, reminding you of your failures.
Soon after you feel yourself falling, and sigh dramatically crumpling like a leaf in the wind.
"Typh."
Someone was prodding you gently on the shoulder. You crack open an eyelid, finding yourself limp in fluffy arms. You sneak a look at your saviour and find a disgruntled Typhlosion eyeing your slack form; you shut your eyes hastily as he looks at your face and lay as immobile as you can.
"Typh."
This time it was more insistent; he adds a small shake to the mix just for good measure too. Should you open your eyes? Nah, I-well you- think he deserves to suffer a little more in that flap.
"-Phlosion."
He drops you gently on the carpet, and you let out a muted wail as you connect with the floor.
He doesn't react? "Why, you...!" the effrontery of this monster! He shoots you at point blank, with a bullet of gunpowder and saliva, then leaves you here alone?!
"What a brother Fate has blessed me with," you add a breathy sigh at the end for good measure, just to pull at those poke-heart strings.
He wrinkles his nose at you, not gracing you with a response. (You hafta admit, he's kinda nailed the whole ignoring-sibling-theatrics thing. Props to him.)
"C'mon, I'm just joking with ya~," you continue, chuckling to yourself. "At least help me up?"
He chuffs deeply, hoisting you into a sitting position from your slack.
"Thanks dude!" You chirp, slugging him on the shoulder whilst scratching your head with your other hand, the one with your phone in...wait.
"Where is—"
The user endearingly approaches the target, then steals the target's held item.
—There it was. He interrupts you with a dry, horrible laugh, and you swallow nervously as you wipe the black blotch off of your forehead. He puffs out his chest triumphantly. The smell of soot is bitter, and settles heavy in your lungs.
"Tch, why would she—" you mutter. You didn't bother to finish your thought— 'oh! Let the whelp learn Covet,' she had said, 'It is useful, no?'
Useful, isn't it?
"Useful for EVIL that is!" You accuse. He shrugs energetically back, baring his fangs at you with his mouth upturned slightly. Your eyes meet his, and you give him the most accusatory, virulent glare you can muster. He only looks down at you, chuckling evilly.
"Oi!"
You lash out, trying to pry the phone from his grip with a backhand swipe, but he moves his arm back with surprising agility(surprising for currently being lodged in a door that is) holding it just beyond your grasp. He tsks at you, a loud clicking sound that makes your teeth rattle slightly: like a parent chastising their child. Putting all your weight into the attempt, you try to force his arm back down, but you're quickly reminded that you're trying to move a 90 kilogram fire badger-dog thing, and not just your annoying little brother.
But as he blows a raspberry at you, you're reminded that he's probably your sibling at heart anyway.
Well if you couldn't take the physical advantage you could at least secure the moral high ground, surely.
"You're immature, y'know that right?"
You push away from his furry arm, barreling backwards into a roll then cross-legged forward lean. His body slackens, and he lets himself lie freely in the flap.
He chuckles to himself ildly inspecting your phone with a claw before parroting, "Yor immatchor, yunoe thatryyght?", dragging out the 'y' with a simper. It was some imperfect mockery of your word, as unflattering as it was irritating. You glower back in response; partly because you couldn't think of anything better to say, and partly because you wanted to make sure you didn't get a faceful of soot again. Grabbing a nearby wad of paper, launching it at him with your deadly marksmanship. It hits him with a satisfying thwack on the nose, and he half-growls half-whines.
You let your weight bounce to your feet looking down at the Typhlosion as you chide, "Gotta lotta a nerve for somebody stuck in that doggy flap. Just how are you gonna get out there without the help of you dearest brother? The one you steal from, mock, and growl at? Pretty bad choice if ya ask me." You look at him with smuggish sympathy before adding, "But just some advice. Do whatever you want, dude."
Ah, the illusion of free choice huh? How cruel of you.
The realisation slowly shines on his face, like the morning Sun shining through. He chuckles sheepishly, his ears pinned against his head as he smiles nervously at you. He raps his claw against his forehead, rasping out,
"...Help?"
Now, that's the attitude you'd like to hear! He may have won that battle, but you would win this war yet. You pace leisurely across your bedroom, sensing his bated gaze on you. "Yeah, yeah," you begin, dismissively waving your hand at him. You crouch down again, gesturing for him to hand your phone back. "Just gimme my phone, and I'll ring up Mum for us, yeah?"
You smirk devilishly as his head whips from side to side—it was worst case scenario for him, best case for you.
"Oh? Really?" You feign surprise, choosing to graciously ignore his disbelieving scoff. "Alright, alright. If y'won't stop whinging about it. I'm sure she'll be happy to help. Wouldn't wanna disturb Mum, would we?"
Confident that this would stay between you, he lobs your phone at you, and you catch it cooly. You punch in the passcode scrolling through the contacts at a sluggish pace: you could see his impatience in the corner of your eye. But he deserved to suffer just a little bit more, as any reasonable sibling decide.
Apart from your classmates, there weren't really many other people in here- your thumb runs miles up and down the screen with a clear goal in mind. You glossed over first your acquiantances, then your family, then your favourite idiots: you'd annoy them after this probably.
Your Typhlosion makes a sound akin to confusion. Shooting a glance at him, nothing much has changed- still wedge in the door, looking kinda miffed.
He looked expectantly at you—you should probably respond, huh? At least try to. Eventually you mutter out, "Uh, she has a phone." The confusion on his face deepens and you just shrug, then return to scrolling.
I mean, you didn't know how... but she somehow managed it?
You've learnt not to ask questions by this point. Nothing's consistent in this world anyway.
"Got it." You spin around the phone for him too see. He grunts with the exertion, and you lean in further to patiently wait for the tell-tale light of understanding to paint his eyes. If you looked close enough the hazel-brown bled into an inoffensive, but undeniably significant red- uncannily reminding you of autumn. You could only really notice it in quiet moments like this but you kept looking out for it just to convince yourself you weren't going crazy. Since he evolved you had been piecing together the puzzle of his new appearance, spotting all the differences despite his protests. You concluded that his fur was closer to beige than it was before: I mean, he wasn't brown or anything, but it definitely was a dirtier colour than before.
Sometimes you wondered if he was still the same monster. Those piercing-blue eyes had long since melted away, replaced seamlessly with the eyes—and face- of a friend.
"Have I ever told you-"
He interrupts you sharply with a dramatic sigh, slumping into his arms and groaning. But you could see further than that- a sheepish grin flourished against his fur. You chuckle harshly, a half-hearted, pleasured noise: good, he needed to hear that more often.
"I'll shoot her a message. For your sake? Hope it won't take too long," you say, smirking with relish throughout. You open her contact whilst tapping your foot idly: quickly punching in a message, you delete and retype until it seems less annoying than usual—had to use some of that charm of yours, after all—eventually settling with one that was short and to the point.
The disgruntled Typhlosion snaps his claws to get your attention and assumedly gestures out 'Message.'
"Oh, you wanna hear it? Sure." You clear your throat dramatically before continuing, "Wassup? Pika dearest has gotten himself into a 'situation.' Consider coming home a little earlier than usual to unstick him? Cheers.'
A brief pause ensues. You play with the phone in your handle, passing it back and forth like a hot coal.
"That's about it."
He wouldn't question your integrity, surely?
"Well, don't look at me like that! This is still your fault," you say, adding a small huff at the end and hoping guilt shuts him up. He hums agreeably, and you turn around to walk back to your desk.
"Buddy?"
Huh. Warm as always. His fur presses against your waist with a thousand gentle brushes and strokes, the pressure against you increasing until it feels your pelvis is being choked out. One of his claws dig into your thighs, the sensation uncomfortably hot and vaguely painful; you try to wrench his arm off but he holds on stubbornly.
"-Dude."
You couldn't show weakness- no, not now. You had already worked so hard, played your cards into making him look like the schmuck here! You grit your teeth, sputtering out
"I-if you're really missin' me that much, we can hug later," Your voice is climbing, slowly. You grimace, forcing it down to a normal pitch.
"but I have things to do right now, Pika!" Hopefully you come of as more irritated than shaken, but he doesn't seem to be listening either way.
Your legs have gone limp. He does not notice.
The Typhlosion eventually growls affectionately pulling you backwards into a tight, warm embrace. He chuckles whilst burying his head into your side, cooing and chittering as he holds you like a teddy bear. A toy, really.
"Paprika."
Had he grown again or something? He definitely couldn't reach that tall whilst in that flap, how could he-
-Ah. You were on the floor now. The heat festering in your sides eventually dies down, then runs down your waist and washes against the carpet. It felt thick, sluggish. Your hands gingerly drag by your sides and you glace down at them to inspect. Your gaze softens: it wasn't anything to be worried about thankfully.
Soft breathing against your neck drags you back to your surroundings. The Typhlosion pressed his head against your shoulders, then gently took the phone out of your hands, reading the message for himself. You pat his arm firmly and chuckle amicably,
"Ok, so maybe that wasn't a word for word retelling but- hey! Life's short dude, I just wanted to save us both some time."
He's not having it at all. He huffs out with a mix rancour and amusement , holding you tighter to his chest with one paw whilst using the other one to mercilessly ruffle your hair. You jerk away from him and you laugh, telling him to knock it off before you're forced to retaliate.
That's what you thought you said, anyway. It didn't really feel like it came from you.
"Alright, alright, I'll do it properly just legoofme!"
He relents, snickering devilishly as you tumble forwards. You manage sprawl out your arms fast enough to catch yourself.
You edit the message accordingly and hit send, ignoring the sensation of warmth pooling around you, a gentle reminder to keep a lid on it for now.
"Man I'm genuinely starved right now. You want anything?"
His ears stand at attention, and you know those little cogs in his brain are whirring away. You lean against your chair, unbothered to actually sit on it. You busy yourself with picking at the hole in your shorts, wondering if there was a slight burn at the seams. Your eyes dart up- the badger barked at you, practically drooling as he prepared to answer.
The rapid signing that followed was one that was to be remembered for generations- you don't even think he's ever moved that fast before. You appreciate his attempts to call down but he really did act like no one feeds him when it came to snacks. Smiling and nodding, you'll just pray you know what he's craving now, and rise to your feet one last time.
"Alright, alright I gotcha," You grab the golden knob firmly, a mild amusement hovering in your chest as he looked directly up at you.
"I'll try not to smash your snout into the wall, yeah?"
He whimpers as you open the door , his body suspended lamely. The fire type grabs your hand, and paws at your phone whilst shooting you the most pitiful gaze he could manage. And he was pretty good at it too... screw it.
"Hey don't cry or something! I'll be back, just—" you hold out your phone and he takes it gratefully. "Here. I guess its just natural for little brothers to play on your phone. What's a big bro to do?"
You shrug and close the door, ignoring his muffles retorts: it was your job, no duty, to hold this over him. The lab never bothered to keep track of monster ages, so a Youngster's legal guardian got to decide for it records and jargon. And you just suggested a year and bit younger then yourself: no ill-will intended.
It was night, now. Lunala's elegy shone through the windows—bright, but not bright enough to be comfortable, never that bright. You draw the curtain and flip the switch, filling the hallway with a comforting yellow light.
You saunter down the corridor, throwing a quick glance behind you at your...damn.
Stopping in your stride, you barely avoid walking into a drawer: but it was worth it. It really could get funnier, couldn't it?
He was just sticking out of the other side of the flap: his legs swinging carefree and his tail wagging contentedly. It made you happy to see your Typhlosion happy—especially those little vocalisations you could eke out from your bedroom.
But do you know what else was calling you?
That towel draped over the railings, sitting there innocently.
Okay, okay- here me out though! He's evolved now, he's a lot stronger, consider this just a teensy-tiny durability test, too. It was only fair wasn't it?
Come on, come on... attaboy!
You pick up the towel, a smirk on your face, you edge closer to the door, half-expecting him to pop out or something. But he doesn't.
Perfect.
You wouldn't hit him too hard, though: save your sky-splitting towel whips for those who truly deserved it in this world. You lower yourself into a proper spanking position, your eyes lasered on your target: that furry rump of his. Easy does it, now: your hand raises in a well-practised maneuver, the Typhlosion still none the wiser. Three... Two...One...
Your arm lashes out before you can finish your thought, the towel expertly manipulated into a satisfying crack against the fuzzy surface. A brief moment passes before you're serenaded with the shrillest scream you've ever heard, high, screechy and makes you wonder if your Typhlosion has a future in a choir: he was hitting those high notes like a champ!
He kills the sound suddenly- probably realising how good this is, and promptly shut himself up. He snarls at the other end of the door, the sound low and threatening. But you know your buddy: the sound dissolves into whining and you feel almost bad enough to stop laughing about it.
Almost.
You guffaw loudly, not even noticing you were doing it until the sound was already out. He kicks the door frame irritatingly, lashing out backwards to hit you.
"Sorry bud, just some durability testing!"
You don't even try to keep the snicker in your mouth. He kicks back more forcefully this time and you throw yourself to the wall, narrowly avoiding a Swift star hurtled at you.
"Hey, that was close, d-dude!" you exclaim. You listen for that sweet huff of irritation coming from him.
"Might've, uh, hurt someone there. Do me a favour and be more careful where you do your sparkle shows, yeah?".
He's silent, and you consider this a decisive victory. And now, its your job as the victor to act accordingly and maturely. You hold the towel to your side loosely, and take a single step back towards him. Okay, this is a liitle overkill here, you sure-
CRACK!
Crap, gogogogo!
You hear stars whizzing past you with a brother's fury as you drop into a roll, catching yourself before the staircase. The railing makes a surprisingly good barrier, and you wait until you hear the telltale shattering of the Swift stars before darting down the staircase. Look, he'll be fine once you get a snack or something, it's all done in good faith by you.
'All warfare is based on deception,' afterall~
Chapter 4: What you Want from me - Rewritten
Summary:
We follow a mystery third character as they go throughout their day- rudely interrupted by our protagonist, however...
Chapter Text
If anyone else asked, I would say it was for the scenery.
It was a pretty foolproof reason too. If you climbed up high enough at around 1800 (perhaps a tree or something similar height) and if you looked closely enough at the sky, they say you can see a dream you've forgotten amongst the clouds, smiling back down at you.
That wasn't true, of course: but it couldn't hurt to try, no?
1740. I would log out of the library computer and bid adieu to the Clefable working there: she was always perched quietly on a a high chair, quietly chattering to herself whilst reading a book. I hit my hand against the wooden desk twice normally, and thrice on Fridays. She'd then hum in response, a high staccato of a noise. The next day, I would pick whatever book she had chosen for me. I look forward to that.
1750, I would then pass by Dratini's. Interestingly enough, this time he wasn't manning the Cafe and serving the customers his usual pastries. Nobody really seemed to notice, or care—but I consider it to be important to look past these things. He hadn't missed a day in years at this point: the little fellow wouldn't give it up for the world.
--> I added 'Missing Mascot' to the observations section of my notebook.
My notebook. Truly the only trustworthy constant in this world: I didn't need convoluted PSI, or even ridiculous smarts when a bit of careful observation and reaction could get me just as far. I stuffed my notebook back into my rucksack, grunting slightly as the weight hit me again. Heavy. It was always this weighty, but I just had to bear it and grin: a necessary burden, if you will.
Moving on; I couldn't let ourselves get too sidetracked, you see. I dart past the low background noise of Dratini's, pulling my hoodie up tighter as I did so. It's definitely a tighter squeeze for time on the schedule, but I sure I could make it. I crane my neck upwards as I look up ahead, slowing my hurry as bright green probes between the impressive but vapid urban offset.
1758, I arrive at Flamionis' Green Space. I ditch the sandles—too foreign, they complained—and make my way to the glade in the centre.
I touch my hands over each tree I pass by, reminding me that this was in fact the correct way. They touch me back, whispering greetings and pleasantries. The phantom trees were...well, firstly they were amicable. I imagine they didn't get visitors much with the manner their singular, scarlet eyes scrutinised me, bathing the otherwise dark path ahead in an ominous but helpful light.
But they could a tad touchy: how do you explain to someone that the scrapes all over you are not in fact, from getting into a fight with a scratch-happy Torchic but from zealous ghost trees? I mean, I did know how to explain, but does anyone truly deserve to go through the explanation?
"It is pleasant to see all of you too," I say, bowing my head and shaking as many hands I could. (Hands? Branches? It doesn't really matter, but it still bugs me.) Some looked stern, with jagged mouths and unfriendly brambles adorning their wooden bodies. Others chuckled with the whisperings of the wind, mumbling cordial nothings towards me.
"...hello..."
"Fancy seeing her here!"
"Heyyyyyy~"
"You again?"
Smile and nod, just smile and nod. Honestly, if I could I'd stop for a chat, but I was already lagging behind somewhat. Another time, surely.
I wave and smile them away as I continue. I could spend about fifteen minutes in the forest before my better senses got the best of mes—till had responsibilities, sorrowfully. But I shan't focus on that now: I had this time to myself, and I would like to keep it that way.
Ah. This was it. The scene occasionally shifted locations, but the forest revenants always managed to nudge me towards it, subtly: either through my inner compass or their meddling I always ended up in the right place.
Strange how these things work: but I shouldn't get hung up on that. It didn't take years of wisdom to understand the expectation for sense in this world was long gone.
I leave my rucksack under the undergrowth by an oak, then make to climb a tree. I place my hands either side of a tree trunk as I plant a foot against it. I hoist myself up with my arms, exhaling quietly with the exertion as I slowly drag myself up the grid of branches and leaves. Soon after, I manage to clamber into the tree and set myself steady on a branch. (If you haven't tried it yet, try just laying down in a tree and looking up at the sky: sure, all those branches can look somewhat disagreeable at first, but they can be surprisingly comfortable if you get past the taboo.)
I pull down my hood and breathe out quietly into the sunset, letting my hand rest against my chest. It was 1800 now. The sky had already begun to weep a mix of orange and red into the darkening blues, illuminating the town below one last time for the night as I lay there. I let my eyes drip close and propped my head up with my hands.
This was the life. A few stolen moments away from it all my responsibilities, my family-
-A low grumble somewhere near me. A Murkrow nearby narrowly looks at me, tutting displeasuredly before taking off. Now why would it... oops.
My mistake then. My phone was carelessly not off, stabbing a jarring blue light into the surroundings.
I check my watch. 1802. Slightly past that, actually.
I drop out of the my sanctuary, muttering a quick apology to no one in particular before opening my phone.
'Wassup?? Please could you help get our idiot unfortunate Typhlosion out of his sticky situation? Might have to come home earlier than usual tho :( Cheers'
The sender was expected- I only gave two people on this blessed region the grace of easy contact with me, and only one of them was stupid enough to actually need it.
"Bother," I find myself grumbling. I pick up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder once more. Now, which way was it?
"Already? Sssurely you could stay a little longer dear?"
"I really wish I could," I begin, not completely bluffing with the statement, "But I have pressing issues to attend to."
I don't know who I'm talking to, but it doesn't hurt to be respectful. A wistful sigh echoes around me as the voice continues.
"Unfortunate, unfortunate... Take care, love."
I grunt affirmatively.
It was very unfortunate indeed. I open my notebook yet again, opening it to a list of centres. I scan the list, eventually finding 'Flamionis Centre' underlined.
1805 exactly. I shake my head regretfully as I prepare myself, dreading just what those two got themselves into without me. Again.
But at the end of the day, there was only one way to find out. I picture the centre in my mind's eye, the familiar feeling of being nowhere overtaking me as my surroundings faded to nothingness.
Use it to flee from any wild Pokémon. It can also warp to the last Pokémon Center visited.
Left was right and right was wrong—I hate teleport-sickness—I sigh as my feet touch solid ground, meeting the clean but cold floors of Flamionis Centre. I make my way towards the door, but stop when I hear a frantic shuffle behind me: my head whips behind me to the Joy on shift. She's standing erect, hands by her side with a smile that perished before reaching her eyes.
"Hello, and welcome to the Pokémon centre, how—"
I lower my hood, finally letting my ears poke out of the loose but itchy clothing.
"—oh. Scared me for a sec there, thought I was actually gonna hafta do my job." Her Galarian accent returns thickly.
If there was something that amazed me about humans, it was how good they were at lying: how seamlessly the Joy switched from amiability to boredom, slumping over to scroll listlessly on her phone: something unheard of even in monsters' greatest tricksters. The first time it happened I just thought it was a fluke, a particularly dishonest human; but then I was hastily acquainted with a little brother, and I realised that truly nothing was truly sacred in the human world.
"Well if there's nothing I can do f'you, than scram! Shouldn't even be in here if I'm honest. Lucky I'm so nice to you lot." She finishes with a grumble, typing furiously on her device.
She points towards the exit reprovingly, the sign illuminated in the same nauseating light as the rest of the centre. It was rude, but ultimately timely advice: this was a teleport hotspot, but I had caught wind of officer Jennys cracking down on the traffic. At best, you would be knocked out and returned to the closest Green Space: At worst, you could be auctioned off in a pokeball, perhaps never leave the accursed sphere until the day you withered away, sitting in some bored old man's collection—all because some goody-two-shoes Nurse Joy ratted you out.
"Shut up! You've gotta be kidding me!" She splutters, to nobody but her phone.
In that regard, the locals were all thankful for this Joy in particular—she was now giggling on the phone, her over the top pink hair bouncing in tandem—she never snitched no matter who entered. It was curious to say the least.
We came. She watched, complained sometimes. Never more, never less. But who was I to pick apart people's motives if they benefitted me?
--> I added 'Joy's indifference' to my notebook.
Darn curious, that's what I was. Everything aside though, that was my cue to leave: didn't want the boys killing each other whilst I was gone. As I stroll out of the centre she waves at me dismissively. I wave back, not slowing my pace: I was foolish to linger, to not keep time most sacred to me—precious minutes had passed in there.
Luckily the centre was only a good minute's walk from the cottage, half a minute if I pace myself. Haphazardly throwing up my hood once more, the background noise of the city quickly melts into silence interrupted only by the occassional birdcry as I walk further away. The 1800 event had fully dissipated in the sky by now leaving only repetition to guide me through the obscure path home- not that I was worried, though. It was more than just sights, really: slightly further down there was a pokemon's den of some sort, most likely fire-type if you account for the scent of burn toast. Not to mention the family of dove monsters in the tree a couple 100 metres away, who chirped in perky greetings whenever somebody walked past.
Mud squelched underneath my feet; I was most likely near the stream then. I slow down, carefully distancing myself from the waters- didn't want to be tugged in by the monsters that lived here, after all- and continue powerwalking in the darkness.
!
That definitely wasn't here yesterday—a particular dusty part of the bank. Couldn't be natural, considering the river regularly broke banks onto the surrounding land. I dig my foot into the spot, kicking up a sizeable plume of dust in the process. It was minor, but definitely worth recording.
-->I added 'Dusty Oddity' to my notebook.
If there was one fault I could admit about myself, it's that I could get sidetracked easily: I couldn't even bring myself to recall the time now, considering how horribly off-schedule I had gotten. Instead, I let myself work up into a respectable run, sighing in relief as I make out the cottage amidst the brownish blurs of the background. Our worn oak door was unsightly, but iconic at this point- the blemishes in them only boldened with proximity.
Once, twice, then thrice slightly louder. The various sounds in the house stopped for a moment, almost as if the house itself was contemplating my knock.
1815. Not too bad, all things considered. I wait as patiently as I can manage as footsteps tumble down the staircase with a cackle to go with it, followed by a breath as he tried to compose himself.
Eventually, the door swings open, and I begin to assess the damage.
"Howya doing?" he says, his voice muffled and cheeks bulging with food that was certainly meant for two.
"Good," I reply, craning my head over his shoulder to peek further inside No claw, scorch or soot marks...well not recent ones anyway. Perhaps this day would be saved yet.
"Just home a little earlier than I'd like."
The human runs a hand through curly hair. "Look, we both know I wouldn't interrupt you if it wasn't time sensitive—"
"—yes, yes, I know. Please don't worry. Let's just get this over with quickly, and hopefully everyone shall be better for it."
With that brief exchange he steps aside, letting me step in the house and shut the door behind me carefully. Didn't want to break it, after all.
It only takes a couple of steps before I feel his eyes trained on me.
"What?"
"Got something on ya feet."
"My...?"
Oh. Was so focused on everything else, didn't even notice myself leaving a muddy trail everywhere I went.
I sigh as I turn back towards him. "Would you do me a favour?"
He waves back at me, already sauntering away as he responds, "I've gotcha."
Using the reprise to my benefit, I take the time to review my notebook: the recent notes were messier than I'd like, but considering I was either running or walking when I took them they were passable for now. Nothing much had changed in it, and I took comfort in that familiarity- neat, organised, and completely under my control. I wasn't saying everything should be in neat little boxes and headers like these pages, but can't a girl dream? It would certainly make things easier for me. For example...
"Here ya go." I don't pleasure him with a reaction as I catch a cloth thrown dubiously fast at me. He was always attempting to catch people out like that. I instead thank him dryly and pat down my feet, fishing my sandals out of my bag and slotting them on. After that little ordeal was over, the now muddy cloth was placed in a lonely corner for later whilst I dealt with more pressing matters. The human knows my next question before I ask it, and answers akin to a confession.
"So, I swear this one wasn't even my fault—don't look at me like that either, this time I'm not even lying—he just kinda got stuck in the flap to my room? Y'know, comically stuck. As in the kinda stuck you tell your future kids about or something."
"Mhm." I hope he heard the doubt in that one. He gestures me to follow and I obey, hopping up the stairs behind him. Immediately the signs of a scuffle make themselves clear: namely small chips on the walls and railings shallow enough to be misfired Swift stars. I shoot him another look, and he doesn't look sorry in the slightest.
A small scoff of disbelief infiltrates the surrounding air as we reach the staircase's peak; its nigh impossible he he hasn't got a picture for the wall yet. The human snakes past me, grinning at me smuggishly as he reaches the door, with a muted 'tada!'.
And safe to say? It was a challenge being the mature one, sometimes. It evaded even me how I managed to keep a straight face, even in the face of adversity- furry, tailwagging, leg-swinging adversity. Still, I stay steadfast as he explains: I even cross my arms sternly. The fire-type was stuck snugly, each little movement he made making the door groan in despair.
"You're psychic, right? Just psychic him outta there or something, I dunno."
I scoff loudly this time, letting my stance widen in increasing exasperation. "What does that even mean?" He only shrugs in response.
"Big guy over here," he says, giving the poor badger quite the kick to the rump, "has been in there for a bit. And as the caring trainer I am, it is my utmost concern to get him outta there as quick as possible. So..."
I bite the bait. "Alright, alright. give me," —it was 1822 now—"10 minutes. I'll see if I can make something work."
He gives me a thumbs up and opens the door slowly and I follow suit: at least he had the sense not to smash the poor badger's snout against the wall, or something worse.
"She's here!" The human announces, and I wave steadily downwards. The Typhlosion looks up from the phone, smiling bashfully as he waved back.
"Alright, before we try anything else, how about we just apply enough pressure to see if we can force him out?" I propose, grabbing the Typhlosion's snout as a handhold. He squeaks in response, looking up at me anxiously.
He liked that idea a little too much. "I'm up for it!" the human responds, digging a heel into a ground and grabbing one of his arms.
"On the count of three,"
I ignore the protests of the badger underneath me.
"Three!"
(Why would you start from...?)
The human sucks in air and sticks out his chest, then roots his feet firmly in the ground. I shake my head, just going with it for now.
"Two!"
Relaxing my body as thoroughly as possible, I lower my balance slightly and grip his shoulder sympathetically. The Typhlosion only shakes his head with widened eyes, but I steel my resolve: it was for the best.
"One!"
The human's eyes meet mine, and we share a conclusive nod.
"Go!"
And with that, we pushed. Albeit he with more gutso than I: no doubt some childish glee from his monster's plight.
"Hey, I think he's loosening a little!"
I scoff, but quickly see what he means. I allow myself a small smile at my efforts and push with a slight energy. And what fruit did our efforts bring! Rewarded for our exertion, we manage to... uh, create another head dent in the wall with him.
"...Oops."
"Oops?!" he wheezes, pushing me back a considerable distance and hacking out soot on the floor.
I for one, was feeling a pang of guilt in my chest at this point. The human however? Hardly able to stand from his cackles.
I do not sympathise as much as I should when a paw connects his stomach, hurtling him against his desk.
"Do not break your trainer, Paprika. Humans are fragile things."
He harrumphs, slumping down in his arms once more and cradling the phone gently. It was no longer switched on.
"Don't worry, I'm okay!"
Oh yeah, him. I throw a look over at him, somewhat grateful nothing of importance was broken. (And the human being alright was a decent bonus, too.) I hoist him up by the collar, dusting him off as his feet connect with the ground. "I think it may be time to consider alternate methods of extraction." I say, gesturing stiffly to the seething Typhlosion. He looked like he was about to cry.
"Yeah! T-that." he responds whilst testing to see he could still move his leg.
He makes a vaguely apologetic grunt to the human whilst we walk past him again. I scratch the Typhlosion's head lightly too, not commenting on the pleased twitching of his ear. The door opens with a protesting creak, the Typhlosion in tow suspended in his sadness. 1830: not good, not good.
"Hurry up. You have a blank TM, right?"
He nods, and I gesture for him to fetch it: he darts back into his room, and I make my way into mine.
The process of temporarily learning a move wasn't especially hard with the digitisation of TMs, but it could be quite inconvenient at best, and frustrating at worse. Hopefully it would only be the former this time. I do not bother with the light switch—instead I lower myself into my chair, wincing slightly as the blue light of the screen buffets my eyes; it was uncomfortable, but it was time to get to work.
Had to put in the password first. The clacking of the keyboard, uniform and predictable... comforting, wasn't it? But comforts are fickle and sparce if you're me; gazing carefully across the corridor outside, I tut to myself—he still wasn't back with the disk. Should've known better than to trust those two in a room together. They were a strange mix of inseperable and unbearable to each other that only seemed to intensify as they grew. and he evolved. It was interesting really: perhaps I should study it in more detail?
Discarding that train of thought, I load up the browser; Pokenet. Pokemon Moves.
(Where was it? It was becoming quite frustrating now.)
TMs... Pokemon displacement...
There it was. I allow myself a moment to bask in my success, finally feeling the chair's leather against my back as I slump back into it- smooth sailing from here. I click on the article, and then select 'load to disk.'
The computer grumbles, so I give it a slap for good measure. Then it drones out the description for Ally Switch:
The user teleports using a strange power and switches its place with one of its allies.
Yes, yes, that'd work.
"Ay!" I call, clicking my tongue.
No response. What the hell was he doing?
"—Hey! Where's the disk?!" I urge.
I glide away from the desk with my chair: this was really starting to get on my nerves. Just what do you want from me?! Some people just take, and take, and take!
"Hey,"
His head peeks around the corner, unsure and apologetic in stature. The blank TM lands on the desk with a empty ring, and he clears his throat with difficulty.
"The disk."
He opens his mouth again, but purses it shut and waves the thought away. I nod in response, watching him disappear back into the corridor.
Weird. Alas, I would just have to investigate later: I grasp the disk, silently worrying it might just break in my hands. It shone curiously, reflecting light that wasn't there onto my computer screen. This time was as good as any: the disk fit satisfyingly into the TM opening, like a ring to a finger. I click 'Export', then 'To disk.' The computer agrees with a chime, and after a few seconds it spits out the empowered Technical Machine onto my desk. Of course, I didn't load Ally Switch onto it permanently; if this happens again, I think I'd just leave the badger in the hole and enjoy the aftermath it brings. But maybe now wasn't the time to scheme: might as well get this over with and hope tomorrow is a better day.
The disk swings limply by my side as I walk down the corridor, and I watch the Typhlosion's wagging tail with minimal interest. I try not to get hit by it as I swing the door open and step inside.
The human groans loudly and face-palms, before facing back to the Typhlosion with hints of exasperation.
"If its poisonous, it doesn't matter if it bites you! You'll be fine, Paprika, that's VENOMOUS!"
Rolling his eyes in response, the Typhlosion mimics his statement immaturely. The human swings the racket in his hand with practised fury, whapping the Typhlosion on the nose with it. But this time, he was ready: the shine in his eye crackles as he clamps down on the racket in his mouth, wrenching it away from his trainer's grasp with relish. I watch him half in disbelief, half in amusement as he hoists the racket into the air, grinning as he catches it with his left paw to brandish it like a blade at the human. The boy gasped, instantly backing away to the nearest wall out of slapping, biting and swinging range.
"Yeah, watchu' gonna do from that flap, huh?!"
"Hey," I step forward, keeping my expression as deadpan as possible. "I got the move. He'll be out in a bit."
"Uh...not the time?"
The Typhlosion was smoking now—no, literally smoking. The noxious gas wafted up, and he snarls, miming chopping off a head with an unsheathed claw across his neck. 1840.
"Now seems like a perfect time." I respond.
I load the TM, the familiar feeling of borrowed knowledge washing over me. The human darts out of the door, narrowly avoiding a swipe to the leg with the black and white racket.
Being the good monster I was, I let the human get down the corridor first before I begin. Paprika looks up at me expectantly, as if he was waiting to be served a meal. And who was I to let a fellow monster go hungry?
// The user teleports using a strang e power and switches its place with one of its allies. //
...
Wow, that's uncomfortable...
I look upwards at the Typhlosion yawning as he arches his back in a catlike stretch. He offers out his paw, and I take it, letting myself be lifted to my feet out of the flap. Even for me it was an awkward fit, but we manage; The grinning badger dusts me off, before setting his paws on my shoulders and looking at me.
"Thank you, Heather."
He doesn't wait for an acknowledgement, already slipping out of the door himself. I would usually leave it like this, but I was feeling extra graceful today; lucky human.
"Paprika, wait!"
He stops mid-prowl. "Hm?"
"Look, at least give him a minute headstart- its 1842 now."
Grinning wickedly, he agrees with a zealous nod and opens the door for me with a bow.
If anyone else asked, I would say it was for the scenery.
It was quite the foolproof reason too: nobody really questions the 'sensible older sister' type person. One of the few perks, in my opinion. Leaving your two middle-teenage brothers alone? At home? For 6 hours straight? Surely somebody would start asking questions.
But they don't. And at exactly 1845, when the last thing I heard before nodding off was the sound of a human being thrashed, I wouldn't lie to you if you suggested that the view wasn't the only reason.
Chapter 5: In Which we deal with the Aftermath - Rewritten
Summary:
Our badger Paps is finally free, and seeks his revenge with a burning justice- he had been wronged, and was ready to put it right.
But things often weren't that simple: after some more reflection into his day, the badger is left wondering if things are ever truly that black and white.
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Chapter Text
Was he just slow, or was that pesky human just really fast?
Racket in paw, murder on mind, the Typhlosion exploded out of the bedroom—vaulting over the railing rather than going down the stairs, cause who has time for that—all in pursuit of his tormentor/trainer. He could already taste the catharsis, already feel that sweet connection of the racket with the back of the human's head: just a little further! His feet slammed against the downstairs floor harshly, and he began his hunt: he knew this house, and he knew this house well.
He whipped open the bathroom door, greeted with—nothing.
He leapt over the kitchen counter—nothing.
He even lifted up the living room sofa, only to be met with... nothing. Zilch!
The pokemon hissed disapprovingly: this was starting to get annoying. Surely this cottage wasn't that large? He was starting to run out of places to search.
Maybe he should ask Heather for some help, or at least a tip, but man... she could get scary. One of those monsters you never knew what they were really thinking- saying one thing, feeling another, and planning something even more different bound to hurt for everyone involved. He would have to rough this one out himself.
Think, think: if he was an annoying human, where would he be cowering in fear? Probably somewhere secure- enclosed enough to be protected, but open enough to anticipate a surprise attack.
Now, at that very moment if you looked close enough, there was a tiny lightbulb struggling to switch on in the badger's brain: but bright that stubborn bulb shone, illuminating a new idea to the Typhlosion. He stalked through the corridor, dropping to all-fours for extra stealthiness. The tennis racket was held firmly in his mouth, quivering in anticipation for its righteous use ahead. Paprika pressed his belly flat against the floor, scuttling slowly but surely towards the dining table.
Centred in the dining room, the glass table stood stalwart despite years of wear and tear: in fact nobody has so much as managed a single dent in it. It was admirable in a weird way.
Once upon a time it was the best place for them all to hang out for minimum collateral damage in arguments and such—anything to make Mum a little happier. They'd spent late nights doing homework, planning adventure routes—heck, even just the human talking at him; just dandy how many memories a place could hold, huh? Yet when he tried to grasp on any specific detail, they slipped and dissipated like smoke in his grip. Were none of them ever important enough to cherish?
He growled to himself. Why did everything have to be so difficult now? He could swear things were just simpler and easier as a Cyndaquil...
He was running on fumes here: out of ideas, out of time, and out of patience.
Would he...no he wouldn't. Right? His ears perked up with a blend of anticipation and dread- there was just one last place he hadn't checked yet. But would he even consider it as a worthy option, let alone actually go through with checking it out? It was an overreaction, if you asked him.
But desperation could do horrible things to a pokemon. And that Typhlosion, tentatively lowering himself onto his hindlegs, opening the door to delve outside yet again?
Was very desperate indeed.
Darkness.
That's the word that came to mind first, raw and uncertain in his head. He had initially tried to conjure some fire to light the way from his backburners, but was only rewarded with a sore throat and disappointment: he'd work on that later, if he doesn't get mocked to death for it first from the others. Begrudingly, Paprika resolved to shuffling his way forward with a packet of matches in one paw and the black-white racket in the other. Ocassionally the Typhlosion would strike a match, holding the burning stick in his mouth to light the way onwards.
Okay. So maybe it wasn't that far and not that dark for a pokemon, but it never hurt to be prepared—he just didn't feel like stepping on a stray Stunfisk and having to whack it around for a good minute until it calmed down.
Even the thought made the Typhlosion smoulder at the maw, the wood of the match sandpaper against his tongue: just why did this world have to be like this, where any altercation is best settled bashing the other monster's head in? If he could have just one wish for the Slumbering Star, he'd make everyone just a little less whack-happy.
A paw squelches in a puddle with wet agreement, the matches snuffed along with it. This night couldn't really get any worse, could it? His midsection still felt funny from that stupid flap. The things you go through for those close to you...
Well, onwards he goes. The Typhlosion leaned on years of trusty repetition to lead him the way through the unknown: and soon, strips of yellow light began to bleed out from a small shed peeking out bashfully from the curtains of darkness.
The Typhlosion practically floated with relief, he finally had the opportunity to make amends!
He bounded over to the small building, discarding the racket on the ground: he wasn't going to mess up now, not again. The door was just infront of him now.
The Typhlosion propped himself onto his hind legs, grinning to himself as he knocked impatiently on the door.
"Uh, yeah?" Somewhat frantic scuffling scratched its way out of the shed.
"I'm just- let me..."
The door swung open, and the Typhlosion nearly toppled over inwards: only caught by the weight of his trainer. The human let out a strained grunt, straightening him back to his paws whilst mumbling something about gaining him weight. The Typhlosion graciously chose to ignore the comment this time, glowering at him narrowly.
"So!"
He gesticulated recklessly to the innards of the shed; there wasn't much to see except the—
"Dust." The Typhlosion spat out a glob of soot on the floor with a heave. His human only frowned at him. Oh, right, someone would probably have to clean that up.
"Anyway,"
He rolled his eyes with that one, but still tugged the Typhlosion eagerly further inside.
The shed was deceptively big, expanding at least several bounds further into the darkness: the human wielded a little but brave lighter illuminating their surroundings. From the small glimpse he had now—it was still too dark to make out any details—the shack was filled to the brim with various pieces of memorabilla.
But the Typhlosion was jolted out of his thoughts by his trainer's pull by his scruff, the lighter wafting a smoky scent underneath both of them. His face was painted a yellow glow in a mix of infectious mischief and glee: the badger found himself grinning too. Their faces were pressed close and he started with a whisper,
"Dude, look at this!"
He led the Typhlosion further in then plunged his hand into a nearby pile of mementoes. Eventually, he snapped a photo back into the Typhlosion's view and waved it in front of his face excitedly. Steadying his arm with one of his, the monster growled in displeasure trying, to focus on the faded image. But it was all too much of a murky mess in this darkness, and he quizzically looked back at the human.
The boy in question seemed distracted somehow, looking blankly away in another direction; the badger shook him gently for his attention.
"Eh—oh right, let me just show you," he chirped, grabbing his paw and tracing it along the image with his hand. The human held up the lighter too, careful not to burn it on the photo.
"You see that girl in the centre? Does she look... familiar, maybe?"
Paprika was deep in thought, ears pinned against his head. The fire-type couldn't quite put a name to the face, but admittedly her stature was iconic enough in her own way: shoulders raised, arms together in front of her and looking steadily at the camera. Professional, to say the least. However the same couldn't be said for those around her: on the field of flowers surrounding her, a yellow bipedal monster with two rounded horns and a tail with yellow and black stripes glowed, both in expression and from the lustrous ruby embedded on its head and tailtip. A 4 armed pokemon smiled cockily into the at him through the photo, flexing two pairs of intimidating arms for the world to see.
There was—well, he couldn't quite eke the details out. Was there not just a light switch in here, or something?!
"We should probably get going back in, huh?"
It took a second to realise the human had stuffed the photo in his pocket, looking over his shoulder as he hauled them both out of the shack. He yowled in protest, but the human quickly shushed him.
"Shh! If we play our cards right, we can clean up all the mess you made and still be back later tomorrow—comeon!"
Alright, alright, he hated to admit it: but he was right. There was no knowing when Mum would be home, and that would be looking bad for everyone if the house was in that state. The badger nodded reluctantly but hurriedly, picking up the pace in his walk slightly. Along the way, he scooped up the racket he left in the dirt (oops, but if he smiled really wide hopefully the racket's owner wouldn't say anything) and tossed it back to the human who caught it with a look.
The trainer opened his mouth to comment but shut it again, looking ahead absently. They walked the rest of the way to house in uneasy silence.
Darkness greeted the duo in the household, and the Typhlosion was afraid to turn on the lights.
In the wake of his carnage, he was able to ignore the little signs of wear and tear: a scorch mark there, soot spots elsewhere, but now it all seemed to be catching up to him.
Groping wildly in the darkness his trainer grumbled, "Where is it...?" Eventually his fingers found the light switch and he flicked it on quickly.
The human clicked his tongue and the monster hissed in displeasure. This was bad.
Chairs littered around the dining room, mud tracked in places one couldn't even imagine, cups abandoned on the floor—like a tornado had ravaged the rooms and left no survivors.
"A fuzzy tornado who's gonna get us both done over," the human finished, slugging him in the leg half-jokingly. He ignored the blow and trudged further ahead, holding his head in his hands. Just what has he gotten himself into now?
He had already regressed into a despairing lump of fur on the floor when his trainer patted him firmly on the back. Couldn't he just let a monster suffer in peace?
The human patted him more urgently saying, "Hey! We've got this."
'We' absolutely did not! He didn't even know when to start, and things could only get worse from here—
"Hey!"
2 cold hands gripped the Typhlosion's cheeks, forcing him to focus. His human had crouched in front of him, boring into his eyes with a displaced determination.
"We've just gotta sweep around a little! How hard could it be?"
Dastardly timing, this world has. The human's phone rang shrilly, and the Typhlosion peered over the human's shoulders to read the message from Heather:
"You have until about 0100. Make it count."
He glanced at the clock: it was midnight now.
Choosing not to worry the monster, he spoke some spiel on how they could do it. It didn't really help, but he smiled slightly anyway out of politeness. The badger roused reluctantly, the human cheering and jeering every step of the way: the monster grabbed a duster, out of convenience for now being slightly taller of the two for those pesky soot stains, and the human grabbed a broom for his dexterous hands. Thenceforth they set to work, like cogs in steamwork: the human rambling on to the meekly listening Typhlosion about various happenings and whatnot.
Time flew as they worked, and they work they did indeed. One would mistake the siblings for a pair of durants, humming and buzzing around their home in a politely organised manner. Some sweeping there, some dusting there; they were making real progress that most would scoff at, the kind of progress that can only be made once Time rears its hideous head.
Every breath was punctuated with a glance to the clock, a stolen comfort of the moments left- by the time it was 12: 30 the lower rooms were clean, even better than they had left them: and they dragged themselves up the stairs to face the home stretch.
"Hey, Paps?"
What was it now?
"I think we've got a problem."
Paprika snorted, trudging over to crouch next to the boy. He ran his digits over the gashes in the wall, the realisation blanketing him: you couldn't really just... soap over some holes in the wall.
But that didn't stop him from trying, out of desperation than anything else. It took a firm tug from the human to stop his struggles, and the two boys sat down to think.
The Typhlosion was at his wit's end here. No matter how much he thought, exhaling smoke thoughtfully (followed shortly by wiping the wall off the ceiling in shame) no solution smiled down on him, and he was honestly. Just. Done.
Who cares if he got in trouble this time? Today's already been too long for the poor pokemon.
He rose to his paws, patting the human on the back with a sigh. They had done all they could've done. The Typhlosion was in retrospect, grateful for his help.
"I'll be in there for a minute," the human concluded, leaning against a wall tiredly. The badger retreated into his human's bedroom, slumping down onto the floor and trying his best to forget the day's worries.
It wasn't quite the next morning when he woke, it was some peculiar time inbetween. The Typhlosion forced his eyelids open with some coaxing, rumbling out confusion and exhaustion to whoever woke him.
The trainer leaned against his bed beside him, waiting for him to return to at least a listening state. Bother, really... but he would humour this late night disruption, just once.
"I just thought—is it really that comfortable on the floor?"
He shot him a suspicious look, no doubt coming off more as fatigued. Now was quite the time to question what had happened for years.
"I know, I know..."
The trainer seemed strained. Understandably so- he guessed it was well past 1 AM now. The Typhlosion laid his head in his the boy's lap, huffing.
"Look, this sounds stupid, but I've always just chalked it up to Pokemon being just used to it, from livin' in forests n'stuff," (The Typhlosion snorted. He definitely wasn't from some mangy forest.)
"But dude. You're pretty much as tall as me now! A little dumber, sure, but don't you want a bed or something?!"
His words carried such emotion, that he nearly missed the insult comfortably lodged in there. But he really just couldn't be bothered tonight.
"You're big. Bed small." he muttered.
"Hey, you're not that big. Don't be like that!" (Him?! The Typhlosion's eyes widened, then narrowed to slits: sometimes he could swear the human just weaponised the language barrier.)
Funny how the most sincere thing he's said tonight was the most insulting. He wasn't even chubby or anything—it was all just fur, Mum had assured him of the fact.
The human scratched Paprika's head idly; the badger hummed like a weighted blanket.
"Let's just try it, okay? It'll feel better than the floor." he suggested.
Lulled by the trainer's words, he begrudgingly obliged; he slung the human on the bed along with him. The bed wasn't large enough for them both to lie down, to the Typhlosion's expectancy. He looked over at the human cautiously, waiting for his suggestion.
"It's too late for this... just—"
He sat upright, leaning against the wall. The Typhlosion followed suit, propping himself against the human on the bed and throwing the duvet over them both.
And, he could get used to this...not that he'd admit it to his face, though. He didn't feel quite as unnaturally cold as he normally did on the floor, and- nestling closer to the dozing human- it was pretty soft.
There wasn't much to do before he succumbed to sleep, too. He found himself staring out of the window at the blank sky dressed in black, mourning the loss of its stars.
He mumbled something into the human.
"Eh?" The boy responded, brow furrowed.
"Thank you, Démi." he said simply, not expecting any response.
Chapter 6: In Which we have our first Brew and Fire - Rewritten
Summary:
The human and the Typhlosion desperately try to endure their mother's firey rage: and with a little help from a friend, Paprika investigates his own fire.
:-----:
Chapter Text
Now, that's how you wake up: the smell of something good cooking.
Paprika hopped off the bed, careful not to crush the still slumbering human: he'd let Démi sleep for now. (Besides, if he hurried up it would probably just mean more for him anyway.)
The Typhlosion then slipped out of the door, shutting it gingerly with one last glance at his trainer. He felt as if today was going to be a good one—but the mess left from their previous exploits sang a different tune.
Should he be worried? He'd certainly expected a rude awakening after yesterday. There were 2 types of anger with their Mother: the more common of the two was a spitting-white fury that shouted and commanded—abrasive and disruptive, but easily deflected with some backtalk or attitude from his trainer.
The other? He hadn't seen for a while. It was quiet, the facade of a demure woman that smiled and laughed outside the cottage but reigned tyrant within its walls. It was the type that gently lowered the mental defences teenagers built up over their years: soothed away the overbearing, joyless caricature of a mother that children pin their grievances on nowadays. And just when you were at your lowest—maybe after a good ol' hot meal that settled richly in your stomach, or a day of pleasantries that left no possibility of the final hours souring, she would strike: tentatively, and unassuming like a Lilligant, but potent like the Seviper curled by it sfeet.
It was a dangerous gamble the monster was taking here, one that could either fetch a bountiful breakfast—mmm, fried eggs, if his nose failed him not—or put him in a world of hurt first thing in the morning. He stood in indecision and thought anxiously, weighing up his options as thoroughly as his sleep-addled brain could handle.
"Paps? What's cookin'?"
Screw it. The human was awake. The decision was easy enough, now: that food was his.
Spurred by Démi's groan of defeat and realisation , the Typhlosion stepped onwards down the corridor. He could practically taste his breakfast, hot in his maw already. The footsteps behind him were purposeful but getting further away by the second.
"Paprika!" The trainer said rather tiredly, "You really wanna face her? Alone?"
He had a point, but the Typhlosion didn't dare look back: sure, slowed slightly in his pace down the corridor, but not enough for Démi to catch up.
"She'll chew you up and spit ya back out, Paps! It isn't worth it!"
He faltered, looking back over his shoulder at the pursuing human. He had slowed to a saunter, irritatingly sure the Typhlosion would stop. He ran his hand through his hair, presumably attempting to undo the curly mess it had become before speaking again.
"How about this: we share breakfast. Equally. We walk down there together, like a good pair of siblings who don't wanna be grounded—for the second time this week, for your information—and hopefully she'll go easy if we pretend like we've learnt something from the situation."
Paprika rolled his eyes, but waited for the human to walk over.
"Thank you," he muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He never had been a morning person.
Whatever stubborn feud persisting between them this earlier in the morning was quickly hushed by the increasingly alluring scent wafting up the staircase; he duo quickly returned to good spirits, albeit nervous ones. The Typhlosion huffed anxiously, smoking weakly at the snout whilst the human walked onwards in front of him: what nervousness that didn't flavour his voice as he talked uselessly puddled in the human's gait—hovering between being unnaturally quick, eager to get it over and done with, and being slow as a slug, mindful to keep his co-conspirator close to him.
The human stopped abruptly, looking back gravely at the Typhlosion at the base of the staircase. He placed a paw on the trainer's shoulder for stability, leaning outwards between the railings to spy on their parent.
Mother hummed as she worked, laying out four plates of steaming breakfast ripe to be enjoyed; it took everything the two had to not just gobble it down there and then, regulated only by their own anticipation. She didn't bother with an apron this time, the black and white of her suit jarring with the the lived-in look of the rest of the kitchen. Paprika looked to Démi for guidance, and the human offered a curt nod in response.
"We'll watch for a little bit, just for any signs of anger, and then we go in for the breakfast. Capiche?" The Typhlosion eagerly thumbsed up: any plan ending in breakfast was a good plan in the moment.
Heather was scribbling away in her notebook with a serious expression, sat at the kitchen counter with an air of calm. She was making idle chatter with Mother as she worked, not even looking up to wave at the two boys. Démi didn't wave back- he thought that was kinda rude of him. So the Typhlosion took it upon himself to grin and wave at the psychic-type.
"Paprika!" his human hissed, forcing down his hand hastily. "Sneaky, remember?"
But it was already too late.
"Ah!"
She kissed her teeth with practice effiency at the two.
"You two will just stand there, like a pair of fools? Would you common and eat your breakfast whilst its hot!?"
"Morning!"
"Mornin'."
Démi walked to the table, scratching his head bashfully. Paprika slinked in behind him, already clawing at the golden omelette prepared.
"Ata-iná! Démilọ́lá!"
Both the boys lasered their attention on their mother at the invoking of their full names (it could never be something good, afterall), then relaxed with a mix of unravelling nerves and sweet relief at the smile on her face.
But when the Typhlosion glanced at the human, the suspicion painted his place a dark hue. His eyes were focused ahead their parent as she grabbed a chair and sat with one leg swung over the other. The woman then smiled sweetly, gesturing towards the table.
"Have you two lost the way to your mouths?"
The two shook their heads.
"Then eat!" she concluded, placing her hands on knee with a degree of expectancy. "And tell me what exactly you have gotten up to whilst I wasn't around."
"Nothin' much," he muttered, poking the egg with his fork. "Just chilled and watched tv. The usual."
The mother hummed in response, tapping her foot impatiently.
"And you, Paprika?"
The human kicked him sharply in the leg. The Typhlosion grinned and threw the best thumbs up he could manage.
"Good, good." She sounded like a doctor giving an examination.
"So then you can tell me," she began again, levelly looking to and fro between her children- though the Typhlosion couldn't help but think she was looking more at him, "Why I return home from work, only to find my walls looking like a family of Rattata scratched at them!"
Démi sighed, holding his head in his hands. Paprika puffed out a band of smoke and tugged on his ears.
"Well? I am waiting."
The human had always been the bolder of the two, standing up promptly as if he was a lawyer giving evidence. The Typhlosion's gaze snapped onto him as he spoke, silently praying that he'd somehow pull them both out of this one.
"Paps' been havin' some trouble after evolvin'—longer, stronger limbs and all that—he accidentally clawed at the wall."
Mother leaned forward, snarling out, "and he defiled the whole corridor with that?"
Démi sighed in exasperation, like he was reliving the experience again. "Yeah, if only that was it,"
He looked over to the Typhlosion, tutting loudly. "Clumsy thing he is. Burn marks, soot stains, you name it: we were up 'till past midnight cleanin' it all up."
Mother stared him down. The trainer countered her gaze cooly. She scoffed, refocusing on the fourth in the room.
"Heather?"
She shut her notebook in annoyance, tilting her head at her. "I couldn't tell you. I didn't get home until after they'd sorted themselves out."
Paprika was sweating at this point: he couldn't feign muteness forever, and he wasn't nearly as good as this confrontation stuff as the others were.
The interrogator inhaled decisively as she stood, retreating away from the dining room. Démi sat. She sighed as she relaxed on the sofa, already scrolling through her phone.
"Always some wahala with you lot." She pulled out a flask the badger could swear wasn't there before.
"Paprika!" The Typhlosion yapped in acknowledgement, throwing one look at the other two teenagers before walking to the sofa.
"Come where I can see you." she continued, waiting patiently. He reluctantly tiptoed in front of her, scratching an ear idly.
"Take this flask, and make me a cup of tea," she said, handing him the black thermos. He walked- uncomfortably aware of how unnatural his weight on two paws felt- into the kitchen. The Typhlosion filled the silver kettle about halfway full, screwing the faucet shut afterwards with a paw. He placed the kettle carefully on the stove, then looked around for the matches. The monster chuffed as he searched, and then realised exactly where he had left them; he couldn't exactly explain to Mother why they were soaked in mud either.
He looked to Démi for guidance, enduring the glinting amusement as he stood up from his chair.
"Ma!" he said, taking a step forward.
"Yes?" She responded, looking over the sofa back at the two boys.
"We're outta of matches. Can't light the stove."
She stood up in incredulousness, gesturing passionately at the Typhlosion. "Matches? For what?! You think you'll be seeing me so much as looking at them in the shops anymore?! You think I've been clothing, feeding and housing a fuzzy torch for 6 years?!"
Oops. That was him.
"Flamethrower! Ember! My friend if you don't ignite that stove this instant, I'll show you some real fire in this household!"
She sat back down with a huff, fuming to herself. The human shrugged at him, ignoring his monster's desperate whines as he walked away to retreat up the staircase.
Leaving him alone. Crap.
He knew he shouldn't be panicking, but it was pretty hard to do anything else right now! He hadn't so much as spat out an ember in the last week—aside from damaging the local environment, but that didn't really count—and he didn't exactly have faith to do it now!
This would probably go one of two ways: he would either make a fool of himself, a friggin' fully evolved fire-type who couldn't bring water to a boil, or he would end up burning down the entire house; both of those options didn't exactly fare well for the Typhlosion.
The Typhlosion in question however didn't really have a choice in the matter; he wasn't too sure the house would be standing if he didn't get that cuppa to Mother pronto.
So think, Paprika, think! You don't need an open flame to heat the kettle, do you?
The fire-type gripped the kettle with his hands, focusing intensely on redirecting heat from his body inside of it. Relief welled in the pokemon as the kettle eventually whistled loudly. He placed the thermos on the countertop with unstead hands and picked out the closest tea bag.
Wanting to just get it over with, the Typhlosion dropped the bag into the thermos and warmed it up just a tad more with his paws, just to make it happen faster. He poured the hot water into the black flask, shaking it vigorously to stir. After a solid minute, he poured in a sparing amount of milk- nobody likes a lukewarm cup of tea, after all.
Finally, the Typhlosion smirked as he had a daring idea: why not make her suffer just as much as he did? Nothing intense to actually hurt anyone of course, that was a little too spicy for him.
But the badger couldn't help but wish some discomfort upon his Mother as he sprinkled a polite helping of the nearest spice to the flask: just spicy enough. He chortled evilly to himself, putting the lid back on the pitch-black thermos.
Paprika handed the flask back to her quickly, watching expectantly as the elder human took a swig of the drink. Her face contorted into surprise but then melted into satisfaction, eagerly taking another gulp of the beverage.
"Just as I like it!"
The pokemon could only watch in confusion as she grinned, ruffling his head warmly.
"You'll make my tea more often—much better than that fool of a boy." Grunting a befuddled thank-you, the Typhlosion retreated away, any lingering thoughts quickly replaced by his estranged breakfast.
She was weird, no doubt. Paprika was sure that was his best act of teenage rebellion yet.
"It's not going anywhere," Heather commented, tutting disapprovingly at the Typhlosion, who personally thought she didn't know how to enjoy a good meal. He made an extra charade of licking his chops when he finished, relishing in her eyeroll.
The Typhlosion cleaned his plate dutifully after eventually deciding to clean Démi's too; he'd hold that good deed against him. But now he had better things to do then these incessant chores—he clambered up the staircase after his human, eager to discuss the idea Prima had given him.
Slipping into the bedroom, he grunted a greeting, standing on hind legs to place his paws on the trainer's shoulders and his chin on his head.
"Hey Paps," he said, scratching between the pokemon's ears. He then returned to pondering over flashcards religiously. The Typhlosion's eyes narrowed.
"What's up?" The human asked. Smoke was already climbing up the walls, and the human opened the window without missing a beat. "Can't be stressing out this hard a day before my test," he commented dryly.
Paprika chuffed sharply at that; that wasn't right. Demi spun his chair to shoot him a funny look. "...Why would we be up at 1am yesterday if the test was tomorrow? Neither of us are that stupid," he said. "Look, I'll even show you." He pulled out his phone from his pocket, and switched it on. 'Sunday' was displayed in bold, white letters. "See? It's the weekend."
Paprika snatched it out of his hand... and according to this, he was right. But maybe his phone was glitchy or something? "If you need to get more sleep, the bed's still there," the human joked with an annoying smile. "But did you actually come up here for something, or didya just want to show off how out of it you are right now?"
With an indignant huff, he kicked Demi's chair aside, watching as the human was sent spinning into a nearby wall—not hard enough to hurt him, of course. Hopefully. He got to work, rearranging the flashcards on the desk into appropiate groups: 'Lilligant' , 'Serperior', and 'Simisage' into grass-types; 'Stoutland' , 'Herdier' and 'Watchog' into normal-types, and et cetera.
He quickly sorted the 'Woobat' card, like he was ripping off a bandage. For good measure, he put it face-down too.
"So, got any explanation for why you're messing with my cards?" Demi asked, dragging his chair back over to peer over his shoulder. He shushed the human, who obliged with a shrug until he was done.
Ta da! He crossed his arms—pretty well-done, if he could say so himself. The human's eyes scanned slowly over his work, his cheeks sucking in as he did when he was deep in thought. It was an expression he used to see often, when they battled. Gradually, he nodded to himself. "What, this is for grass-types, and this is for fire-types..." His fingers brushed against each group in turn, explaining each of them to the Typhlosion, who nodded occasionally with a smile. "You know what? I'm so glad you thought of this—I genuinely couldn't have been bothered to sort them into groups myself!"
His mouth hung open as he stared into his trainer. Smiling sheepishly, he shrugged.
"Life's hard enough. I can focus my energy into things that matter." He said. "But thanks, Paprika. Maybe you're not so dumb after all," he said, and Paprika promptly delivered a 'your welcome' as smoke puffed into his face. The human coughed and waved it away, trying his best to sound annoyed but unable to keep the laugh out of his voice. "Ack—get outta here! I still gotta study for tomorrow!"
The human shooed him out of the door, still cackling along with him. But still, something didn't sit right with him about what day it was... aha! He could just ask Prima, and everything would be sorted.
"Ah, so you remember the way to the door? Need to get your furry rump outside the house more, anyway! What kind of pokemon spends all their time inside?! Better not be coming back 'till you've gained some experience," Mother commented, shooting him a serious look as he headed for the front door once more.The Typhlosion only gazed blankly back at her.
Her gaze softened slightly, offering a coy smile to the badger. "...Just stay safe, okay? I will not be paying for any hospital visits at this time of year." And as quickly that small spark of sympathy was born, it died.
He nodded, grabbing a set of rusted keys and shutting the door behind him.
Paprika had spent the entire walk thinking intensely.
The Sun was high in the sky, a gentle breeze washing down on Flamionis Town: by all convential means it was a good day. The Typhlosion retraced his steps from yesterday, back where he met the curious seal in the waters- he had agreed to meet it again, and it just seemed like the right thing to keep your promises. It wasn't long until he was at the familiar riverbank again—and he was met with none of his shame from the previous day, thankfully. Though, he wasn't sure he was ever going to live that one down if anyone else found out.
Now, uh—was it even here? He looked over the river edge, peering inquisitively into the dizzying depths of the water, squinting to make out nothing but shapeless dark blobs. Some small, some large: all definitely some unassuming fish monsters down there, just looking to get on with their days.
He looked harder still, notcing one mass displacing water rapidly around it as it grew larger or nearer, depending on how you looked at it.
Wait—nearer?
The Typhlosion stepped backwards anxiously.
Sending water hurtling in every direction- yes, including Paprika's, he was soaked quickly to the bone, if you must know—the shape breached water tension, pompously somersaulting before landing on a bubble floating in the air.
"Go-od morning!"
It flicked its hair, looking down at the Typhlosion then craning its head downwards,
"Oh, you fancied a swim then?"
He chuffed in response, lowering himself to all fours to shake off the water rigorously. "I didn't."
"Oh?" Prima squinted, then ran a flipper through their hair in realisation. "OH!"
He looked up at the seal who was perched on the bubble in the hovering in the air with disdain.
"I'm so sorry!" It apologised, but the Typhlosion was keen enough to see the small smirk on its face. He had half the mind to turn back there and then: his fur always took forever to dry, and now he'd be feeling heavier for the rest of the day.
Prima waved a flipper and the bubble lowered itself obediently until the seal was eye level with badger.
"Well," it began with a glint in its eyes, "How did it go?"
The Typhlosion sighed and sat, cringing as his fur squelched against the bank. "Surprisingly good, actually!" he said, hoping his voice carried the happiness drowned out from his face. The seal made a pleased humming noise. "But he did say the only reason he hadn't already done it was that he was too lazy. He still said thanks, though."
"So your trainer is either too proud to admit he hadn't thought of it, or too stupid to have done it himself." Prima deadpanned. Pretty accurate conclusion, all in all.
"Hmph, matters not now. You can dry yourself off now, do not worry about me," it said, clearly bracing itself for something. Something that the Typhlosion wasn't really sure he had.
He scratched his ear absently before responding. "I can't really do any better than this."
"What? Just-erupt or something, like yesterday!" It prompted further. Paprika whined to himself.
"For heaven's sake Typhlosion, give me a show!" it urged breathily, leaning forward with a degree of expectance.
Paprika sat uncomfortably there for a brief moment, before relinquishing with a sigh. "I dunno how," he admitted, throwing out his arms in exasperation. "Whatever happened then was a fluke. Can't even light a match if I tried."
Prima peered through the Typhlosion steadily, mumbling to itself.
"Aha! An idea!" it through up a flipper in celebration of something that hadn't happened yet. The Typhlosion however, wasn't so easily roused.
"It doesn't involve any more water, right?" he queried, tensing slightly. The water-type chortled, shaking its head amicably.
"Nono, no need for worry." It responded, as if both of their conversations didn't end with a somewhat soaked badger trudging away.
"In fact,"
The user draws power from nature and fires it at the target. It may also lower the target’s Sp. Def.
"It involves arguably the opposite."
Prima's face contorted with concentration, holding out the green sphere towards the Typhlosion. It glowed with an awesome light, and if he looked close enough—was that a forest, the muddy image swirling inside? But when he blinked it was gone: probably his imagination, then.
"This is an Energy ball," Prima huffed, hurling it at the Typhlosion. He backed away, but the projectile stopped just in front of his face, humming with a borrowed energy.
"As you can probably tell, it is a grass type move—powerful against a water-type like me, but trivial to your brethren. You, my dear Typhlosion, are going to ignite it."
Him? Ignite it? He looked blankly at the seal behind, but it only directed his attention back to the ball.
Pure grass energy—he was sure of that. So surely, its gotta be super flammable, right? Alright then: he could do this.
The Typhlosion sucked in a deep breath, emptying his mind.
"Wrong!" Prima reprimanded sharply. The Typhlosion growled confusedly, breaking his focus to look over at it.
"You would be such a powerful fighter if you were a water type, Typhlosion," it began, looking at him up and down. "But you aren't! Who taught you how to cycle, looking so tranquil, huh? A Medicham?! "
Alright, no need to throw shade at an entire species. That was somewhat excessive if you asked him. "What the hell do you mean by 'cycle'?" He asked quietly. Prima gawked at him, but then must've quickly realised it wasn't appearing as regal-like as it does usually. Clearing its throat, it straightened its back and laid its flippers daintily over its midsection.
"This is why minimum trainer age needs to be raised," it tutted, eyes closed. Was it talking to him, or to itself? "Pokemon and humans running around, not even knowing why what they do work! Tell me Paprika, are you a thinker, or a doer?"
"Me?" He squeaked, pointing a claw innocently at his own chest. Prima nodded seriously. "A... doer, I think?"
It clicked its tongue.
"N-no, a thinker!"
Prima's mouth tightened.
"Doer, final answer," he answered breathily. Prima smiled softly as it chastised him.
"You really are a unique one, aren't you? I have never seen a fire-type so eager to compromise." It said, then cheerily moved on as if it was just a casual comment.
"My point is," It began. "You're too," it grapsed at the air with its arms furiously, as if it could pluck the right words out of it. "Too calm! Fire is hot! Burning! Friction! Do you ever see a peaceful fire?"
He shook his head.
"Me neither," Prima responded, simmering down slightly. "That is why you were able to burn so... brilliantly yesterday! Yes, I've got it—you were confused, spooked and startled—a cornered beast bites the hardest, after all."
Paprika growled, shaking his head as if he could dispel the notion floating in the air. "What, so just to be able to 'cycle' properly, I've got to be unhappy?!" He protested, making sure the air quotes were obvious around 'cycle'. He was still convinced that it was made-up.
Prima clapped its fins together, trilling in a sing-song, "You've got it!"
He glowered at the seal. It stared innocently back in response.
"What?"
"Nothing..." he spat, turning back to the humming ball to try again; but then turned back to Prima helplessly.
"I'm not really that angry right now," he began, shrugging. Prima leaned forward, deep in thought.
"What makes you angry?" It said, rubbing its nose. To be frank, he didn't really know; anytime he recalled being angry it was probably closer to irritation, the kind that dissipated after the heat of the moment. He shrugged to Prima.
"People getting hurt?"
"Makes me more sad than anything."
"Waiting?"
"Annoying at most."
"People talking over you?"
"I—"
"—Frequent, questions, often cyclical in nature?"
"No—"
"What about other people getting hurt?"
"You already asked that." He grumbled. Prima squinted at him, like it was waiting for a bomb to explode, then gave out its own sigh.
"How can a fully evolved fire type be so... lukewarm?"
Lukewarm?! Alright, that kinda ticked off the Typhlosion slightly.
Prima held its head in its flippers, flicking water out of the river as its tail swished. "Nothing to do now but move swiftly onward." it resolved, the smile quickly returning to its face. "Be a dear and help me out of this water, would you?"
He didn't like the sound of that- but what else could he do at this point? The Typhlosion reluctantly crouched, allowing the seal to hoist itself out of the water to sit at the river edge—nearly pulling the badger into the waters while it was at it, but he managed to hold his balance. Prima seemed to do a double take, placing a flipper on the Typhlosion's forehead like it was testing for a fever.
"My dear, are you sick?! You are worryingly cold, colder than a fire-type should ever be," it commented, shaking its head dissapprovingly. "Are you sure you haven't evolved prematurely? Not sure how to put this lightly, Paprika, but it is possible this could be a side effect of candy scumming..."
He exhaled sharply, blowing smoke above them. "I haven't even seen a rare candy before, Prima, they were banned a while back," he assured , though part of him wished that was the reason was so easy—another fond memory he had when he was a Quilava was lying listlessly on his trainer's lap, often when he was in front of the television. He recalled foggily an epidemic of rare candies being used to force evolution quickly, as the people on the tv said, either for aesthetic or battle purposes. In the short term, pokemon were stronger and faster in less time.
Long term things went... wrong. Reports of miraculously strong pokemon that could rival the Legends themselves were hurriedly replaced with tragedies of Charizards with wings that couldn't carry their own weight, Raichus that couldn't discharge electrcity properly—a whole generation of, as much as the term made his stomach turn, 'defective' monsters.
"The Swords of Justice would probably thrash you even if you thought of using one nowadays, " He added half-jokingly.
"Alright, alright." Prima conceded. "But we are friends, no? You can tell me anything."
"Yeah," the Typhlosion swallowed thickly, the taste of smoke rampant on his tongue. "I know."
"And Paprika?" it said, eyes sparkling at him.
"Yes?"
"BOO!"
Prima screeched, emitting an ungodly shrill shriek that sent a shiver up the Typhlosion's spine—he recoiled, but managed to keep his cool once again.
"What the heck was that for?!" he hissed, ready to pounce at the seal. "I thought we were havin' a moment!"
"Oh, I meant every bit of what I said," Prima responded, looking rather pleased with itself. "But I found an opportunity that I just couldn't help taking." It tapped his shoulder excitedly, then pointed behind him. "Look!"
He turned around—the ball of energy had erupted into flame, burning a deep orange colour. Was that him?
"Results!" it trilled melodiously. "This theory is developing nicely, is it not? Your fear is the key to your fire!"
That just didn't sit quite right with him. Sure, Prima was right—but does he really only want to achieve his potential through negative emotions? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, taking the opportunity to dry himself thoroughly: he stepped into the raging fire, washing himself in the flames until he was satisfied.
Prima hummed, like a scientist taking notes on their latest experiment. "At least you have the suitable resistance to the element." It said, waiting for the Typhlosion to step out before extinguishing the glowing ball with a pack of bubbles.
"All's well that ends well: now, if you keep focusing on those emotions inside you, you should be setting forests alight in no time!"
He rolled his eyes, but had the right mind not to retort that one: he was grateful he was dry now, and wanted to keep it that way. "Thank you, Prima."
It bowed with bombast, smiling at him the entire time.
"Would be nice to show my trainer this, though—he's been taking the mick out of me ever since I've been coughing up smoke," he said, already thinking about lighting his smug butt on fire: a badger can dream, can't he?"
"Ah, the smoke thing too!" It sounded like it was thinking fondly of the past. "That'll probably give you lung problems down the line." Prima finished casually.
"But I thought fire-types are meant to be alright with that sorta stuff?" he responded, somewhat anixously.
"Fire-type, not Poison," Prima reprimanded, waggling a flipper teasingly. "Smoke is outside of your element."
"Got any more bad ideas to solve that one?" He quipped back, nearly able to keep the worry out of his voice.
It shrugged, smirking at him. "We have hospitals for a reason, try going to one. Ask your trainer's mum or something."
The Typhlosion frowned at it, unable to think of a response to that one. Now that it mentioned it, the constant smoking did kiinda seem excessive: never heard the tvs talkin' about Typhlosions being an active choking hazard to those around them. But he still had another question to ask. Clicking his teeth, he asked:
"What day is it today?"
Prima frowned. "Sunday, if I'm not mistaken," it answered. "Why do you ask?"
So it was just him. But still...!
He straightened up his sagged shoulders. "No reason, just had a nasty case of deja vu, I guess," he muttered. "Thanks."
"Go now, Paprika. This could be serious, and I'm gonna be miffed if I lose my new friend!" It leaned forward suddenly, pressing its nose against his briefly with a comical squeak, then grinned at him before waving goodbye: the badger waved back, confused, wiping the thin sheen of water off of his snout.
"Us guys gotta stay together!"
And with that, the seal disappeared back into the waters.
"Yeah, we do," He responded to no one in particular. The seal was certainly an enigma, but he couldn't deny the warmth in his chest left it after it left: along with the slightly cool sensation of water on his face. It was a pleasant companion, for sure- one that he learned more about, piece by piece.
Currently that piece of knowledge was his 'pleasant companion' was a guy, believe it or not!
A guy.
Huh.
Chapter 7: In Which we Fix Ourselves (And nearly kill someone too) - Rewritten
Summary:
Paprika has a problem. It's easy enough to solve, really- but does our badger actually want to solve it?
Chapter Text
Paprika took the walk home slowly, playing with the revelation in his mind: after all there were quite a few 'it's needing a 'he' to be plastered over them in his head, and it took the poor badger the majority of his brain power as he traipsed home.
Thankfully, he managed to sort himself out as he stepped indoors and shut the entrance behind him, throwing the keys back on their hook. Mother wasn't on the sofa anymore- probably locked in her room as she normally did, he'd guess. But the badger had more important issues to face right now.
He glanced at the clock; good, just before time he'd lose his chance. He hurried to the back door, intercepting the other pokemon walking out of it- he wouldn't see her 'till past 6pm otherwise.
"What?" she said, looking down at him. The hostility in her gaze kinda made it hard to get the words out, and he ended up just garbling out a mess of his thoughts at her with a splutter.
Heather sighed, throwing aside her rucksack and gently but forcefully leading the badger to sit next to him on the sofa. She turned towards him, attempting her best 'caring and patient sister' face. It didn't quite land, but it was the thought that counted to him anyway. He played with his claws, playing with the words to say in his mind. Eventually the Typhlosion manages to stumble out,
"What do you think of the whole... smoke thing?"
The question was laid out tentatively, with no accusations but gently encouraging her own contribution.
"Get to the point, Paprika." she snapped, the impatience painting her voice an ugly black. He recoiled, quickly picking up the pace of the conversation.
"You don't think it's any cause for concern, right?"
The pokemon beside him hummed, playing with an ear thoughtfully.
"Right?"
Heather took a deep breath before responding—that's probably not a sign, he thought—before responding. "It isn't good." She stated, looking down to him.
"So—"
She cut in hugely. "—Yes, we should go."
Go? Go where? The Typhlosion whined with confusion.
"The hospital, Paprika. That's what you were going to say, right?" Her voice was strained, impatient, like she'd been trying to explain this for an irritating amount of time to him.
He only nodded in response, maw slightly agape.
"Come on," she urged, taking his paw in her hand and dragging him to his feet. "If we hurry it up, this shouldn't take long at all." Heather led Paprika up the stairs, the Typhlosion in tow forced into a light jog to keep up: she knocked on Mother's door sharply, not waiting for a response before beginning to speak.
"Ma?" she asked between knocks. "Gonna take Paprika to the hospital. We'll back in a minute."
Muffled disruptance rung out from behind the door, eventually leading to a grunt of acknowledgement.
"Tell your brother you're going out," the Hypno commanded, releasing his paw to type at her phone. He nodded, nursing at his reddened paw lamely she had gripped- that hurt.
He opened the door, watching the busy human for a moment. Paprika stole a breath as he creeped closer, then tapped the human on his shoulder.
"Look dude, I've really gotta get this done," he sighed, but the Typhlosion was certain the tiredness wasn't directed at him.
"Hospital." he suggested, before turning around to leave.
His head snapped back to the human at the sound of a pen dropping. "Pardon?"
"Hospital." he echoed insistently, "Heather. Me."
Oh. Demi was standing up now, shutting his computer and grabbing his racket. "Should've just started with that," he grumbled, throwing on his trainers.
Awh, he didn't have to—the Typhlosion threw up his paws in protest, gently pushing the human back towards his seat.
"Nah," he pressed, sidestepping the Typhlosion to make his way towards the door. "I'm comin'. Where's Heather?" The Typhlosion chuffed, covering the small smirk on his face with a paw; he gestured to the door, following the human out and shutting it behind him.
"You're coming?" Heather said, slipping her phone back into a pocket. There was no doubt in her voice.
The human propped up his rucksack and sheathed his racket inside; he always had it with him, though they had all since learnt to stop questioning it. "Yup. Can't let my lil' bro go in alone, can I?" Demi smirked, patting the fire-type roughly on the shoulder. The psychic pokemon didn't grace his words with a response, but he merely doubled down with a step towards her.
"You know how he gets around needles, dont'cha? I'm not that cruel,"
"Don't be ridiculous, Démi." She looked over his shoulder, piercing Paprika with his gaze. "You're not getting any injections either, Paprika, so don't smoke out the house either."
He wasn't-—well, not doing a lot of it, anyway. The Typhlosion waved away any gases forming from his mouth with a paw.
"Anyway," she picked up, with a sarcasm that needed some serious nuance to detect, "In, and out. 20 minutes at most."
The brothers nodded, and followed her down the stairs.
"...Can we go to Dratini's after this?"
"No."
"Why?"
Heather slowed her walk, forcing the two to match her pace. "Something has changed. We shouldn't take our business there until we've figured out what," She responded with an air of mystery, and the human-Typhlosion duo knew she was taking no questions on the matter.
Hospitals felt quite different to a pokemon centre to him. After all, a visit to the centrre was a small scratch that could be solved by some dove-faced wide-eyed Nurse Joy, who'd just heal him in the ball and send him on his way with his human.
A visit to the hospital usually was a bigger headache than that, one he felt for days afterwards.
But he wasn't exactly worried when he walked into the sanitised halls of hospital, more anxious and impatient to get it over with: after Prima brought it up, he had been anxious to breathe some real flames for the first time in a while—the kind of eruptions he saw on tv! Demi always thought they looked awesome, and it didn't take a Xatu to figure it was why he had chosen a Quilava on their fateful meeting.
And what if he couldn't make those expectations? He had been patient so far, for sure: graciously accepting a 'maybe later' or a 'not feeling it' whenever he wanted to see some fire. But what if he finally had enough? Started questioning if he could even do it at all? Couldn't blame the poor trainer, that's for sure; if there was one thing a fire-type is good for, its some flames.
"Appointment for a Typhlosion, if you will."
The cutting voice dragged him back to reality. His ears perked up, and his eyes soon followed to Heather leaning on a waiting room desk to talk to the woman seated behind. The worker flipped through a book of something unfamiliar, then looked back up at the psychic. "Name?"
"Paprika Typhlosion," she said, glancing back at him. He waved back.
"And who is making this appointment?" The woman queried, after presumably scribbling his name down.
"Heather."
The woman's glasses lifted slightly, and her voice climbed as she replied. "As in, you?"
Heather's foot tapped on the ground, but her annoyance didn't reach her voice. "Yes, Heather Hypno." She scoffed, scanning the area before setting eyes on Démi.
"Excuse me? Young man?" Démi walked over with his hands in his pocket.
"Yeah? Do ya need my name too?"
She chuckled lightly before responding. "Nono, just—are you the trainer of this Hypno?"
Démi clicked his tongue, taking a hand out of his pocket to run it through his hair. "I mean...yes, but the appointment's been made under her name."
The woman had a curious look on her face, the look of cherrypicking what you wanted to hear from what someone said.
"Good, good," she said with a relieved sigh, "So what is your name?"
Démi opened his mouth to respond, but paused. "I thought you needed to be 18 to book an appointment? Why do you need my name?" He said carefully.
"Exceptions can be made for other circumstances," she answered, clearly doing her best not to make eye contact with the Hypno.
She failed, of course.
"If there aren't any other suitable guardians, then the trainer does just fine."
Heather crossed her arms, gazing widely at the receptionist.
"Pardon?"
She repeated her statement with a deflective smile.
"Ah, so I did hear you correctly," Heather continued, stopping to pull her stopwatch from her fur-tuft. "Perfectly understandable if you didn't know, but if the trainer has a senior representative monster they entrust then they suffice perfectly well for medical business."
"Do I have your trainers consent?" she replied with a grimace.
"Yeah, sure," Démi chimed in, clearly unconcerned with the matter. "Dunno how this affects whether or not Paps gets to see a doctor, but whatever floats ya boats," he added.
Heather clasped her hands together with a gentle smile. "That settles it, then; let's not make the same mistake again, mm? Heather Hypno will do."
The woman amended the entry, then directed the three to take a seat; but the Typhlosion couldn't help but think Heather had won the conversation, somehow
Paprika tries to sit—and quickly shoots to his feet as the chair gives a warning wail. Forgot just how fragile those things could be, huh?
An elderly man was sat nearby, and Paprika turned to him as he chuckled.
"Kids these days! Hands in 'er pockets, dragging their feet around—wouldn't know an opportunity if it hit 'em in the face, ey Typhlosion?"
What?
The elder looked up at him expectantly, but then shook his head as if forgetting something silly. "Feh!" He waved off the badger. "Probably don't even know wut I'm saying. Eh: can't blame a poor beast."
Beast? He snorted, pointing an accusatory claw at him. He nodded furiously—he wasn't stupid.
The man's eyes widened, but he broke into another chuckle, throwing up his hands in defeat.
"Well, well; pleasant surprise!" He leaned forward, hands slapping against his thighs with a crisp sound as he wheezed. "You'll have to excuse an old timer like myself—foggy brained, never really can keep up with the now," he admitted, looking ahead wistfully. "But!" His gaze wore a curious glint, the sort of shine you only really saw once or twice in a person.
"With Pokemon like you, maybe the future ain't lookin so bleak," he continued, staring at him intensely with brown, foggy eyes. "Yer may be the difference we need."
What was that meant to mean?
"Feh! Probably rambling again," he mumbled to himself. "Though I appreciate a youngun like you takin' time to listen to meh. Even if yer a lil' fuzzy 'round the edges."
"You welcome?" He mumbled out, properly bemused now.
Someone tugged on his paw, and he turned to catch his trainer's eyes.
"We're up now, Paps," he said, giving the Typhlosion time to rise before walking ahead of him. Paprika waved goodbye to the suspicious old man, before following his human further into the hospital.
"Any irregular behaviour after evolution?"
"Nah."
The doctor wrote it down.
"Unusual sounds being produced by the pokemon? General disorientation?"
Demi shook his head once again.
"Paranoia? Chronic, accurate deja vu?"
"No—should I be worried about this stuff?" This time the doctor shook his head—his eyes creased as if he was smiling, but his mouth hide shyly behind his face mask, obscuring the whole expression.
"Just routine questions. Evolution can be quite the disruptive process for the monster involved. But everything seems in order here; everything except the issue you raised, of course."
They both nodded, though Paprika was feeling less sure on the matter.
The doctor turned to the Typhlosion, but then spun back to his trainer with a degree of apprehension. "He does not bite, does he?"
"Ehh..." Demi shrugged, so Paprika gave him a friendly reminder in the shoulder with a swift swipe.
"Ow?!" The doctor flinched backwards, holding his checkboard defensively. "He doesn't bite, don't worry," he said reluctantly, and Paprika gave an approving nod. But the doctor was practically shaking in his shoes, still holding that flimsy checkboard—like that would stop him, if he wanted to bite—up against him.
He chuffed, quickly smothering the sound as the doctor shifted towards him. "Open up, please," he pleaded, breath hitching as the sentence trailed off. The Typhlosion obliged: though he did wince slightly as the doctor forced a glove hand inside to probe at his mouth. He mumbled as he worked, at one point peering deep into him with a flashlight, stopping ocassional to write down some encryption he couldn't decipher.
What felt like an hour—or perhaps only a few moments—he let the Typhlosion close his mouth, breathing a unashamed sigh of relief. "Wasn't so bad now, was it?"
Paprika wasn't sure whether the doctor was talking to him, or to himself.
"From what I've seen the problem is quite the easy one to solve. 3 repetitons of...what was it, again... anyway, I'll just grab it for you." He discarded the glove in the bin, hurrying out of the room and leaving the three to their own devices.
The badger ran his tongue over his teeth, gagging at the jarring taste.
"That good, Paprika?" Demi quipped, snickering at the Typhlosion. He stared blankly at the human before answering.
"Soap."
"Well stop licking at it, then! Just get a cuppa water or summin!"
Oh. That's probably a good idea, wasn't it?
"Aha!"
The door swung open triumphantly, the doctor stepping back in behind it. Looks like he wouldn't be getting that water. "Knew I had a few doses left."
He placed a innocent-looking box on the table then took a seat himself, bouncing a leg as he spoke. "From what I've seen, your Typhlosion's problem is that he has an underactive Iratus gland- what fire-types use to convert their energy into fire-type attacks you see. Interestingly enough, this is the second case I've ever seen in my 15 years of practising! Guess this job still has something for me anyway."
He picked up the box, and handed it to Demi. "2 spoons of Aeternaira a day, and he'll be right as rain in a couple of weeks- you'll have quite the contender of a Typhlosion, rarin' to go!"
Demi agreed, punching the Typhlosion lightly in the shoulder. "Heheh, nice!"
"Shame really—after you're done with it, that's one less calm fire-type in the world: we really do need more of them..."
Demi's face sparkled, possible tomorrows dancing in his eyes. "What do you think, Paps? You excited?" The question was aside, secretive, gently wafting into the Typhlosion's mind. He looked deep into those hopeful eyes, desperately scraping at, yet losing, a response. His human only chuckled, the anticipation still intoxicating him. "That's fine, that's fine; but just imagine!" He was trying to think of how much better things would be, how much easier life would be just with that innocent, dubious, liquid: but all that came to mind was a murky-black smoke of dread.
" Hold it!"
"Eh?" The doctor, human and badger whipped their heads to the Hypno standing in the corner, looking cooly ahead at all of them. She waved them off, walking in front of the seated adult.
"What part is a shame?" She drilled insistently. "You didn't mention any severe side effects that would warrant such a comment."
The doctor frowned, deep in thought for a moment. "Ah! Yes, how could I forget: there is a small risk associated, but nothing that would seriously affect the Typhlosion's quality of life."
The three listened intently.
"The Iratus gland isn't responsible for generating energy, per se—instead it puts the pokemon into the mental state required to utilise fire energy. In a Typhlosion's case, that place of mind is most accurately described as anger."
"So if I'm followin' this right, Paprika'll just be a lot angrier if he uses this medicine?" Demi looked down at the white box.
"Yup!" The doctor confirmed with a tactless smile.
He didn't like the sound of that. If you asked him—
"—I dunno doc, seems kinda excessive to me." His human said, weighing the box with his hands.
Heather cut in massively, forcing everyone's attention back to her. "Well I do know, and I say no; as far as I'm concerned, if your Mother isn't here I call the shots."
Demi stood sharply at the notion, sizing up the Hypno. "And who told ya that?!"
"I did."
The doctor was whistling non-chalantly, clearly well-versed in playing passive; seems he'd have to take matters into his own hands.
Screwing his courage, he clapped his paws together: the muffled sound crackled outwards until all eyes were on him.
"Not yours. Mine."
'Choice' was a difficult word to say, too finicky for his poorly-shaped mouth for human language—but he hoped the message came through clearly regardless as he took the box gently from his human whilst grunting a thanks.
The box was innocent enough, plainly decorated with its name and nothing else. 'Aeterina' written in bold, red, letters. Frankly, it was amazing what humans managed to conjure from those strange, scheming heads of theirs—how would you even go about making this? It stumped him. It was light enough in his paws, yet they shook as he held the unassuming object: the effect this curious liquid was unbearably weighty in itself. Even Heather seemed stunned for a brief moment—hard to tell behind that thick fur obscuring her face—but she quickly recentred herself.
"Thank you, Doctor. He shall consider the treatment."
The seated human threw a curt nod, and they left.
The Sun had lazily made its way across the sky whilst they were there, bathing the trio in orange light as they walked.
"How is the revision looking, Demi?"
Demi clicked his tongue, responding slowly, "...Good,"
"So you have finished it, yes? Would be a shame to get a detention on the first day of school." she continued whilst her eyes lasered on the path ahead.
"Nah, still got thirty or so to get through."
Heather sighed and shook her head, clearly not surprised by the response. "So what is your plan?"
"Well, a medical emergency came up with one of my pokemon," he grinned devilishly. "I just had to drop everything and leave, didn't I? No time for some stupid schoolwork."
So that was the plan, huh? The Typhlosion just knew there had to be something behind his concern; but, despite his suspicions proven true, needles of disappointment pricked at his hide.
"You had the entire holidays to do it. Surely someone will be skeptical?"
Demi waved the notion away hysterically. "But even mentioning that medical scare brings tears to my eyes—makes me too distressed to even give a straight answer..."
The pained emotions playing at his voice did not touch his face. The Hypno studied him for a moment.
"Hmph. Already thought of the possibilities, haven't you? A liar's tongue is trult is the sharpest." She spat the last word out, like she had something foul in her mouth to purge. "But you draw very, very close to cutting yourself with it."
Paprika's eyes darted to the human's, almost sighing at the lack of concern on his face. "Yeah, dude, I'll remember that. Thanks."
"Tch-!"
Heather flicked a hand bluntly, sending a dangerously large rock hurtling in response to the human's head. Paprika, as any reasonable domestic pokemon would threw himself forward recklessly- cursing silently at how much this was gonna ache in the morning.
Too little, too late, Paprika—Demi seemed to not have even noticed the projectile whizzing at the side of his head: he was taking another slow, leisurely step forward, nearly as leisurely as he seemed to be moving towards him!
He wasn't going to make it, was he?
In that stolen moment, the Typhlosion slammed his eyes shut and offered a formless prayer to whoever was gracious enough to listen. Coward eyes made way for keen ears to face the reality—
A deafening crash.
A heavy step, followed by a trailing lighter blow.
And when the badger forced his eyes open once again, all he saw was Demi, standing casually—flushed slightly, but casually—in front, racket in hand. Paprika could hardly believe his eyes: the hardy little thing hadn't even been scuffed by the impact, the shrapnel of rock settling loudly either side of him.
He carefully sheathed the black and white racket back into his bag, then looked forward at Heather. "Careful, doin' that," he begun, propping his bag on his shoulder and continuing to walk. "Could've hurt someone there." The brief second their eyes met, Paprika saw an idea, weak but white-hot sleeping in his pupil. Paprika was sure that little flame was fear—that rock was nearly curtains for the human. So why wouldn't it die? The little idea only seemed to grow steadily, flickering busily with a imagined crackle in his head. He stared at it and it stared back, assuring the Typhlosion that it was everything but terror. Daring him to find out exactly what it was.
But as soon as he had seen it, the slumbering white retreated into the blackness of a human pupil. Demi whistled as he sauntered, a shaky and restrained tune.
-
The two pokemon stood there for a moment, watching him grow more distant down the path. Surprisingly, Paprika was the first to act: he mustered his courage and wit, turning to Heather to say,
"What the hell was that?"
Chapter 8: In Which we (try to) make Amends - Rewrite
Summary:
What's a badger to do?
Tensions are running high in the household. Heather and Demi aren't talking, their mother is nowhere to be found, and its now up to Paprika to pick up the pieces- sweeping aside his own concerns to the wayside in the process.
Chapter Text
"He is delusional," Heather said, as if coming to a grand conclusion.
The two eventually picked up the pace behind the human, neither of them ballsy enough to actually catch up- and by the time they reached the cottage, it was too late anyway. Paprika slumped on the sofa, already dreading the aftermath of their bout.
"The impudence!" Heather exclaimed to no-one in particular. She was pacing around, slowly assuring herself that she was in the right.
And by extension, everyone else was wrong.
"Looking at me as if, as if-" She gestured wildly. "-As if he had done something important! Utter impudence!"
"What does that even mean?" Paprika asked despairingly, wasting a glance at her. The Hypno opened her mouth as if to respond, but ultimately ignored his question as she continued pacing in circles.
"Paprika just—I can't do this right now—deal with your trainer."
He thought better than to challenge the command: maybe she'd hurtle a rock at him too. Instead, the badger merely nodded, eyes following Heather as she sat down on the sofa opposite and opened her notebook with an unreadable expression. He found the will in himself to get up, and reluctantly walked to the base of the staircase.
Alright, now to deal with his other headache. He should be paid for all the mediating he has to do.
"Demi!" He called, looking up hopefully from the bottom of the stairs up. No response.
"DEMI!" he roared: was the volume out of necessity, or frustration? Not that he especially cared in the moment. What did irk the Typhlosion however, was lack of response; his feet were already pistoning up the staircase, eager to get the ordeal over with.
The human's door was ajar; a rare sight to see. Stroking his ears, Paprika stuck his snout in the meager opening in the door carefully, as if the moment were to disappear if he moved too hastily. He was holding a pen.
"Demi?" The black blur made one revolution around his fingers, then two in his grip like a dancer, gracefully performing to no audience.
The trainer's concentration was only broken when the pen dropped out of his hands, wilted, clattering against the floor weakly.
"Crap," he muttered, bending over to retrieve it. His eyes still didn't meet his monster's. "Still can't get it going for longer than 20 and a bit seconds—but I'm getting better, right?"
Was he expecting a response? The Typhlosion merely stepped closer.
"What the heck am I even on about?" He said, laying the retrieved pen on the table.
Paprika took a step forward, then another, until he was standing over his trainer. He looked so small, standing from up here. If he held up a paw, the Typhlosion was almost afraid he'd slip through his digits.
"Demi."
He placed a paw on his shoulder.
"What is it, Paprika?" He spat out, like he was bothering him; The Typhlosion had half a mind of tugging out his hair, but swallowed his irritation to look down at him, clearer. Squeezing his shoulder as a reminder that the Typhlosion thought he was hurt.
"I'm fine, I'm fine- the stupid rock didn't even touch me," he responded, motionless. The buffon had completely missed what he was saying, rousing a growl in the badger's throat. Sometimes he just wished he could beam what he meant into his head or something. Maybe then he'd get it.
"No," He began again, pulling him urgently until his chair was forced to face him. He looked intently into his eyes. "You. Hurt." The human looked back with a blank, searching gaze but eventually just rolled his eyes, clearly giving up on the exchange.
"Whatever," he muttered, trying to turn around: but he wasn't gonna have that. Chuffing to himself, the Typhlosion put a paw firmly on the back of the chair—then pushed down, hard and fast to send it crashing downwards.
"WHY?!"
And the human seated hurtling upwards.
It was a sound idea in the Typhlosion's head, another foolproof plan that he had conjured up. Scare the human, catch said human, and force him to listen. But as the body sailing through the air began to plummet, he started to doubt- small, meaningless to the master plan doubts, but doubts nonetheless. Could he really just catch a whole person? He hadn't exactly uh, tried before...
Ah well; too late now, Paprika. He stuck his hindpaw down against the floor and outstretched his arms to his trainer, silently praying that one thing in the last few days would go well as his human got closer, and closer, and closer...
...Where was he? Oh yeah, human-getting-closer to catch. Paprika refocused just in time for a premium view of hmself getting splatted by Demi, adding yet another injury to his poor, poor body. THe Typhlosion could only bitterly thank that he was quite light: the shame hurt more than the actual impact. Demi shifted ontop of him, in awe—or dazed, more likely, but don't tell Paprika that—eventually murmurring out,
"What the heck, Paprika?" No sarcasm or cheek in the statement, only pure confusion. (So that was progress, at least.)
The toppled Typhlosion only gave a pained grunt in respond, meekly pushing the human off of him: after a moment, he slid off with a sigh, standing up to look down at his monster with a shake of the head.
"Ta-da?"
He laid there on the floor, panting, catching his breath.
"Ta-da my butt, get up," he said, eyes wrinkled as he crouched to grab the Typhlosion's shoulders and pulled. He'd been expecting a moment's more reprise in his grip, but yelped as Demi quickly threw him to his feet, nearly falling back over again.
"You are so lucky," he chuckled, patting his head, "I do not have my camera." Paprika groaned with relief, flopping backwards onto his bed. Or their bed, he reminded himself. Still felt weird in his head.
He looked up at his trainer's face with a grunt. Looking up at this angle made his eyes hurt.
"Not gonna leave me alone until you get whatya want, huh?" He started, setting himself on the bed beside his partner. "Sittup, Paps." The Typhlosion reluctantly obliged, murring to himself as he laid his head heavy in Demi's lap. It was simply destiny that his hand quickly found Paprika's head, ushering a pleased hum from the beast as he scratched behind his ear.
"It's uh..." He begun, searching for the words to continue. Paprika let out a small whirr of encouragement. "It's something, y'know? That was it, Paprika. That rock, I mean."
He paused for a moment, waiting for some response or comment. The Typhlosion knew better than to give one.
"I'd wanna say my 'whole life flashed before my eyes' and all that, but it didn't. Just the awareness that it was over. Wonderin' whether it would be quick or painless- but definitely aware that it was wraps for me. And y'know the worst part?"
Demi seemed to have forgotten what he was scratching was in fact, a living, breathing him. Paprika was sure he'd rip out some of his fur, or something similar.
"It was nothing to her. We both know Heather's a thinker, not a doer; but still, she literally just flicked her damn wrist! Like she was dealing with a fly—or something." He sighed with exasperation.
"I'm a friggin' fly, Paprika." His voice dropped. "And one of these days, I think I'm gonna get swat."
The Typhlosion beneath rumbled in agreement. Demi was a lot of things: brave, selfess, reckless, weak. It was a mean way to put it, certainly not a way he'd ever say to his face, but a reality regardless.
"Paps." Demi patted his head urgently. He looked up at his trainer's darkened face in response. "Be honest. Was I gonna make it out there as a trainer?"
["No."]
["Yes."]
Paprika snorted with displeasure, dispelling the question right there and then; neither answer was correct. Chuckling dryly, Demi muttered, "What else was I expectin'? You wouldn't answer that question."
His voice was strained, clearly exhausted. Paprika placed a paw on his chest and gently pushed him onto the bed. The human laid there dejectedly before saying, "Fair enough. You gonna go find Heather now?"
He nodded heavily, reluctantly pushing himself off of that comfy bed; it had been a long day for him too.
Alas, his day would get longer yet: as much as he loved Heather, she was admittedly somewhat more proud than Demi—the sort of pride that took rigorous attempts to crack open, which he just frankly did not have the energy for tonight. But what else could a badger do? He took one last look at his human, laying slack on the bed, then trekked to the staircase, as ready as he could to make the perilous journey back down the stairs.
"Heather!" He yowled, turning a corner to look into the living room. She was sat exactly where he had left her, eyes calm and fur bristled. The Hypno looked up slowly at him, scrutinising before she spoke.
"You are back. So you put him right, I assume?"
"Well-"
"Thank you, Paprika. You may retire for the day now." Heather slammed her notebook shut and rose to her feet, walking briskly past the simmering Typhlosion. That's all she had to say?
"I was thinking, maybe apologise to the human?"
She took in a sharp breath, turning to look back at him like he just said something funny. "For what? I did not do anything incorrect."
Paprika stood there with his mouth agape—but reminded himself to shut his gob, and take a deep breath in, and out. Let's try this again, shall we?
"You threw a rock at him."
"He wasn't hurt."
"Wasn't. Could've."
"I knew he would deal with it accordingly: he is strong, Paprika."
"He is weak."
"Leave me be, Typhlosion." She snapped, storming away. Paprika hurried after her with a grumble.
"Back off." She warned, inviting no further input. Luckily, he was just about too fed-up to need an invitation at this point.
"Apologise to the human." He returned, not backing down either.
"Paprika—" She cut herself off, as if she remembered something more important to be doing. "I don't have time for this foolishness. Leave me be."
Really?
Just-really?
"Heather." He flared, placing a paw softly on her shoulder. She tried to shake him off, but for all her smarts, she always seemed to forget just who was stronger.
"I am cold. I am tired. Please."
Their eyes met, brown against black. Paprika silently envied the intensity blazing behind her pupils, a firey self-righteousness that put his passions to shame.
"You know how I feel about how he acts, Paprika," She started, words sharp. "Someone needs to teach him how to talk to people."
While the Typhlosion agreed with Heather, didn't she see how nearly killing him was too far?!
"Teach, yes—murder, no!"
"Has anything else worked yet?" She queried, crossing her arms. Paprika's grip wavered, and Heather stepped back. "By Heaven, Typhlosion, he lies as if it is second nature! As if it is something natural, to bluff and subterfuge for common goals: are you really going to support that sort of behaviour?" Paprika didn't have an answer to that one. He merely grunted in response. "I tried talking to him, and that did wonders, as you saw. Do you think the next pokemon will give him that grace?"
"No," he responded hollowly. But there was something else he had to say. "He has no claws. No moves. Only his words."
"Exactly," Heather said with a nod. Guess she had just assumed he agreed with her at the end—typical.
"Please. Apologise." he pleaded softly, clasping his paws together. Heather looked down at him for a moment, but then relaxed her stance.
"If you force my hand, I have no choice but to oblige," she said, already walking away. As soon as the psychic was out of sight he slumped onto the sofa himself, thoroughly fatigued. And to think, this was all meant to be about him—was it really a selfish thought, just to want people to focus on him for once?
Paprika noticed the small box from the hospital on the wooden table. He stretched his arm, unwilling to stand to reach it.
Maybe it was selfish, he thought as he opened the small box. Maybe he's being that a lot of that lately.
Despite his best efforts, his mind still wandered back to how dejected Demi sounded when he asked him. After all that Youngster had chosen a Cyndaquil to blaze through the competition—and here he was, slumped on the sofa, a fire-type feeling chilly on a perfectly mild day. And his solution—a tempting, inconspicious decision—sat patiently in his paws, just waiting to be used.
So what was he waiting for? Not like anyone was gonna spoon-feed him solutions any further.
Well, using a solution implies there was a problem. Was he a problem? The doctor had told him the side effects, but even then... it couldn't be that bad, right? He could deal with having a little bit of a shorter fuse. But everyone else would furiously deny, smiling at him with empty eyes and saccharine smiles. But faces could be false: he'd learnt that much in life.
He placed the box back down, too tired—tired, or too weak?—to go any further. He was so deep in thought, he didn't even notice how his back-burners flared to life with flame, casting an orange glow over the room.
Chapter 9: In Which we try to get to school. Enter Octillery! - Rewritten
Summary:
Happy new Year! Hope you've been having a good one so far. And with a new year I'll give you a new chapter: There'll be no rest for our brave badger: seems that someone forgot to tell him that he had yet another affair to attend to...
Ah well. At least Demi was here- everything else would fall into place if they were together, anyway. Enjoy!
Chapter Text
"Why have you burnt your brother, Paprika?" Demi's mother interrogated, tapping a foot impatiently. He stood meekly by the bathroom door, scratching his head whilst giving no response.
The Typhlosion felt bad, but was it really his fault? He'd fallen asleep on the sofa and Demi had the bright idea of jolting him awake: and Paprika knew he could be very, very voltatile when spooked. Luckily, he avoided the worst of it; the eruption had only grazed his arm.
But really, that was more than enough- by the time he had realised what he had done, the human had already darted up the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom. His mother had heard the commotion, and promptly chewed the fire-type out.
"How do you even manage this?!" He gave a half-hearted shrug in response. He didn't know either—but hasn't anyone ever told him to let sleeping dogs lie? Wasn't completely his fault, either.
The door swung open. Both of their heads zeroed in on the human as he walked out.
"Phew!" He sighed with a grin, shutting the door behind him. His arm was completely healed, from what he saw. His mother let an audible groan of relief and shook her head, deciding not to chastise him too.
"And you all thought me insane for keeping a burn heal at reach, ey?"
"That's not the only reason we think yer loopy..." He muttered, looking at the Typhlosion and earning a chuckle in response. They both instantly sobered up as she whipped her head around, looking levelly at them. "If either of you said some cheek, be glad I did not hear it."
"Okay." He responded with a thumbs up. His mother kissed her teeth in response, waving them both off.
"My friend, just get out of my sight! Still have school to attend to, yes?"
"Oof..." Demi hissed, hand over his head. She raised a brow at him. "About that, we kinda missed the bus. Y'know, he was busy burnin' me, I was busy bein' burnt by him...So you'll drive us, right?"
"No."
"Pleease?"
"Lazy child!" She spat. "Back in my day, do you not think we were inconvenienced like this? Couldn't even catch the eyes of another trainer without having to whallop them in battle! Walk into some slightly overgrown grass, boom! Fight a wild pokemon! You have not a clue how easy you have it!"
They let out a collective groan. How many more times were they gonna hear this?
"So I would get a move on, unless you want to miss meeting the rest of your trinity and catching your first pokemon?"
"I guess that's important," he admitted. "You wanna freshen up first Paps?" The badger nodded in response. He could do with a good shower.
Patting him on the shoulder, Demi nodded. "Alright, I'll grab my stuff then."
Paprika stepped into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush and cleaned his teeth briskly. He was just thankful he didn't end up whacking himself in the gums in the process; it was the little wins that mattered. Sighing contentedly, he stepped into the shower and set the heat high; shuddering as the heat washed over his body. He gave himself a generous helping of shampoo and scrubbed himself down, careful only to give himself a few minutes before stepping out. The badger had always wanted to take a hot shower himself, and finally had an opportunity to.
Once he stepped out of the tub, the Typhlosion focused; he didn't have a towel, so he tried to raise his core temperature until the water boiled off. Most of the water floated away reluctantly , but a good volume of rogue droplets persisted heavily on his fur. Paprika shrugged, unbothered; they'd dry off eventually.
"Done!" He announced, stepping out proudly. Demi was propped against a wall, looking at him with interest.
"Paps! Come and hear the plan, yeah?" He grinned, beckoning the Typhlosion over. Paprika bounded over in response, looking down at his phone.
"Alright, so usually the bus would just take the path around the Green Space, right? A relatively short journey," he began, tracing a finger around a green blob on Rotom Maps. "But that's not really an option—"
—the Typhlosion rumbled another apology—
"—Nono, doesn't matter anymore: we can do this. I say we just go through the Green Space."
Paprika looked at him. Demi stared back. "What?"
He sighed—Green Spaces were weird. Small on the outside, large on the inside... this couldn't go well. Demi seemed to sense his trepidation, and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry about it, I've got a plan!"
He kept saying that. The Typhlosion held his head in his paws, already aware this was gonna be a long day. But before he could suggest a re-evalutation the human was already dragging him along to the staircase. He turned around, knowing fully well he'd probably just end up being dragged down the stairs if he didn't. The human stopped before the door, sighing loudly. "Bye Mum!"
"Stay safe, Démilọ́lá!" She roared in response, somewhere out of sight.
The Sun beat down with welcome as they stepped out, and Demi took in another deep breath. "Beaut of a day, isn't it?" Paprika hummed in agreement, dropping to all fours to bound ahead. "H-hey, wait up!" He chuckled, breaking into a jog behind him.
"It shouldn't be that hard of a journey, I'm sure of it," he said, sprinting to pull ahead of the pokemon. "30 minutes is all we need!" Paprika nodded, feeling slightly more confident in his decision; surely he couldn't be wrong if he said it this confidently! The badger looked onwards at the Sun cheering them ahead: the path was bright, the day was looking up, and they were...
'30 damn minutes.' That's what he said, right? Paprika looked at the human witheringly.
The human stopped walking for a moment to look down at the Typhlosion. He gave a denying chuckle, slapping him heartily on the back. "Lost? No..." But Paprika couldn't ignore his searching looks further into the forest; tree, after tree, after tree. "Just a few more minutes this way Paprika, I feel it!" He exclaimed, taking off in a completely different direction.
Nope—he'd had enough of this. The badger grabbed the upper handle of his bag, forcing the human to stop. He stared him down until Demi yielded, reluctantly, crouching down to meet Paprika's level.
"Alright," he begun, steadying himself with a heavy hand on his head, "I might be a little ruffled. But it ain't much." He reached around in his pocket to retrieve his phone, then tapped something on it Paprika couldn't make out. "No signal—no dice," he muttered, throwing the device back in.
Growling in displeasure, the fire-type couldn't believe he trusted in his trainer's navigation skills; anyone a mile away could smell his incompetence! No- he'd take the driver's wheel now. "Up," he urged the human, who rose with him in response. Their best bet now was to just pick a direction, and walk into it until they left the bounds of the Green space: school would have to wait.
"Where are we going?" Demi asked, walking after the Typhlosion. Frankly he didn't know either: not that he was gonna look as clueless as him, though. Someone had to be responsible here.
"Out," he answered simply, keeping as brisk of a pace he could on two legs. He tried his best to remember a scent, or a sight, but the trees tended to blend together as they walked, stretching boundless and lush in all directions. Wildlife swelled from the shadows, watching the duo cautiously as they travelled: he guessed trying to deduce whether they were friend or foe. Hopefully the former would be clear.
Despite the clean air and green scenery, the badger couldn't help but feel that he was being suffocated: strangled, slowly but surely.
Was that tree casting a shadow over them before? Paprika turned, his human mirroring his confusion before he spoke. "Was that always...?" His voice trailed off to nothingness. Paprika spat as he shook his head.
"30 minutes," he echoed bitterly, unmoving. Whatever was stalking them through the forest had already caught up, anyway. Demi shrugged defensively, standing stiff with his hands in pockets. The monster watched in dread as a brambled hand diffused in from the shadows, moving swiftly towards Demi—
"—Watcha want?" He snapped, slapping the monstrous hand away and taking a step to the side. It reached out again, hesitated, before a voice echoed from a darkness above.
"W h a t?"
Demi glanced briefly at Paprika, who was no help in the situation. "I said," he doubled down, looking up at the formless face of the monster, "What do you want? Why can't two fellas just enjoy a morning walk through the forest in peace?!" Paprika found himself looking up too, nearly fainting there and then from the crimson eye beaming down at them.
"W a t c h i n g, s o y o u d o n o t d i s t u r b t h e p e a c e ."
The human groaned in annoyance, like this was just a mild inconvenience. "We're disturbin' the peace?! Just look around, smart guy!"
The eye slowly rolled left, then right.
"We're just walkin through 'ere! How'dya know we don't got anything important to be doin' right now?!"
Paprika noticed that the rest of the tree's body seemed to meekly glean from the darkness, becoming more tangible as Demi rambled on.
" I d i d n ' t k n o w —,"
"—Didn't know, didn't think, didn't see—what do ya do, huh?!" He finished, looking spitefully at the revealed revenant twiddling branches anxiously. "Stupid." He spat out for good measure. Its scornful eye hung widened in shock, then tightened with firey hatred. It raised a wavering finger, and the shadows obeyed dutifully, forming flagella whipping through the air with a malice.
"I A M T R Y I N G M Y B E S T . " It roared, and the shadows sharpened in response, hovering threateningly close to the human who still didn't back down.
Alright, this was starting to get outta hand-—Paprika made a disapproving growl, throwing up an 'X' symbol with his arms. Demi glanced back, but gave no other response.
"Try harder next time then!" He shouted in response over the growing hum in the air: even he was beginning to get antsy now. He whipped around in the opposite direction, nodding at Paprika.
"Well, come quickly Paprika We're late already, thanks to smart guy over here."
The hum melted into a screeching roar that breathed down on their necks. That's all he needed; the badger stuck to Demi's side as they hurried away, and it took all of him to not look back at the revenant behind. It was a solid 5 minutes running, then walking, then a pause before Demi spoke:
"That," he said between pants, "Was something." He was doubled over, hands on his knees, sucking in air and expelling it in an uneven rhythm. The Typhlosion's eyes widened in surprise at his sheer foolhardiness.
Paprika shook his head. Demi only chuckled in response, patting his shoulder carelessly.
"Eh, like you had any better ideas," He shrugged his shoulders, not making eye contact with him. "It worked, so shut it." The badger saw nothing else in arguing and just huffed—they weren't out of the woods yet.
Literally. The trees towered high above them, jagged and indifferent. The only other wisps of life were the pokemon sneaking about: and the Typhlosion thought they wouldn't be much help either; they were getting nowhere, and getting there fast. But luckily—or as our badger would find out soon to be the opposite—small strings of sunlight began to slice through the shadows. The two didn't share a word as they walked towards it, hoping to finally put an end to their trek. Sadly, it wasn't the way out; instead there was a hardy little clearing amongst the foliage, with a small pond seated neatly in the middle. Demi walked towards it, looking down with a wondering look.
"Hey, that's pretty cool," he said with an air of awe. Paprika would beg to differ; he'd learnt his lesson about investigating random bodies of water, and wouldn't willingly be going near them anytime soon. But a pokemon's gotta follow their trainer: he anxiously shadowed the human, looking suspiciously into the pond as well.
Bubbles formed at the surface.
"Ya think there's anything in there?" he mused to himself. "I'm seein' some bubbles. Should we move?" The Typhlosion tugged on his ears with strained paws, whining surreptitiously with a shake of his head—there was no way anything good would come from this. The dread in his stomach only grew as a small red head slowly raised out of the waters, with a murky iris gazing at the two. One appendage, then two, then three dripped water as they emerged, the sound as light as dropping pearls.
The aquatic monster made an inquisitive gurgle, tilting its head up at the duo. They looked at eachother for a moment, then back down at it. Demi was the first to respond.
"Can't hear ya over the water dude," he said. The creature reacted slowly, as if processing the words carefully. The human remained deathly still as a wet tentacle probed his arm, the creature searching wearing a focused gaze. Paprika contemplated whether to bite down on one of them as another joined the search, eventually resting on the exposed tennis racket handle poking out of the human's bag. He chuckled, watching the tentacles swiftly retract as he took a step back. He slowly slung his pack off, holding the monster's gaze all the while. His hand grabbed the handle of his racket, then brung it out for the world to see.
"See? It's just my racket," he explained, waving it around in the air. Paprika watched the pokemon's eyes follow it religiously with curiosity—it was cute, in a way.
Too bad any warm feeling died when a tentacle shot like a missile towards his trainer, batting the racket greedily out of his hand and snatching it out. Demi instantly recoiled with a hiss, cradling his wrist with a hand. "H-hey! If you wanted to hold it, y'should've said!" The creature paid no heed to his remarks as it entertained itself with the object, marvelling as it swished it through the air, cutting through nothing masterfully. Demi held his wrist with his other arm, glowering.
"Hey!" he barked, sighing exasperatedly before turning to Paprika with a look that screamed 'do something!' The badger nearly jumped from his intensity, but quickly steadied himself; the Typhlosion focused his energies into his paws, conjuring forward a warning Swift star and hurtled it at the beast.
It enables the user to evade all attacks. Its chance of failing rises if it is used in succession.
No dice- a tentacle nonchalantly batted the star away with protective energy. Simultaneously, Paprika slunk forwards and Demi stepped back, both of them preparing for the conflict to come next.
It was a fight!
Tentacles swirled protectively around the pond, each one tipped with yellow suckers that pulsed with life and seemed eager to steal more—even Paprika felt uneasy, and he wasn't even holding anything. The badger looked back at his trainer for guidance, his face screwed in thought. "Hm, how about throwing another swift this time? It can't block it again." He decided, and the Typhlosion obliged. He barked an apology before unleashing another volley of sharp stars careening through the air, homing in visciously to the tentacled defense. The creature blubbed as its makeshift wall quickly dissolved under the assault, leaving only its vulnerable head exposed and a singular appendage holding the racket. It bubbled to itself before raising the racket with a fury.
Exhaling shallowly, the Typhlosion barely managed to catch a wicked blow to his side by the creature with a defensive arm, and he nearly broke his stance as he skidded a few feet across the forest floor. But the creature reacted quick to the failed strike, instantly switching targets to the vulnerable human behind. The human only sighed as he threw himself recklessly to the side, grunting with pain as he stumbled clear of the attack. "I'm good," he wheezed, picking himself up hastily. He tried to seem like his wrist was fine, but he still held it limply with his other arm.
However, this was quickly turning sour; neither of them wanted another bout like that, and they still had a school to get to! He rushed forward with a purpose and clapped his paws together, mustering his meager reserves in one last attack.
A column of fire hits opposing Pokémon. When used with its Grass equivalent, its damage increases into a vast sea of fire.
He nearly choked himself on smoke in the process, but the result was fruitful—devestatingly fruitful. Its eyes dilated into ocean-deep, black saucers as the bullet of fire hurtled towards it. The red monster gave a huff of exertion as it threw up 3 tentacles in a circle with a familiar ringing sound. Demi chuckled triumphantly. "It's trying to protect again—that fire'll smash right through!"
Had he gone too hard?
Its Protect was shattered brutally, tentacles writhing in pain before slumping, lifeless. The creature floated in the water dully, head hung. Whenever it tried to move a tentacle they only twitched in response.
Yeah, he concluded, cringing. He had definitely gone too hard.
"Oh. Should we...?" His voice trailed off to a pitiful nothingess. For once, the fire-type decided first, creeping over to the beast and crouching until it was eye level with the aquatic creature. He crooned at it, and the pokemon reluctantly handed over Demi's racket. "What do you want?" He quizzed in a hushed whine, one that only a pokemon could understand. It gurgled softly in response, weakly tugging at the Typhlosion's ear.
The response was mostly lost to him, even with Mew's Blessing, but he managed to glean a general emotion of away from here. Whether from them, or from this forest he couldn't tell, but Paprika was feeling sympathetic enough. He grunted in offer as he crouched, holding out his aching arms towards the creature. He let out a winded huff as it hopped (somehow) with a wet noise, landing heavy in his grip.
"Oh, we doin' this now?" Demi, bless his heart, just went with it, running over to support Paprika holding the slimy creature. Easier said then done, though.
"Lemme just—stop moving!" He complained, but the octopus only gurgled happily as it writhed its already-healing appendages in their combined grips; it would've gone faster if Demi used both hands, but Paprika could tell his left wrist was injured from the way it swung by his side. He swore the 8 tentacles felt like 100- tentacles everywhere. And he was somehow soaked too! Just couldn't keep dry over these last few days, huh...
"You know what?!" Demi declared. "Bag. In." The creature blinked, then obeyed, using Paprika's snout as leverage to lower itself into the opened rucksack.
"How am I gonna get this in now..." He muttered, holding his tennis racket in his off-hand uselessly. A tentacle took the racket- gently, thank god- and held it lower. Paprika watched in awe as two tentacles coiled around his trainer's waist like a belt, whilst another two hooked over his shoulders. At this rate, he didn't even need the strands of the backpack to hold it in place- the octopus seemed perfectly content to do the job itself.
Paprika slinked around to get a better look at the creature: apart from its eyes the only other facial feature was a cannon-like appendage, no doubt ready to spit some ungodly thing at what it wished. He was just glad he wasn't on the receiving end of it. Its head peeked perkily out of the bag, and it waved at him. He waved slowly back.
"So... ya comfy?" Demi commented, giving the tentacles a little pat with his good hand. "Good! Onwards we go!" He chirped, taking a step forward. Paprika limped after him, starting to feel that burst of fire taking its toll.
"Uh, any chance you know where 'onwards' is? Flamionis School, maybe?" He added sheepishly. Paprika glowered at him. "Hey, maybe it knows!"
It extended itself up and out of the backpack, squinting as it looked further into the forest. After a few seconds, it pointed confidently forward with a tentacle, then retreated back into its little hidey-hole until comfortable. "That way!" He announced, grinning devilishly at him before jogging ahead; Paprika reluctantly scampered afterwards; on the off-chance this actually worked, maybe the day could be saved afterall.
"H u m a n ."
Oh no.
"F a c e m e w h e n I t a l k t o y o u , h u m a n."
Oh, no—not now! The octopus—the innocent, poor thing—just looked around in confusion. Demi had a pained grin on his face as he stopped, then turned around painfully. "So we aren't gettin' to where we want to be on time?" He drawled, in that slow, lazy way he did when actually considering a pokemon as a threat.
"I D O N O T C A R E !"
It roared in fury, raising cruel hands like a wicked orchestrator: puppeted vines rose in response, then barreled intently towards the newly made trio. Before Paprika even realised what was happening a tentacle tugged firmly on his shoulder, forcing him backwards. A crack cut through the air as the vines whipped forward, leaving a deep gash in the dirt ahead.
"Uhh, got any more tricks Paprika?!" Demi shouted to him; you know things were getting bad when he actually asked for his opinion.
"Y O U C O M E I N T O M Y F O R E S T ! " It shrieked, swiping a claw through the air at the human; he stumbled backwards, catching himself on his feet just in time to avoid another slash. Paprika darted protectively in front of his trainer, snarling. He dug a foot into the dirt and raked Swift stars through the air with a paw at it, silently despairing at how it barely flinched.
"D I S T U R B M Y P E A C E ! "
"We pretty much just walked pas—"
"—S I L E N C E !" It screamed, a high feverous pitch—Demi promptly took another step backwards. The octopus threw up a protective veil to catch a piercing strike, sending a sickening cracking noise throughout the forest. By this point their little bout had grown a small audience looking on with excitement: probably the most thrilling thing that happens in the forest, he'd guess.
Too bad that entertainment was quickly trending towards their butts being beat, hard.
"Y O U C A L L E D M E A N I D I O T!" It declared, trumpet-tongued. Paprika looked desperately at his human who was in turn looking rather amused, considering the scenario. " A N I D I O T ! " It drilled onwards, sounding more hurt than angry at this point.
"Oh yeah? Well-mmph!" Demi's words melted into muffled grunts- the badger looked over, realising he had promptly got a mouthful of tentacle for what he was going to say.
See? That's what you get for saying stupid things. The vengeful tree looked onwards with a mix of confusion and disgust. "Y O U D O N 'T E V E N K N O W W H A T IT'S L I K E , D O Y O U ?!" It spat, quieter. Paprika stepped forward, and took a deep breath. "No?" He said carefully. Blinking rapidly, the tree monster bent over to look better at him.
"S O T H E D O G F I N A L L Y S P E A K S ."
He spent a solid moment trying to think of a clap-back to that one, but eventually gave up. "That's not nice," he eventually muttered. The monster puffed slightly, then responded.
"...S o r r y. "
It avoided his gaze for a moment, playing with its paw. "He didn't mean it," he eventually found himself blurting out. "He's stupid."
"Hey!" Demi protested, the exact meaning of his words lost on him but the intention in his tone clear.
"Shut up, Demi." He growled, barging the human out of sight for a moment composing himself. "You're not stupid, I promise." It blinked slowly, stance relaxing.
"...Y O U M E A N I T ?"
"Yeah."
The monster remained rooted, looking down at him with a degree of awe. He only yelped slightly as its arms swooped down to scoop him up, holding him tight.
"T H A T ' S T H E N I C E S T T H I N G A N Y O N E ' S E V E R S A I D T O M E !" It exclaimed, blubbering . Paprika felt a sticky, sweetly-smelling substance drip onto his fur—orange, translucent sap flowing freely from its dark eye socket. He tapped the bark tentatively, sighing with relief as he was placed back down. Scratching its head dazedly in a surprisingly innocent gesture, it said "S O R R Y . A G A I N."
"Alright," He assured it. "But maybe choose a better 'anyone'?" he added.
"' A B E T T E R A N Y O N E ?'" It echoed, wondrously. Paprika cringed internally, hoping he hadn't said anything wrong- this was going surprisingly well, afterall.
"Better friends, maybe? Say nice things to you." He explained, clasping his paws together patiently. It squinted, then smiled creepily.
"I S E E , I S E E..." It said, looking intently back at him. Was it expecting him to say more, or...
"I'll be your friend." He spilled out, immediately regretting it. The revenant blinked rapidly, more sap spilling out of its sockets. It opened its mouth to speak, but only ended up pouring more sap out too. Lovely. Eventually, it pulled itself together—with a wave of a claw leaves reluctantly drenched themselves in the sticky fluid, wiping until it was somewhat presentable to look at.
"R E A L L Y ?" It said suspiciously. He nodded; it was too late to back down now."O H- I C A N' T E V E N- R E A L LY ?- M E ?" He added a thumbs up into the fray for good measure.
"T H I S I S T H E B E S T D A Y E V E R !!!" It celebrated. "O H - B U T Y O U R E B U S Y R I G H T N O W ... N E V E R M I N D ! J U S T T A K E T H I S ,"
The crooked claw dropped a small seed into his outstretched paw. It was warm to the touch, and pulsed slightly in resistance.
"F L A M I O N I S S C H O O L I S T H A T W A Y . J U S T F O L L O W T H E F L O W E R S." Then, it waved a hand and flowers sprouted eagerly in response, forming a dedicated line far out of sight.
"T H A N K Y O U T H A N K Y O U ! " It roared then promptly shoved him forward; when he looked back, there was nothing there except the lingering buzz in his head and the small seed pulsing against his paw.
"Hehe! Can't stop me forever!"
The human scampered away from tentacles flailing through the air, gunning forward in hot pursuit by a very angry-looking octopus monster. Demi nearly made it to him too; but the creature launched itself with a fervour, knocking the wind out of the trainer and tightly binding around him once more. "You'll let go of me eventually!" He promised. Paprika found himself chuckling, crouching over to gently pry off the creature from his human—who did so obediently. He pointed to the path of flowers spiralling out of the forest.
"Ohh," Demi began, springing to his feet. "You beat up that rickety tree and forced it to tell ya the way out?! Nice!" He patted his shoulder heartily, and Paprika didn't have the strength to argue. He merely hung his head, sighing and nodding, and began to walk off in that direction.
"And to think I trusted you to know the way..." He heard Demi mutter, and a sad gurgle came in response. It was true; this was pretty much the opposite direction the octopus had led them all to. He'd have to thank that curious, crooked tree later, he realised; his days were quickly becoming rather booked recently.
Was that a good or a bad thing?
"Oi- we're still late, remember?!" Demi called from somewhere ahead—the Typhlosion was thinking so deeply he hadn't noticed. Their new companion, perched on Demi's back was swinging around his racket recklessly; whacking the tree leaves lightly as he jogged. Paprika shook his head with a slight grin, leaving his worries in the forest behind as they moved forward, following a stream of purple flowers.
Chapter 10: How to get through the First day of School -- Rewritten
Summary:
Now with more school in our school day
Chapter Text
You had nearly done it; sure, your partner had said otherwise, but you did it! Who cares what those naysayers said?
New school, new friends- heck, even a new pokemon!
Even if you still didn't know what it was- as you feel tentacles immediately latching onto you, it was clear it was some sorta octopus monster- you were happy to recruit it nontheless. Hopefully since it lived in water, it would be a water type: that could work well to balance your team. Thoughts aside, it was nearly showtime; a light was up ahead, and you were confident this would be it this time. Your badger bats against your side playfully, before bounding ahead with a fervour.
"H-hey! You gotta at least give me a warning!" You argue, but he's out of earshot. The creature you're towing gives a quizzical gurgle, so you begin to quickly explain.
"Oh, I'm just trying to catch him- it's an inside thing, don't worry," you say, amused by its noises, clearly eager to join in. But it dawns upon you that maybe it's too eager: you let out a strangled gasp as it latches onto a tree, making it creak as it tugs with considerable force. Quickly becoming weightless, your mind goes briefly blank as it swings you both through the air; the wind sings past your ears as your arms flail. Paprika runs in front of you, below you, then behind you as you go flying; steadying your mind, you have the right mind to angle yourself downwards.
Paprika yelps as you land in front of him just out of the forest and a strange sense of exhiliration fills you: but it's quickly replaced with dizzying confusion when you hit the ground running, only managing a few steps before you plummet into a chaotic roll, the world spinning until you eventually find your feet.
" Warn me next time," you urge, steadying yourself on the last tree present. Paprika pants as he crashes against you and sends all 3 of you tumbling in a mess of excitement, up in a disorganised pile of paws and tentacles and chuckles. You manage to roll the heavy monster off of you between laughs, just laying there for a moment and looking at the sky. The Sun was grinning down upon you, blessing Flamionis town in the after-summer light.
Maybe this time , you wonder with a smile, you could do it.
Paprika rises to his feet first, dragging you both up by the tentacles; eh, all good things had to come to an end.
"Well, hopefully we've made it this time!" You chirp, recklessly patting your new friend's head. It gurgles determinedly in response.
Covered in dust and leaves, the three of you walked further into Flamionis' heart- the appropiately named centre of your little town. When you looked back, the Greenspace you had come out of seemed innocently small in response, and an uneducated trainer might think the same; but every kid a mile away knew just how stupidly tedious going through it could get. You wouldn't be doing this any time soon But wait- it finally dawns upon you- you turn to your Typhlosion with a grin, shaking him excitedly. You had an internet connection! War was finally over!
He grumbles in irritation as you rifle in your front pockets. Then your back pockets. Then your shirt pocket, just for good measure. Crap.
You sling the back off your shoulder roughly, immediately thankful the pokemon inside had several appendages gripping it tight. It looks at you lazily, and you return its gaze with the sternest look possible. If you had even the slightest idea of this rascal's personality, it had something to do with this.
"Hey," you begin, remembering how your mum looks when she's telling you off, "You don't have anything to do with my missing phone, ri-ight?"
It stares blankly at you.
"Watcha got in your tentacles? Just show me," you say lightly, pinching the bridge of your nose. At this point Paprika was beside you, snorfling inquisitively at the creature. " Give it." You press more insistently, and it begins to pull up its appendages:
A worn red book in your bag, bearing the marks of a thousand battles: should probably keep that handy, huh?
"No, that's my book."
A pen you'd lost a couple of months ago.
"Not that either."
A packet of gum.
"No."
Sock you swore you had thrown away.
" No!"
It shakes its head, gurgling disassapointedly as it pulled out the final item it had in its grasp: you let out a strangled gasp of relief, finally sighting your phone. The black object glistens in the Sun, placing a small seed of dread in your belly: it was positively wet. Still, you hold onto some optimism when you grab onto it, mashing the power button furiously.
You share a despairing look with Paprika, then both look down at the bagged monster with strain. Its head darts between two of you with a confused expression.
"You—"
Paprika places a paw on your shoulder, shaking his head. Sighing tiredly, you pick up the bag and sling it over your back. A tentacle rests on your head, feeling your curls curiously.
"Forget about it, let's just get to the school already. We'll just ask anyone else to use their phone; you're doing alright, buddy." you reassure, huffing.
The further you walked into the Heart, the more busy it got- reaching a point where you and Paprika took turns in stifling the touchy creature's attempts to grab various, assumedly novel objects: a passing pedestrian's hat, an Alkazam's spoon, heck you even had to make a break for it after it nearly snatched a baby from a stroller!
"Dude," you chastised, holding the offending tentacle, " Stop touching everything!"
The attempts simmered down after that, but never truly stopped; good enough for now you guess. What felt like hours later the golden arch of the school in a clearing amidst the urban forest finally revealed itself and you were ready to collapse with relief.
Panting heavily, your Typhlosion was practically crawling across the pathway now. He glances at you narrowly, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was still thinking about that whole '30 minutes to get there' thing. "My bad, won't happen again!" You say, scratching your head sheepishly. He snorts standoffishly, and trots ahead with a puff of smoke in your direction. Gazing nervously at the clock mounted outside, you follow the Typhlosion into the building.
"WHERE IS DEMIOLULA HUMAN AND PAPRIKA TYPHLOSION? WE CANNOT BE LOSING STUDENTS ON THE FIRST DAY."
"Dunno, dunno... we're gonna hafta fail them if they don't return soon, y'know. Board rules, not mine."
A jarring grating sounded before the robotic voice responded. "WE KNOW. FAILURE IS UNACCEPTABLE, AND WE SHALL PUNISH THEM ACCORDINGLY; BUT FIRST WE MUST ENSURE THEIR SAFETY. HAVE YOU TRIED CONTACTING THEIR CELLULAR DEVICE?"
You scooch further, not daring to enter the room yet with your partner. He reacted similarly, ears cocked and hackles raised.
"Nothin', nothin'- stupid kid and his mutt probably dunked their phone in water, or summin'."
You ignore Paprika's knowing glare.
"Look, how 'bout we just cut our losses, eh? You can't keep a whole school year waitin' just on your premonitions, canya?"
The room was quiet for a moment, a brief reprise from the cacophany of voices the louder one seemed to bellow with. Peaceful, until the air seemed to tighten around them with a sharp screech.
"STIMULUS. MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN, OR SUFFER CONSEQUENCES."
You were a 'stimulus', huh? Always a weirdo somewhere. Paprika waits for your move anxiously- typical. Guess you had to take the lead again. Tidying your now wet hair with your hands- you'd have to thank your new friend for that- and straightening your collar, you step forward into the light, eager to get a glance at who these curious characters are.
"DEMIOLULA: TRUE OR FALSE?"
Now this was a pokemon you could recognise; cold red eyes with small black iris hid a wicked intelligence behind them. It had a large cross over its face, and 4 arms composed of pure steel dangled in the air as it held itself by sheer psychic will. How cool was it that you were seeing a Metagross?!
"WE WILL REITERATE. DEMIOLULA: TRUE OR FALSE?"
Oh, right: it was talking to you. "Yup, that's me." Its glare intensifies, reminding you of that creepy ghost tree- but you took comfort in having Paps beside you.
"THAT WAS NOT THE QUESTION, BUT WE SHALL EXTRAPOLATE."
You take its weirdness in stride. "Sure man, just Demi is fine though."
It seems to process what you say. " DEMI OVERWRITING DEMIOLULA IN MY SECONDARY STORAGE? REASON?"
What would a robot say? "Uh, Demi is shorter for the same purpose. More efficiency I guess?"
"EFFICIENCY. ADMIRABLE. HOWEVER, YOUR FLATTERY CANNOT DESIST ME; THE ISSUE AT HAND IS STILL UNSOLVED." It whirred lowly before projecting again.
"PAPRIKA: TRUE OR FALSE?"
You sidestep promptly, exposing your partner to calculating eyes. He yips an affirmative, holding out a thumbs up awkwardly to it.
"SATISFACTORY. YOUR GUARDIANS SHALL BE INFORMED OF YOUR PRESENCE. YOU MAY LEAVE NOW."
What? You chuckle outwardly. "Oh, school's out then?" You joke.
"NO."
Not even a smile? Tough crowd, huh...
"THE CONTRACT OF YOUR EDUCATION WAS SPECIFIC IN ITS TERMINATION TERMS. YOU FAILED THE FIRST ASSIGNMENT, SO IT IS VOID."
" E-eh?! What was it?!"
"TO EXPLORE THE GREEN SPACE AND RECRUIT A POKEMON. YOUR WOULD-BE CLASSMATES HAVE COMPLETED IT 6734 SECONDS AGO- THEY HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU." It boomed, looking down at you two.
"That's all? Eh, that's light: may I have a second to consult my partner?" You three, you remembered. You still had your slimy, tentalced, thieving ace up your sleeve.
"... PERMISSION GRANTED. PLEASE BE PROMPT."
"Great, great!" You respond, grabbing Paprika by his wavering paw and dragging him to the side. Once you were sure the Metagross wasn't watching, you slung your backpack off and placed it neatly on the ground. Peering inside, you feel a faint warmth at the creature inside- no wonder it was so quiet, it had dozed off. You gingerly lay a hand on its head, waiting patiently until it stirs to life with a sleepy snort.
"Hey, wake up," you say, rocking it gently until you were satisfied it was with you. "Wanna be my first pokemon?"
It squints at you, then nods lazily. It didn't seem bothered either way, really: you could respect that.
"Cool, cool," you say, nodding at Paprika before grabbing the beast. It initally slips around in your grasp but slowly drapes itself around you, hoisting itself up to sit comfortably in your arms. Your partner and you scurry back towards the psychic behemoth, equipped with your brightest smiles.
" Done!" You announce, holding out your new companion for appraisal to the beast. Paprika adds a pair of jazz hands just for good measure. Watching with dread, you share a nervous glance as its eyes darken to black.
"ERROR. WHERE DID YOU RETRIEVE THIS MONSTER FROM IN SUCH LITTLE TIME?" It was more of demand then a question.
"Oh, just picked it up on my way here," You say casually, arms thrown behind your head. "Would've been here promptly otherwise, sir." You add sweetly. It towers over you, focusing intently into your eyes- despite the discomfort you hold its gaze as it speaks.
" . . . I CANNOT TELL WHETHER OR NOT YOU ARE LYING, CHILD." It said, leaning impossibly closer.
"I dunno, maybe your superbrain is broken," You suggest helpfully.
"IT IS NOT. ARE YOU?"
"N-no, sir."
"GOOD."
"I call bull!" 2 eyes and a wide smile materialise, followed shortly by the signature roundness and wispiness of a Gengar. The Metagross beside shot it a hard look, and it threw up pudgy arms in defense. "Oh, sorry- can't be using that language, forgive me- I call poppycock." The sarcasm was proud on its tongue. You could practically hear the eyeroll from the other monster.
"My point still stands though- probably just snatched the household pet when he realised the jig was up! Can't fool me, you little liar," It accused, pointing a finger at you.
Oh, you weren't gonna have that- you step forward, meeting its gaze defiantly. "Am not!"
"Are too!"
"No!"
" Yees!"
"ENOUGH." The Metagross boomed massively. " MERELY PROVIDE THE HOME POKEBALL OF THE CREATURE, AND THIS SHALL BE OVER PROMPTLY. NOW."
Oof. "About that..."
" HA! Told you so!" It cackled triumphantly. Paprika growls lowly, audible only to you.
"Don't have one," you put simply, looking down briefly at the octopus. It was currently knotting and unknotting its own tentacles, vibrating softly in your arms. "It's a new pokemon, afterall."
"SO HOW DID YOU TRANSPORT IT HERE?" It presses. You sigh sharply, the realisation of how stupid this sounded finally rearing its ugly head.
"My bag- its pretty roomy in there," you respond. The Metagross' lattice creaks in a weak imitation of a sigh.
"ALLOW ME TO PARAPHRASE; ON YOUR DETOUR OVER HERE, YOU FOUND A WILD POKEMON AND BROUGHT IT HERE. UNCHECKED."
"Sounds about right, yeah Paprika?" You say.
"Haha, I'd be crying too if my trainer was so stupid! " The Gengar snorts, pointing at your monster with his head in his hands, whining softly. Wasn't like he was helping not get you expelled, though...
"IDIOCY ASIDE, WHAT IF YOU WERE HURT? SURELY YOUR PREVIOUS SCHOOL WARNED YOU HOW UNPREDICTABLE WILD POKEMON CAN BE." It floats over to a nearby cupboard, flinging it open with psychic force. A basic red pokeball swings out, and you catch it with a grunt.
"It wouldn't do that, wouldya?" The creature contracts, freezing like it just remembered where it was. It nods up at you. "See?"
"IT COULD BE LYING." It suggests. You consult it yet again.
"You wouldn't lie to me, right?" It shakes its head slowly. The Metagross looks blankly ahead at you, and the Gengar was currently doubled over in laughter. "What?"
"JUST—CATCH THE POKEMON, 'DEMI'."
"Hey, you remembered!"
"I DO NOT FORGET."
You catch a quick, sucking sound and look down- the little bugger had grabbed onto the pokeball and caught itself; the sphere shake once, twice, then stops. Looking at the object, your mind draws a blank for a solid 5 seconds before you remember how to open the ball: it had been a while since you've used one, afterall. The octopus pops out back into your arms, blinking widely before promptly busying itself with another object in the room.
"SPECIES: OCTILLERY. NATURE: NAIVE. TRAIT: TENDS TO FORGET FACES. MOVES: PROTECT, HYPER BEAM, SNIPE SHOT."
The Gengar whistled sharply. "Damn, that's a catch, kid..."
You puff out your chest proudly. " I know. Of course, I picked him out from the rest meticiously—nothing but the best in my first pokemon, afterall. Not a liar now, am I?"
" Eh..." The Gengar frowns, before fading back into a smile, then nothingness.
"I WILL NOW CHECK YOUR TYPHLOSION, IF THAT IS ALRIGHT. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT THE POKEBALL- ALL I REQUIRE IS STILLNESS."
Paprika perks up at his mention, standing stiffly. The Metagross floats over, staring daggers into him as it spoke.
"SPECIES: PAPRIKA. NATURE: CALM. TRAIT: DISLIKES CONFRONTATION. MOVES: SWIFT, FIRE PLEDGE, ERUPTION, LAST RESORT. INTERESTING."
Paprika squeaked.
"THERE IS SOMETHING DIFFERENT ABOUT YOU, 'PAPRIKA'. WE WILL DISSECT THE ISSUE SOON ENOUGH." You hope he didn't mean that literally.
"WE MUST PROCEED, HOWEVER: YOUR COUNTERPARTS HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU EAGERLY. DO NOT DISSAPPOINT."
You step forward, eager to finally get this started. "Lead the way!" You say, and begin to follow the floating Metagross. You walk down a fairly new looking corridor feeding into a main hall- you gulp shallowly as the sheer number of pupils dawns upon you- not to mention the pokemon they were with. From what you recognised there were mostly starters established in various regions: Charizards, Swamperts, Incineroars- you name it, you could probably spot one with enough time.
Eventually, the Metagross leads you to a group of 4 talking, 2 humans and 2 pokemon. A behemoth Meganium was snoozing near a window, and a gruff-looking Feraligatr, stood sentry near the other human.
"GET TO KNOW THEM," The Metagross says enigmatically before teleporting away. With nothing left to do, you step forward, breathing in deeply as 4 pairs of eyes focus on you.
"Sup," you say, leaning against a wall cooly. Your Typhlosion follows suit. Your Octillery waves eagerly, completely shattering the 'cool dude' look you were going for.
The first to speak is the boy wearing a thick winter coat and goggles perched onto his head. "What the hell took you so long? Didya have to hand wrestle that 'mon, or something?" The Feraligatr growls an affirmative, arms crossed as glanced sideways at the three of you. "Whyda pick that, anyway? Seems kinda lame to me."
Secondly, the girl speaks up, leaning against her grass-type. "Ignore him: he gets cranky when he's hungry." The boy shot her a look before retorting quickly.
"Am not!" She just giggled in response.
"Anyways... I'm Lyra, and this is Ife," She said, gesturing at the sleepy Meganium.
"Andrew. Call her Ripple." The boy said, nodding curtly. Demi assumed 'she' was the Feraligatr.
"Well, I'm Demi, and that's Paprika over there." You finish, and Paprika slinks forward and mutters a greeting.
"What's the octopus' name?" Andrew asks, pointing at Octillery. You hum, stalling for time.
"Don't know yet." You shrug, and he grunts in recognition. "It's an Octillery though." You add. "What pokemon did you guys catch for your seconds?"
"We can show you them later," Lyra pipes up. "My little guy prefers to be outside, anyway. But if we're all here, we might as well get eachother's numbers, right?" You hiss in response, and she shoots another look at you. "What?"
Oh. Small problem. "Kinda got my phone soaked in water by, uh, yours truly," you say, gesturing lightly to the octopus currently trying to reach for the lightbulb. Paprika slaps its tentacle down, thankfully. This time Lyra outright bursts into laughter and points at you, clasping onto her Meganium for support. The Meganium tries to maintain a nonchalant glare, looking away from you; but you could see the slight tint of amusement in its yellow eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," She finally wheezes out, "Mister Gengar told us earlier, I just wanted to hear it outta your mouth. Catch," You lurch forward to catch the orange object sailing through the air, trying to suppress the wince from catching it in your bad hand. "It's a Rotom-phone—high tech, I know—school provides 'em for free apparently. Normally you'd just upgrade your current phone, but this one 's especially for you, Demi." She says sweetly, smirking. "Just turn it on and say hi."
"I'm still suspicious. Public knowledge of Rotom phone's was made public, what, three years ago? There's no way the League finally decides to play nice with their pokemon knowledge," Andrew comments.
"You worry too much for all of us," Lyra shoots back, waving him off. Andrew adjusts his coat.
"Cautious. Cautious is a better word." Andrew replies curtly. "Speaking of cautious... what's up with your wrist?"
"Me?"
"Yes you, Demi. I assume you aren't usually weak enough to grimace just from a phone's weight. It's swollen."
Smirking, you feign flattery. "Aw, you do care! If you've really gotta know, Octillery whacked it earlier."
The Feraligatr's scarred eyes opens wider than a crack for the first time. "And you got away with just a swollen wrist?" He eventually asks. You honestly don't know what he was so worked up about. It's not like he was trying to hurt you—it had been a glancing blow at most. "It wasn't that hard," you justify with a shrug. Andrew isn't convinced.
"Octillery, could you do something for me?" He asks. The octopus jolts to attention, tensing in your arms. "I want to you punch Ripple. Hard."
"Do you do this to all your new friends?" You mutter, nodding in approval to Octillery. With a quiet bubble it slips out of your arms, sliding across the floor on its tentacles until sitting underneath the towering Feraligatr in comparison. He balls up a fist and it connects with Ripple's palm with a meager, wet thud. Ripple blinks. Then cackles.
Andrew's shoulders drop slightly. "Not everyone's built to be a physical attacker, I suppose."
You meanwhile, are flabbergasted: even Paprika seems a bit suspicious in the power behind that. Octillery blinks blankly back at you. "Octillery, there's no way that's the hardest you can throw a punch. What happened to that pure muscle from earlier?!" You're frankly disappointed in the lack of cephalopodan strength being showcased. His pupils constrict, and you can nearly see the gears whirring in his head: probably the difference between 'hard' and 'hardest', you hope. Eventually he nods. Ripple grins with razor-sharp teeth, gesturing the Octillery to give it his best shot. He doesn't respond to the goad.
Instead, you watch as his body compresses to the ground and he slams two tentacles into the floor, propelling him in the air with enough force to swivel clockwise. The pokemon is soundless aside from a small grunt as it hammers two balled up tentacles into Ripple's outstretched palm with a significantly more menacing thud. The grin is wiped swiftly off of Ripple's face, although she doesn't recoil far. She and Andrew share a curious look.
"And you're you sure you just caught that Octillery?" He asks between clenched teeth. You nod as Octillery slings himself back into your arms, landing gentler than before. Look's like he's learning.
"Maybe this school won't be just full of pushovers," he muses quietly.
Whatever gets him out of bed for school, you guess. You inspect the phone closely, noticing the almost unnatural orange sheen. You grimace, mentally preparing for yet another snarky comment as you remember what Lyra said. "'Say hi?' To who?" Lyra sighs loudly, shaking her head with a smile. But both of your heads dart to the growling Feraligatr in next to Andrew who then spat a glob of saliva onto the floor, glowering at you. Andrew places a hand on her quivering snout, muttering something to calm her down.
"She thinks you ask too many questions, Demi." He states simply.
"Right. Sorry." You apologise without an ounce of remorse in your bones, holding the alligator's gaze steadily. You weren't gonna be intimidated that easily. You wait until she breaks eye contact until you continue. "Anyway, what were y'saying?"
"O-oh! Just turn the phone on and it'll do the rest," She says, glancing at Ripple. Ife had moved in front of her, between her and the water type. You look at her, expecting something else to be said; but she glances back with a shaky grin.
Guess you'd have to figure this out yourself, then.
Paprika trots over, and glances over your shoulder at the phone. Octillery follows suit, lowering itself to peer over the other. You press the power button after finding it, and the phone whirrs to life busily—it doesn't take long before 2 screen-lit eyes stare back at yours. Your Typhlosion taps the screen lightly, bringing up an interface with a keyboard: for your name, you'd assume. With nothing else to do, you enter in DEMI and press enter, waiting patiently for what's to come.
"DEMI: is that correct?" A high voice drones out, but you don't see any option for a 'yes' or a 'no'. You resolve to nodding dumbly, vaguely aware of the inquisitive sniffs of your starter next to you.
" Awesome! Anything else I need to know about my new friend??" It beeped, buzzing enthusiastically in your hand. You open your mouth to respond but are rudely interrupted.
" GRreat! Fantastic! Well there's so much I wanna tell you, friend! I'm ROTOM, your personal messenger, map, consultant, and new friend! I like the colour red, the year 1984, sweet foods and long walks—haha, funny cause I can't walk! Hope we get to know each other as well as the back of each other's hands!" It continues, its digital face buzzing between various combinations of excitement and surprise.
"...You don't have hands," You point out. The face winks, snickering.
"You know me so well already!!" Before you could say anything else, it cuts to black. You try to force the phone on again, but are only met with a wall of noise.
"What the hell was that?" Andrew hisses, gesticulating forcefully at you.
"I dunno man, she gave me the phone! Didn't the same thing happen to you?"
"No!" He replies haughtily, like it was the most obvious thing on this planet. You groan; enough things had already gone wrong today. How were you even gonna explain this to your mum?!
"Calm, guys!" Lyra says, waving both of you off. "The phone's off now, so how about we make this a 'later' problem? We still have things to do today, y'know! Here—"
Her Meganium hands her a leaf, and Lyra scribbles down something and hands it to you. Upon further inspection of the small, slightly warm object, it had both her and Andrew's numbers on it. You mutter thanks to her.
As much as you hated to admit, she was right; you were already on thin ice as it was, and goofing off on the first day probably would do all three of you in. You put your phone in your rucksack after firmly warning Ocitllery to keep his tentacles off. Then you turn back to the 4 of them, hands placed roughly in your pockets. "So, what do we need t'do?" You ask. "Yeah, and Ripple? Quit glowerin' at me like your my mum; if they aren't gonna explain, imma keep askin."
Ripple blinks rapidly, before looking to her trainer with a wicked smile and pointing to her own chest with a challenging tilt to her head. "I don't see any other overgrown lizard here." You respond with a scowl. Something told you this Feraligatr was really gonna piss you off. She bellows, baring sharp, jagged daggers from her maw before stomping forward until she was close enough that you could hear each and every breath, see each jeweled aquamarine scale as they rose and fell.
She cocks her head in question, yet again. You breathe in deeply before asking if there was an issue.
Ife shakes her head at you, petals vibrating dangerously. Paprika growls under his breath, and Octillery placed a tentacle on your shoulder. Andrew watches carefully, and Lyra had her phone out.
"Do something about it," you add carefully. The Feraligatr turns around slowly and walks back to Andrew's side, but not before throwing you a killer look. You mutter to Paprika, "What's up with her?" He shrugs in response, and pulls you back.
Before anyoone else does something stupid, the Metagross you met early emits a high pitch whirr that gets everyone's attention in the hall in front of you. You try to catch sight of him, but can't see over the sea of heads stretching far in front of you—some of these people had some really big monsters.
"ATTENTION. YOUR NOTICE IS NEEDED." It begins.
Alright. You could work with this. "Think you could get us a view?" You whisper to Octillery. He looks around for a moment, before reaching slowly for the ceiling; its suckers stick to it with with a quiet squish, and it wraps 2 tentacles around you and Paprika. The Typhlosion squeezes a whine before the monster pulls, hoisting you both up to dangle precariously a few metres above the ground: looks like you'll just have to trust its grip.
The Meganium croons, tapping Lyra with a vine and pointing at the three of you. Her mouth hangs agape before she starts snickering, pulling out her phone to take another picture. Ife looks over her shoulder to nod approvingly, and then lays back down again to nap.
"TODAY WILL BE SHORTER, TO EASE YOU INTO CLASSES. 3 CLASSES. BATTLE PERIOD. THEN YOU SHALL BE DISMISSED. QUESTIONS?"
The audience below share glances, and a girl raises her hand. " YES?"
"So, who's the headmaster?" She says, idly playing with the leaves on her Venusaur. Other students around her made various sounds of disbelief, and a nearby kid faceplants, muttering something to their Blastoise. "What?" She continues, throwing up her arms in abandon. "W-we were all thinking it!" She looks back at the Metagross, desperate for an explanation. It stares at her blankly, blinking slowly before responding. " I AM."
"But, like, where's your trainer?"
"THERE IS NO TRAINER. I OPERATE INDEPENDENTLY." It responds, and you could swear there was a bit of weariness in its voice.
"Oh..." She responds. Her Venusaur whips her lightly on the arm before promptly pulling her down from sight—not visible to anyone else who wasn't swinging openly from the ceiling by their Octillery.
The Venusaur growls at her, gesturing violently with vines. "W-What? I asked you if y'knew what was going on! Maybe if you explained it earlier, we wouldn't have been embarassed like that!" She hisses, gesticulating just as energetically back. "Don't gimme that look, either! Talking so much crap for someone who needs me to maintain their ' dainty, precious' flower every night!" The Venusaur's facade visually crumbles at the mention, its eyes widening in betrayal. "Yeah, I said I wasn't gonna use it against you, but you forced my hand."
Talk about petty. "Hey good thing were aren't like that, huh Paps?" You look over at him briefly, doing a double take noticing how nauseous he looked. He chuffs at you, wiggling his legs until Octillery's tentacle eventually swung to face him away from you. "...If you want him to put ya down, just ask, dude." You comment—you forgot how much of a wuss your Typhlosion could be.
"BUT I DIGRESS. PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO YOUR CLASSES FOR FURTHER ACTIONS. WE HOPE TO SEE YOU BACK HERE NICE AND EARLY TOMORROW."
Was that last part directed at you? It's not like you could tell, with the constant poker face the Metagross wore: you watch it suspiciously as it hovers out of the door labelled, ' Headmaster's office' .
" This way, runts!" An irritating voice sounds, and you glance over to see that tubby Gengar gesturing to a gate. Slowly but surely the crowd diffused out, directed masterfully by the ghost pokemon. "There we go!"
Octillery gently lowers you both to the floor, waiting until your feet touch it before zipping himself into your arms. Andrew stands, clearing his throat loudly. "We were wondering when you were gonna come down. Have fun up there?" He comments, arms crossed with a small smirk on his face.
"Yup," you respond, trying not to shiver as Octillery scrambles across you to reach your bag. "How'd you enjoy the view of the back of a buncha heads down here?"
"Dude. We just moved, it wasn't that hard. There is always a normal way of solving the problem!" He sighs.
"The ceiling looks rather splendid though, right Paprika?" You say, nodding to yourself as you elbow Paprika lightly. He snorts righteously, paws on his waist. Andrew rolls his eyes, gesturing for you to follow.
"Just c'mon, and tell me what classes you have," he mutters. Ife puffs as she rises to her feet, clearly reluctant to leave her sunbathing spot. Lyra darts ahead, forcing the Meganium into a brisk trot to keep up. "On our phones, right?" You say as you poke your inert Rotom phone until it flashes to life.
"Ow, ow! Is this how we wake friends up?!" It protests. You ask it what classes you have today.
"Erm... National Pokemon with Mister Wirrywon and his Alakazam, Aura theory with Miss Sirarron and her Lucario, then finally History with Missus Murphy and her Polteageist!" It buzzes out after a pause. A scowl makes itself known on Andrew's face.
"What's up?" You ask. He crosses his arms.
"Those classes match mine, that's all."
You decide to ignore his venomous tone. "Cool, you reckon all our classes will be the same?" He groans, and you smirk.
Lyra pipes up, "So we all got the same classes? Makes sense I guess. And Demi, are you really not gonna go to the nurse for that arm?"
Why was everyone so worried about this? "Yeah, I'll be fine, I've been through worse," you assure. She expresses her disbelief.
“Can you even hold a pen in that hand?” She challenges.
“Okay, maybe not now, but definitely in an hour,” you respond. She mouths your words in confusion, looking past you. You turn around just fast enough to see your Typhlosion nod and shrug back at her.
“You know what? Whatever. Just come with, okay? We’re gonna be late for the entry exam!”
You try not to let the dread seem to obvious on your face as you walk behind them. Lyra looks back at you. “Uh, Demi? You coming?”
Oh. You haven’t been moving, yet—you force your lead legs to carry you towards the corridor ahead, ignoring the knowing looks of your Typhlosion.
Chapter 11: How to Get Through your First Day of School (II)
Chapter Text
You knew it was going to be a good school day as soon as you opened the page, and a Charizard was grinning at you from the test paper. Of course, you got that one easily—scribbled down ‘Fire-Flying’ , ‘Blaze,’ and ‘Solar Power’—but you knew it was going downhill from here.
“Paprika!” You hiss, and he looks in the completely opposite direction. You had half a mind of whacking him around the head, and reminding him that this was his test too, but there were too many people. Looking around, everyone was scribbling away and hunched over their paper with whatever their starter was. So why were you so helpless? Paprika only whistles innocently like a kettle, but you can read him like a book:
“How the hell would I have studied for this, you fluffy idiot?!”
The Alakazam stares at you once again. You stare back, hoping the confusion is obvious on your face. Its brows furrow in frustration; it looks at Mister Wirrywon, and its eyes flash pink once.
“Uh, 'Deemee’?” The man begins in a deep, rich voice. His hands rested on the sides of his navy-blue blazer, which he fidgets with as he speaks. He stops to straighten his crooked tie, and to do up his top button that protested against his well-endowed neck.
“Hmm?” Ah. That’s your name, he was saying. You grunt in response, looking up at him.
“My Alakazam would quite appreciate you if you stopped that, sonny. If it’s not too much of a bother, of course! Just a suggestion,” he eventually said. You look around, at everyone who was still quietly chatting to their partners.
“It’s ‘Demi’, sir. I’m just talkin’ to Paprika,” you say. The man nods enthusiastically at nothing worth celebrating over.
“Of course, of course, 'Day - mi'; my Alakazam just finds it a little... how do I put it… exclusive that you’re blocking it out? You did consent for mental interactions to join the school, I believe!”
“Exclusive'? I’m not doin’ anything wrong.” You respond. He laughs deeply, only deepening your frown.
“Of course, we ain’t saying you’re doing anything wrong, just what makes you comfortable, sonny!” He chuckles.
“What are you talking about?” You ask—his Alakazam jolts to its feet, but Mr Wirrywon pushes him back down with that same too-wide smile. Like you were someone who needed to be handled delicately.
“Just watch your tone, sonny,” he says cheerfully. “I ain’t too worried, but my Alakazam? Now, that’s a different story…”
“Done!” A voice pipes up. Mr Wirrywon adjusts his misty glasses, and Alakazam wipes them clear with a wave of his hand and mild psychic force. You were expecting to see Lyra, but instead another girl with a phone you haven’t seen before—the symbol of half-eaten apple was on the back, for whatever reason—slams the paper on his desk. Alakazam tilts his head, but scans over all the pages swiftly before drawing a red ‘99’ in the top-right corner.
“Amazing work, just one small gripe…” he begins with a lilt. Surprisingly, the girl seems disappointed: great, another nerd-type, just what you needed. “Flygon isn’t a Ground-type, sweetie. It’s Bug and Flying! Apart from that, absolutely perfect, Gold.”
She straightens up from a slump you didn’t even know she had. “Ah, just Rose, please.” The teacher’s head tilts, but he nods graciously.
“Of course, of course! I assume you’ll be taking out Greninja for some training, then?” He asks. ‘Rose’ nods. A lithe Greninja blips into view that you swear wasn’t there before, and with a mutual nod, they walk out of the front door. Mr Wirrywon shakes his head as he watches them. “Incredibly peculiar pair, promising though...but as I was saying—just consider it, okay 'Demmer'?”
“Where the hell did you get an ‘r’ from?”
“Language, 'Demo'.” He warns with a small smile. He has to be doing that on purpose. Paprika pats you sympathetically over the shoulder, and you hang your head in defeat.
“And that’s time, folks!” Mr Wirrywon announces. Hands shaking, you close the test and hope you don’t ever have to look at it again; if your abysmal knowledge wasn’t bad enough, the fact it all had to be done in your left hand just sealed your fate. You let out a sigh, and lean back in your chair. Paprika grumbles, and pushes you back up.
Who did this Typhlosion think he was? You kick him in the shin: he clicks his claws together underneath the desk, sending a small Swift star that grazes against your shin.
“Demi, Demi, what did you get for question 53?” Lyra leans over to you—turns out, she wasn’t a girl of subtlety. Only Ife, vines wrapping around her torso with only a small exhale, stops her from ending up slamming against the floor.
You search your battered mind, but the trauma is too much to delve into. “I don’t remember. 53 in particular?” You respond. She nods.
“I’m not sure if Tyrantrum’s hidden ability was Sheer Force, or Rock Head. What do you think?” She asks.
“Sheer Force, why not?” You respond half-heartedly. Paprika heckles with a quiet yip, crossing his arms and shaking his head in disapproval. You whip around to glower at him. “If you know so much, why don’t you just do the damn test yourself next time?! You really just sat there and watched your injured trainer write?”
He seems to be considering your words, if only for a second.
Then, he puffs smoke into your face. For good measure, he sticks out his tongue.
You will end that badger.
“Doesn’t matter what’s what,” Andrew says from somewhere behind. You turn around, only to see him looking directly past you. “That ‘Rose’ girl finished in less than a quarter of the time we did. Everything else matters naught.”
Lyra shoots him a look. “Seriously? She’s probably psychic or something. Don’t compare us to her.”
Andrew doesn’t seem convinced. “If we want to be the best, then we must compare ourselves to everyone,” He says. Lyra turns around, and you do too. But you find yourself sneaking another look at him, just to see if Ripple had stopped trying to look intimidating. You don’t try to suppress a snort as you catch Andrew trying his best to look serious, even as the alligator idly gnaws on his arm. When her eyes catch yours, she snaps back with a choked sound. “Nono, class is that boring!” You say between chuckles.
By the time she spits out a glob of water, you’re already darting behind your Typhlosion as a fluffy guard. The liquid slaps into the back of his head, running down his back and onto the chair with a small trickle. Slowly, the Typhlosion turns around as well.
Andrew places his hands firmly on the table. “Blame your trainer, if anyone.” He says, holding Paprika’s gaze. He snarls, raising up a claw…
…and pokes the Feraligatr on the snout, between the eyes. She goes cross-eyed for a moment as Paprika turns around with a satisfied grin. The existential crisis on her blank face is enough victory for him. Fist-bumping him, you back around again.
“Are you done now?” Mr Wirrywon asks. His golden smile dullens, just for a moment.
“Apologies sir. This will not be happening again, Ripple and I assure you.”
“It was Paprika’s fault!”
The middle-aged man sighs, stroking his stubbly beard. “Apology accepted, Andrew and Ripple. And Demi, stop blaming your partner and just hand in your test, for heaven’s sake. And Andrew’s too, while you’re at it!” He demands. (So he does know how to say your name.)
Mr Wirrywon bows his head as he takes the paper in his stubby fingers. He hands them to the Alakazam. Hopefully you won’t have to think about that atrocious exam for a couple of days. Lo, you watch in horror as the Alakazam flips through each page at breakneck speeds, and draws a number on all three of your tests. He looks at Lyra first, his eyes flashing green. Why did she just deflate like that?
“Ah, thanks, sir. We’ll take a 70, I guess. What do you think Ife?” Ife jolts to life, nods, and slumps over the desk again. Her long neck barely fits on the desk. Lyra only strokes her neck slowly.
When the hell did everyone but you learn what the Alakazam’s name was? You watch as the Alakazam turns purposefully to Andrew. Its eyes shine an impressive shade of blue, much brighter than the light before. Without flinching, he nods.
“I see. Still room to improve. Thank you, Mr Peith.”
Finally, the Alakazam turns to you, just staring at you intently. Nothing happens. Spoons you didn’t see before manifest in its hands and point at you. They vibrate intensely, and its eyes widen.
Still, nothing happens.
“Peithy, you’re probably hurting him,” Mr Wirrywon says softly, yet his heavy hand on its shoulder is insistent. “If he isn’t ready to let you in, just drop it for now, okay? Some people are just scared of this sort of thing.”
“I still dunno what you’re talking about,” you point out, but he only nods dismissively.
“Don’t worry about it now, okay? I’m sure you’ll come around eventually! Peithy might be a bit rough ‘round the edges, but he’s a softie at heart, sonny,” he chuckles. Peithy is thoroughly engrossed in the test papers stacked in front of him, but his moustache twitches just once.
“Just… don’t keep the people and pokemon who appreciate you away from you for too long. It can’t be healthy for any of you.”
You nod ‘understandingly’: anything to get this awkward conversation over.
“But apart from that, your test is outstanding, sonny! You showcase exactly the kind of thinking we try to facilitate at this school.”
Paprika pats you firmly over the shoulder. You weren’t convinced.
“Just give me the fail already,” you respond. The teacher lets out a loud, overly-jovial laugh.
“It doesn’t hurt to be a tad more optimistic, sonny! Where you lacked in knowledge, you more than made up for it in scientific thinking. This test examines a very specific kind of intelligence: more memory than anything else. You’re doing right as rain, sonny!”
You mutter a thanks; you just wish he got this over with.
“In fact,” he says, picking up volume to your horror. “Let this be a lesson to all of you! Even if you don’t know the answer to a question, an educated guess is just as valuable!”
People around you look up at him, then follow his outstretched hand to look at you. “Can I just have the test back, please?” You plead. His smile doesn’t quiver once, as he scrunches up the paper and throws it behind his desk. All done while looking like he just won the lottery.
“A-ah! Too bad, sonny. It seems we’re out of time. Peithy and I just can't wait to start teaching you all the wonders of pokemon tomorrow—this test was merely a beginning!” He says hastily. You begin a retort, but your chair moves by itself, nearly launching you out of the door. Staring at his glowing hand, you make sure that Mr Peith knows exactly what you think of him. Paprika follows suit as he power-walks ahead of the crowd, eager to get out of the classroom. You mutter a thanks as he hands you your bag.
…Then you realise you in fact, have no idea where you’re going. Better just follow Lyra, for now: somehow, she knows her way around these corridors. Seems like you’ll just have to put up with her wide, smug smile for now.
“Demi! Or is it De-mai? Or Demmer?” She greets you as you walk over to her.
You roll your eyes dramatically. “Why do I think you’re gonna be one of the most annoying people I know for the near future?” You lament.
“C’mon, I’m just kidding! Great way to make an impression, though—everyone’s gonna remember you as the kid who ‘thinks uniquely’ the entire year!”
You don’t grace her laugh with a response. Instead, you stare witheringly at her chuckling Meganium; you had much higher expectations from her. “Whatever, Lyra. Where’s Miss Sirarron’s class?”
“It’s just up that flight of stairs,” Andrew cuts in, his head flicking down the corridor where they lie. Uncaring whether you heard him or not, he marches ahead followed closely by Ripple.
“Pretty moody for a chew toy,” you comment. He looks stiffly over his shoulder, slightly red in the face.
“You four will tell nobody, ” he warns.
You don't hide the smile growing on your face. “Don’t worry dude, your secret is safe with me.”
Ripple huffs: Andrew takes that as his queue to continue walking away, his shoulders raised. Paprika snorts in amusement. “They are fun, aren’t they?” You whisper to him.
Lyra manages to coax Ife into a pace barely above the lazy trot she managed before; and judging by her soft smile, she takes that as a win. Poor girl. You and Paprika easily pass them even with a sympathetically slow walk. She waves the both of you off with a smile. “Don’t worry about us, Ife’ll get there!”
As if on cue, the Meganium stops for a stretch. Lyra’s smile turns pained. “Eventually.”
You feel so bad for her, you nearly hide your smirk. Nearly. As you walk, you take the opportunity to look at your new school, now some robotic Metagross or questionably difficult test isn't looming over you. The walls are new, but bare: how recently built was this school, you wonder? You certainly hadn’t heard of it before the letter in the mail inviting you here a few months came in. Yet everyone seems fine with it—you can already see cliques of people and pokemon forming.
At the top of the staircase, the classroom door immediately reminds you of a Lucario—your new teacher’s partner must be flattered by the black and blue colour scheme, as well as the sharp-looking metal highlights along it.
“Come in, come in!” A loud, imperial voice commands. You lock eyes with your striking new teacher who waves at you energetically. Both her wrists were covered in various precious stones—if someone told you she had just robbed a jewellery shop, you wouldn’t doubt them for a second. Her smile is wild and confident, and she seems bigger than the Lucario standing sentinel next to her.
“Pick a seat, any seat!” She roars. Nodding, you take a seat not too close to her, but not too far back. And a respectable distance from Ripple and Andrew too. Paprika sits in the chair next to the desk.
She sucks in air. You look back at her. “Ahh… wrong seat,” she says.
“You said I could pick any seat,” you point out. Grinning, she nods.
“Never said which was the right one! The correct seats for you and your curious Typhlosion, would be next to those two!”
Your eyes clasp shut in disbelief; she’s pointing at Andrew and Ripple, isn’t she?
You open your dreading eyes. Yup. Reluctantly, you gather your things and sit at the desk next to Andrew. Paprika follows suit, and waves at Ripple. The Feraligtar seems surprised he’s talking to her, but sheepishly waves back with a slight smile. Might as well follow his lead.
“Hey—”
“—No thank you,” he shuts you down. Ripple glances at him, clears her throat, then goes back to seeming aloof.
“Hello, hello, and hello to you too!” Miss Sirarron says to each and every student walking in. You don’t see Rose anywhere. Was that nerd really bunking?
Paprika cackles. He punches your shoulder, then points to Ife’s long neck finally showing. Lyra focuses her eyes on the ground as she sits next to you. “She fell asleep on the stairs,” she says dully. “How do you fall asleep on stairs?”
You don't have a response, nor comfort to give her. The culprit in question pushes the other chair next to desk aside, and resorts to laying there and letting her neck rest on the table. Her petals rise and fall rhythmically. And, she's sleeping again.
“Good Morning, lovelies!” She booms. Disconnected ‘good mornings’ greet her back. Her Lucario shakes its head. What were they expecting? Teenage enthusiasm?
Suddenly, she slams her hand down on a hapless Meowscarada’s desk, ripping a yowl from its throat. You're pretty sure the wooden table splintered.
“I said, good morning!” She growls again, then smiles at the more enthusiastic, albeit terrified response. The Meowscarada fumbles to pick up its flower that fell to the floor, revealing the long stem. Paprika gasps as it shovels it back into the reflective lining on its fur.
“I tried to tell you,” you say to the shaken Typhlosion. “The flower never was floating, okay? It’s just a magic trick.”
He hangs his head; you shake yours.
“Demi!” She says, pointing intensely at you. You watch in awe as the people sitting at the desks in front of you scooch apart until she can see you directly. “There’s no point in keeping one of your pals in their ball! Let ‘em out!”
Who? Octillery? His ball is heavy in your hands—he would decimate this place. Probably land you both in a prison for theft. “Are you sure? He’s a bit, uh, ‘handsy’.”
She gesticulates crazily at you. “Of course! I’m not one to be bested by any octopus, kid!” She replies confidently. How did she know he's a…?
You know what? You’re not gonna ask. You don’t wanna know either.
“He will steal something,” you warn, fondly remembering your now deceased phone. “He’ll probably break it too.”
“Kid, kid, I’ve seen everything! Stop burnin' daylight, and let us all see ‘im!”
[It’s easier for everyone if you just do this, human.]
Your eyes dart across the room until they settle on the pained smile of her Lucario.
[She is stubborn, more stubborn than you can ever hope to be.]
Was that a challenge? You’re ready to commit to it until Paprika taps the release button on the pokeball. Instantly, tentacles explode like guided missiles in all directions, snatching pens, grabbing books—they only retreat when a greedy appendage is burnt by the fiery spirit resting on a Skeledirge’s head. Both it and the small bird let out equally indignant noises as the tentacles retreat. Octillery’s eyes sparkle with wonder as it inspects its trinkets.
“Oh.” Miss Sirarron squeaks after the deed is done.
“Octillery, give everyone their stuff back,” you groan. After a moment of consideration, Octillery sags and returns the objects just as quickly. “Sorry if your stuff got soaked.” You apologise loud enough for everyone else to hear. Various sounds of recognition and annoyance follow, until a boy pipes up.
“Um, he can keep my pen, I got a spare!” He says, holding it up proudly. Octilery looks pleadingly at you, until you relinquish with a nod: an amused Sceptile hands him the small black object, which Octillery snatches and plays with obsessively. (Never change, Octillery. Never change.)
The teacher clears her throat loudly. “Ahem! On that exciting note, let us begin with a simple question! What is aura, children?”
When nobody dares to raise their hand, she starts choosing victims. “You! Yes, the one with the Blastoise—what do you think aura is?”
The girl looks like she wants to crawl up and perish. “L-life? M-maybe? I don’t know, but—”
“—Perfect! Write that down, Curry!” She interrupts. Obediently, ‘Curry’ grabs a marker and writes ‘Life’ on the whiteboard.
“Curry?!” A boy splutters with his feet on the desk. His Blaziken titters, leaning back on its singed chair. "Who's naming pokemon after spices now?"
[Anyone who finds my name amusing can speak with me after class. With my fists talking, and your face listening.] Curry projects. The boy scoffs loudly.
“You can’t threaten us! I could get you thrown in prison, just for that!”
“Pfft. Snitch!” Miss Sirarron chuckles. She earns a surprised laugh from the entire class. You watch as the boy looks around, eventually crossing his arms and muttering to himself, whilst trying to look as small as possible. “Anyways, great suggestion! Anybody else?” Yet again, nobody answers. Her smile turns devious. “Ooh, you all are gonna have a fun class to break…you! Boy with the jumpy-Meowscarada!”
The Meowscarada in the front row turns its head away haughtily. “I dunno, energy?” The boy says.
“Correct again! Hit it, Curry!”
The Lucario rolls its eyes but writes it down promptly. [It is nice to see this new generation hasn’t lost all their knowledge of the world, yet. Two key concepts: Energy, and Life. Distinct, but inherently intertwined.] With the pen, it draws great, sweeping lines connecting the two words. You wonder how comfortable it is to hold in its paws.
[Although you may be wondering how they are different. And I would answer that question with another: how many types are there? Eighteen, two...]
It smiled slightly. [Or maybe, just one?] Curry’s eyes scanned over all of you curiously. It isn’t long before somebody pipes up. The Lucario's calmer demeanour is easier to approach, after all.
“It has to be eighteen, right? I swear, we’ve all spent like years memorising those matchups.” Agreement erupts around the room, and you share the sentiment too; some of them could be grueling. Like, why is Fairy immune to Dragon? You'll never get over watching a Hydreigon getting its butt handed to it by a Clefairy.
Lucario folds its hands behind its back. [And you are sure of that?]
They look around with a slight frown, then nod.
[Yet mere years ago, humankind thought there were only seventeen. How can one confirm there aren’t nineteen, twenty, or more?]
The student clearly gets an A for effort judging from their Emboar's hearty pat on the back. They endure the hit with clear experience, and only a slight grimace. “I thought we were jus’ talking about discovered types…”
[Something unknown is still something to consider,] Curry replies cryptically. Afterwards, the Lucario goes through each and every person and pokemon in the class, taking their answers and rebutting them with an impressive calmness. It even somehow manages to keep its cool against a Fairy-type denier. Miss Sirarron herself however, keeps her composure less.
“Are you insane?!” She screams at the now cowering boy. "What type's a Sylveon, huh?! Idiots, the bunch of you!"
Eventually, the Lucario locks eyes with you with a patient smile. [And what do you three think?]
Paprika goes first. He answers ‘one’, which the Lucario frowns at.
[That’s quite a narrow-minded way of thinking of it. I suppose that is my fault for suggesting it. Valiant effort nonetheless, Typhlosion.] Grumbling, he slumps back down in his chair. Next is Octillery. He taps his prized pen against his own head, deep in thought. At least you hope. You have no idea what that octopus was thinking. You don't know him well enough to rule out that he isn't just hungry.
After a few boring minutes, and several attempts by your human teacher to skip him, Octillery—he meows. Your eyes search his body for the organ possible of producing such a feline sound, and find nothing but glossy red skin and pulsing tentacles.
[Hm…I see, yes. That is indeed an objective way to look at it. I see your point, young one: attempting to divide an infinite quantity of energy that into discrete categories can limit our way of thinking. One could argue that the rapid discovery of new pokemon, new abilities, new types, and even new regions only contributes to the conclusion that categorising all of these effectively is a Sisyphean task with little purpose. You are, theoretically, correct. But forgive me if I would look for a more practical answer?]
Curry looks around the room, tilting its head. [What is the issue? Have I misspoken?] Miss Sirarron scoffs loudly, pointing at Octillery. He's currently disassembling and reassembling the pen with ferocious speeds. “Are you sure you didn’t just hallucinate him saying that? Dear Octillery here is clearly many things, but I doubt an energy theorist is one of them,” she says.
The Lucario's shoulders tighten. [I heard him crystal-clear. You are really telling me that even you couldn’t pick that up?]
She shrugs. “He was speaking pretty fast. You sure you haven’t gotten into the booze again—”
[—that was one time.]
Now, everyone just looked even more perplexed. Even Ife was beginning to stir. [Well, I look foolish now. Don’t I? Not even any fellow pokemon picked it up?]
Grunts, barks and even a small meow from the front row all say no. Curry slumps over, until a sharp yip close by rings out. [I see, Typhlosion. Quite impressive aura control, especially coming from a usually…tempermental species.]
You whisper a 'really?' to Paprika, and he nods confidently. You'll trust him, I guess.
What you don't trust is Octillery, who gurgles passionately in agreement, his tentacles crossed as he nods. When you scoff, he squints witheringly at you.
“Sorry, I didn’t think the local philosopher would be entertained by a pen for the last 30 minutes,” you deadpan. He raises a tentacle in protest, then drops it.
[I wasn’t expecting this to take this long, so I would say we have time for one more answer today.] Curry says. It wasn’t looking at you, right? [Go for it, Demi.]
Welp. Might as well try and be different. “I’ll go with two?” You say.
[You do not believe that.] it states. Shrugging, you respond that you were going to be wrong either way. [That is a pessimistic way of thinking, child. Have more faith in yourself in the future. What do you believe these two types are?]
“Uh…well, every type is either a grass-type or something else?” You reply, it was the first type that came to mind since you were looking at Ife yawning, really.
Surprisingly, the Lucario nods. Andrew sits up stiffly, and his gaze sours.
[A crude but effective way of putting it,] it says, clasping its hands together. Andrew taps you on the shoulder.
“Where did you learn about the specificity-contra- infinity theory?” He hisses.
“The what now?” You respond after a thick swallow. Any interest on his face is drained instantly, and he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.
“Tch. Nevermind then. Just a lucky guess, I suppose.”
[Good knowledge from both of you. As Octillery so insightfully said, types are ultimately a fruitless battle to categorise an infinite array of possibilities—the most useful way to do this is not to look at each type as an instance in a finite list, but an instantaneous entity we define amidst an endless expanse of everything else in order to anchor ourselves.Think of it as, instead of worrying ourselves with an entire ocean of options, we just focus on one choice at a time and see what we can do with it.]
“So…instead of looking at everything, which is a bit overwhelming, we just pick one bit to look at cuz it's easier?” Someone says. Lucario nods. [Precisely. But alas, that is all we have time for today! Discuss this with your peers—it is truly an intriguing question with no real answer.]
Miss Sirarron glares at the people who pour out of the classroom before it’s done speaking. [Eager to move on, I see… I hope at least one of you learnt something today however.]
That seemed like a reasonable time to start leaving. You hold Octillery in your arms as you walk out of the door, but Curry blocks the way with a smile. [I do apologise Octillery, but I will be having our Lucarionite back.] It holds out an outstretched, ever-waiting palm. And to think you were nearly going to defend that little kleptomaniac against the rash accusation, before a tentacle slips into your trouser pocket and hands the Lucario a small, glowing stone. [Thank you. I do recognise that you are merely curious, but less forgiving people may not accept that reasoning.]
The slimy thief hangs his head in shame: good! When did he ever have time to steal that? Paprika snatches him out of your grip with a passion, holding the Octillery up in the air as he barks his chastising at him. Curry only laughs.
[It is nice to see there is some spine behind you, Typhlosion.]
Huffing, Paprika dumps the now thoroughly deflated octopus back in your hands. Miss Sirarron stomps in front of you, glares at you in the eyes, and siezes the Lucarionite for herself. "Why, I oughta—and your Trinity would be perfect too, if it wasn't for your frankly disappointing state!"
[You're overreacting, dearest.] Lucario warns.
Shrugging her words off, you respond, "Hey, you're the one who wanted me to let him out—I told ya what he was like!"
You're walking out of the classroom before she can blow up on you, followed hastily by your Typhlosion. Andrew and Ripple are already walking towards their next destination. Lyra and Ife are nowhere to be found.
"W-wait, please!" Lyra shouts to Andrew. He stops and looks back at her.
"She fell asleep again." Andrew says, not as a question but as a fact. Lyra nods. "Then why won't you just return her?"
Her hand settles on her head. She smiles, but Andrew only stares back into her. "Okay, okay, so I may have been in a rush today... and asked Ife to pack my bag..."
Andrew scoffs. "Tch—she can't even stay awake through two classes! How did that seem like a good idea?!" Ripple shakes her head and stomps back into the classroom.
To her credit, Lyra does defend her starter. "Hey, she can be reliable sometimes! I got my pencil case, and most of my pokeballs." Andrew rolls his eyes in response.
"Except hers." He points out. She's silent after that.
Soft snores erupt from behind you. When you turn around, you see a Feraligatr dragging a Meganium out of the classroom by its stubby tail across the floor, more like she was a sack of bricks rather than a pokemon. It's actually quite impressive that she's still sleeping through it. You expect her trainer to have something to say, but she's most in favour for it.
"You know what? Good enough!" She declares, and begins walking. You're about to follow her too, until Paprika fixes you with one of his new 'be a good person' looks. Just why was a moral compass included in his evolution?
"Hold my Octillery," you mutter, shoving the mass of limbs into your Typhlosion's chest. You'll just...throw her neck over your shoulder, grab her front legs and—there we go. Not dragging across the floor anymore. You peek over the massive petals to see Ripple looking quite disturbed. "You grab her back legs, and let's just carry her to the next class," you say. Hopefully, there weren't any stairs.
Lyra was staring at you. You ask her what's up. "She weighs like, 200kg!" She exclaimed, pointing at Ife intensely as if it proves her point.
What are they feeding her? Your response is a quick shrug, as well as you can with the weight you're carrying. "Ripple's carrying a solid half. Probably more," you justify.
"Yyou said your wrist was injured!" She counters, pointing at your right hand.
"Huh, it was, wasn't it?" You muse. It had been a bit, though—at least an hour at this point for it to heal. Lyra rolls her eyes and shakes her head, like she's the reasonable one here.
"Stop questioning it, and let's just get to history," Andrew butts in. Not admitting that he has a point, you follow Ripple's lead, occasionally readjusting your grip on her sleeping form. It doesn't take long for the group of you to catch up with the rest of your class. You and Ripple are greeted with intense stares.
"'Scuse us, Meganium coming through!" you shout as you and Ripple awkwardly weave between people and pokemon stopping at the sight. "Sorry," you mutter when her neck whacks a Quaquaval in the head. You've always disliked how dramatic they were; it crumples like a leaf on the floor, and you don't grace it with a reaction as you step past it.
"Over here," Andrew says. The door ahead is decorated with various photos, but between historical events you recognise and myths passed around online, it's difficult to tell which ones are real and which are fabricated. A kindly-looking old woman appears in the doorway, with thick glasses but spirited eyes. A cracked teapot floats and settles on her head, and the telltale, amorphous head of her Polteageist pops out.
"Oh dear, your Meganium friend isn't unwell, are they?" She says—her voice is soft, but firm. You don't laugh when Ife's tail slaps Ripple in the face; even though the Feraligatr looks like she's one more move away from biting it like a stick of celery.
"She's sleeping," you reply dryly, craning your neck to look at the increasingly bashful Lyra—gotta commit that to memory. Miss Murphy sighs in relief and then giggles.
"I see! Interesting alternative to pokeballs, but bring her in! Let me tell you youngsters a little bit about the history of our weird, wonderful world."
Ife is unceremoniously dumped at the nearest desk to the door: when Lyra slumps down on the chair next to her, the Meganium finally awakens. Her eyes open in surprise briefly, but then settles back to her usual mellowness with a shrug. It isn't long before all the seats are filled, and you find yourself sitting next to Andrew yet again. He doesn't visibly react. Paprika slams down in the chair next to you, sighing as he practically dumps Octillery back with you. Several of his appendages have been tied into loose knots, but the tentacles are like hydra—when one is wrangled, countless more seem to take their place despite Paprika's efforts to quell them. "Sit still, or you're going back into the ball," you threaten. Hopefully that salute of his meant he at least took some of your words in. Your attention returns back to the class, and the smiling old lady with her phantom tea pot.
"Everyone is ready? Yes? No?" She asks, but doesn't wait for a response. "Either way, we're starting! Sit back, relax, and perhaps we'll all learn something new from this class! Camomile, if you will."
She turns to the floating pot expectantly: you watch as it shoots to a nearby shelf, and carefully carries a heavy book to slam loudly on the table. Dust clouds are sent billowing in all directions, and in the faces of those unlucky enough to sit in the front row. With trembling hands, she opens the book to page 1.
"How about we start at the very beginning of it all? Our world, as we know it, begun with an egg..."
Chapter 12: In Which we Get Through School (IV)
Summary:
You're just in time for the usual, normal pokemon creation myth with absolutely nothing weird going on in this world.
Chapter Text
Demi was as uninterested in this as he was with both of the classes before; Paprika found himself listening intently to the elderly woman’s words. If he’s learnt anything, it’s that the oldies tend to be full of interesting things to say. She read from the book diligently, occasionally stopping for breath or to readjust her glasses—and sometimes, he wondered, if it was just for dramatic effect?
“...from the nothingness, something wonderful indeed did come! Two pokemon, as vital for us today as water or air, yet completely opposite in everything they did. Whilst one was calm and analytical, the other was furious and passionate. Whilst one melded the world with thunder and lightning, the other shaped it with heat and flames.”
“Dude, how stupid do you hafta be not know this part already? Could you just hurry the hell up to the interesting part?” A kid—actually, the same kid with the Blaziken from earlier—groaned. To Miss Murphy’s credit, she didn’t respond to his heckling.
“As I was saying,” she begun, her eyes briefly flicking to the boy’s. Polteageist whistled lowly. “They were, for all purposes, polar opposite forces. So contrasting that since creation itself, the only thing they’ve managed to agree on is creating more pokemon!” She let out a croaky, roaring laugh.
“And it's only been downhill from there. Good thing the collateral’s mostly been nifty for us, huh?! Their constant quarreling brought us land, sea, time, space, knowledge, emotion, stars, moons—”
—Paprika swore her face hardened when the teacher was interrupted by a loud, long yawn from the Blaziken on the front row. By the time it smirked cockily at her, she had settled back into her usual agreeable expression.
She didn’t start reading again. Her Polteageist reared its head from its tea pot, waving the lid violently at the Blaziken who only tittered in response. “Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous! Why, the sheer gall on your feathered, disease-ridden bottom!” It shrieked at the fire-type. The Typhlosion shot Demi a disapproving look as he leaned forward on his chair, suddenly interested in the lesson going on.
Miss Murphy, as serene as ever, just patted the back of the tirading teapot gently. “Maisy, these youngsters do seem quite distracted, hmm?”
The teapot spun around. The ghost inside slumped back and crossed its arms, sending incorporeal tea splattering onto the floor. “Distracted is a light way to put it. I prefer unbelievably rude, for interrupting!”
“Now now, no need to get into a fit. How about we just all slow down, and perhaps stop for a tea break?” She said. The Polteageist made as if to retort, then looked at the boy and his Blaziken. It’s anger melted into a slight, muted smile as it nodded.
Demi idly poked one of Octillery’s tentacles. Octillery poked back. Graciously, Paprika pretended not to notice when he jumped. “I could actually go for some tea right now,” Paprika instead muttered.
Ife grumbled, raising her towering neck to look down at him. “Tea’s bad. Just makes me sleepy.”
Paprika snorted at that. “What doesn’t?” He responded. Ife lazily glanced at him, then flopped her head back onto the desk with a not-so-subtle thump.
“I see yer point. I’ll take some tea, then.” she mumbled, before closing her eyes once again. Lyra only looked despairingly at her.
“Glad to see we’re all in agreement!” Miss Murphy laughed at the hubbub in the room. With a snap of her fingers, Paprika felt something cold and hard settle in one of his paws—when he looked down, he saw a teacup not unlike the one Maisy resided in. (Oddly convenient, but he wasn't going to question it.) He placed the cup on the table, next to Demi’s smaller cup, smirking at him.
“Paps, I don’t care if your cup’s bigger.” He said, but the Typhlosion already considered that one a win. Octillery looked at the cups, then looked around quickly. Miss Murphy cleared her throat with a slight flush, then snapped a finger again. Suddenly, Octillery had a tea cup precariously balanced on his head.
“Apologies, it has been a while since I’ve done this!” She laughed. “Anyway, shall we drink?”
Maisy was already soaring through the air to pour steaming tea into each cup with impressive finesse. Each person said thank you in turn, but hesitated before drinking it. Paprika watched in wonder as Octillery remained perfectly still as the cup still balanced on its head was filled to the brim with tea. Should he help?
...nah. Nah, Octillery looked like it knew what it was doing.
The Emboar downed the entire cup with a single cup, blinking once at its trainer before reaching over and emptying the other cup with piggish speed.
Eventually, everyone’s cup was filled—sans two.
“Okay, maybe this class ain’t so bad,” Demi cackled as the Polteageist poured a thick, noxious-looking and black liquid into the Blaziken’s and boy’s cup.
Miss Murphy smiled thinly. “Enjoy, everyone!”
It was rude to let it go cold, in his opinion. Tentatively, Paprika sipped the liquid whilst cupping the cup—not too bad, actually. It tasted hot and cold at the same time, with an indulgent sweetness he wasn’t even sure was possible in tea. It was nearly too sweet to be palatable, but it pushed the border to its limits in a way Paprika couldn't help but appreciate.
“I think it’s finished,” Demi said dryly. Huh? Where did it all go? Paprika couldn’t help but whine at that. Maybe he could pull an Emboar, and—
“—screw off! Find someone else’s tea to steal!” his frankly greedy trainer said, clutching the cup like a dragon hoards its treasures and slapping away his paw. Demi made a show of making the beverage seem like pure honey as he took a sip: the act wavered when he frowned, then took another gulp. Paprika huffed indignantly as the human punched him in the shoulder.
“I knew you were taking the piss with me, this just tastes like water!” He accused him. Paprika growled, until Demi shoved the porcelain into his paw. He was still angry at being called a liar, but he wouldn’t deny more of that tasty tea if it was being dangled before him.
Andrew sipped the tea politely with his pinky erect, and Ripple followed suit. Although, Andrew rolled his eyes as the gator eventually threw the entire cup into her mouth, then shattered it with a casual chomp. “The tea’s fine, Demi. Your tastes are just unrefined.” He said between sips.
Demi scoffed. “No, I know what tea tastes like. Whatever I got was just the most tasteless water I’ve ever had in my life—and yes, water normally does taste like something. You just need to drink it a little slower.”
“Who thinks it doesn’t taste like anything?” Lyra said. Ife still hadn’t gotten around to drinking hers. Demi looked back at Paprika, and shook his head.
“I dunno, Lyra. I dunno,” was all he said, and Paprika glowered at him back. He wouldn't accept that human's lies.
Instead, he caught the Emboar’s eye. Its mane flared heartily, and the two fire-types were both filled with the power of a good cup of tea.
A cup clinks against the desk. Paprika looked down, to find Octillery setting an empty mug back on the desk before he investigated the crack in the side with small squeaking noises. Even now, he still didn't understand that octopus. Although it didn't spill any of it, which Paprika could respect.
“Blaziken dear, you haven’t even touched yours,” Miss Murphy pointed out, her politeness terrifyingly convincing. For a moment, it sounded like she really did want them to enjoy the toxic gunk in their cups. The Blaziken looked away, pushing its tea cup forward with a choked caw. That kindly old woman’s smile turned predatory as she looked to the human sitting next to the Blaziken. “Oh, and… Alex was it? You seem quite put off, too.”
The boy jolted up straight. “How do you know my name?”
“When you’ve been on this giant rock for as long as I have with your pokemon, you start to pick up tricks!” She cackled in response. “Ah, but I digress. I just looked your name up in the register, honey.”
Exhaling, the boy tried to play off his fright. Maisy smiled slyly at the elderly woman. “I didn’t know we had their names that register,” it said snidely to the woman. The Blaziken’s eyes widened, but Alex was blissfully unaware.
“Anyhoo, that’s that!” She announced. Miss Murphy clapped her hands together, and Paprika watched in awe as the tea cups disintegrated into sand, then reformed neatly in rows on a nearby shelf. The elderly woman squinted. “Thirty-two…thirty-three…strange, I could’ve sworn there were more than that before.”
Sand dribbled down the side of the Feraligatr's mouth, which she wiped away discreetly. Andrew didn’t so much as twitch.
“But might just be these old, rickety bones!” She laughed. “Maisy’s happy to share some tea whenever you whippersnappers want, but we’ll be getting back to history now.”
“Great,” Demi said under his breath. The woman sat on her desk, not even looking at the dusty book anymore; come to think of it, she probably knows these stories like the back of her hands, he would guess.
“Where was I…” she starts, trailing off into thought. The Polteageist floated its teacup onto her lap.
“Something about Dark and Bright I believe,” it cooed out. Miss Murphy nodded.
“Of course, embarrassing how many times this old coot needs a jump start, but what can'ya do? As I was saying, Dark and Bright bickered like siblings from the beginning of time until the start of recorded history: if you asked anyone from, say, a couple hundred years ago, they’d definitely agree! So, why do you moody teenagers think that we hardly hear anything about ‘em today?”
After an awkward momentof silence, between not wanting the silence to linger and not wanting to be the first to answer, a girl with brunette hair in front of the Typhlosion finally put her hand up. Smiling, Miss Murphy nodded towards her. “Erm, is it because they’re dead now?”
The teacher’s smile finally dropped. “What does dead mean to you, girl?” She asked with a tilt of her head. The girl glanced at her Sceptile, who shrugged with a frown.
“They’re not alive anymore, miss,” she replied slowly. Wasn’t really another way to put it, Paprika thought.
“And were they ever truly alive, in the same way you and I and everyone in this room were?” Miss Murphy pressed on. “Did they breathe air? Certainly not when they were born—they made it, after all. And if they didn’t breathe, then they needn’t have a beating heart. And if they lacked a beating heart, then they must not have lungs either. No puffing lungs, no throbbing heart, no flowing blood... can we truly call that alive?”
The girl coughed. “I-I don’t know, miss.”
“And that’s as good as an answer I suppose we’ll ever get.” She cackled, letting the seriousness on her face wane. “History can be quite a horrible subject, you see. A good chunk of the time, the only reward from years of hard work is an honest ‘I dunno’! But eh—it is what it is. We can work what scraps of information to the bone! So later on, we’ll take a more… nuanced view of things. For the brief time we have today, I’m perfectly content in establishing the patterns we see throughout the ages.”
That must have been its cue. The Polteageist floated a pen with Ghost-type energy, and it began to scribble down words on the whiteboard at the back of the class with irritatingly squeaky noises. Miss Murphy continued. “All throughout history, no matter the time period, a few things remain true: some pesky group of people make a problem, we conscript some plucking young adolescent to solve it, the day is saved, and the cycle repeats. Can anyone recall any examples?”
The feedback is immediate: those 'plucking adolescents' were pretty much everyone’s idols. By the time the excited chatter dies down, Paprika could identify most of the examples: Team Rocket, Galactic, Plasma and Flare were the ones he recognised. Whoever thwarted each respective team in the past was unknown, so they were ironically just called whatever the team was.
“Whenever evil or sin rises, humans and pokemon rally against it eventually. Although, you’d think after the umpteenth time it’s happened, we’d start getting a bit smarter about stoppin’ it before it begins!” She snickered. “But it does make you wonder… what would happen if we messed up? If that spunky young teen rising from a zero to a hero just wasn’t cut out for saving the world? ” she mused.
But, any semblance of thoughtfulness on her face was dropped for her normal, perpetually amused face. “It’d be a riot, that’s what it would be! Once you teens get to my age, believe it or not, you’ll just learn more and more how history repeats itself. Best thing we can do is prep ourselves for what’s to come and try to surf the waves—so, back to our bickering legends Bright and Dark. They were constantly butting heads over who was better: who was more creative, who was more loved by their devoted worshippers. Alas, it was difficult to come to a verdict when there’s nobody willing to judge ya meanly: the pokemon they had both painstakingly created just loved them both too much! So, they came up with an answer: a right doozy of one too!”
Demi sighed. “She sounds like she’s having the time of her life…” Paprika chastised his disrespect with a light smack to the back of the head. To his surprise, the human didn’t react.
“They took the essence of what made a pokemon—the endless possibilities, the power— and changed it. Twisted it, warped it into something brand new. They drained the oceans of potential a pokemon has, and ignited a small spark in its place. Then, they crafted a cage out of mud and dust to keep the flame burning. Then, Bright and Dark named it a ‘human’.”
Suddenly, everyone in the room actually looked interested: Miss Murphy’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “Oh, so we are still kickin’ in here! Now that I’ve got your attention, I've got a question for ya. What's the difference between a human and a pokemon?”
No heckling from the Blaziken and its partner this time. Slowly, Miss Murphy pointed at Lyra. “What about you, hm? Girl with the sluggish Meganium.”
Kudos to Ife for not being baited by that. Oh wait, no—she was just still sleeping. (Paprika swiftly retracted the mental kudos.) Lyra perked up at the mention of her partner. “Humans can’t be put in pokeballs,” she answered. Smiling, Miss Murphy softly nodded.
“Correct! Although, I’d argue that’s more a consequence of the fundamental difference.” She replied kindly, eyes once more scanning the classroom. “Hmm… how about you, boy with the cuddly gator?”
Andrew rolled his eyes and scoffed; Ripple’s jaw clenched silently.
“The fundamental difference between humans and pokemon is that pokemon are composed predominantly of Type energy; whereas, humans are made up mostly of Typeless energy.” He said, expertly ignoring when Demi called him a nerd. Miss Murphy looked pleased.
“Well, that’s part of it. Humans are built off of an inversion of the boundless Type energy decreed by Bright and Dark since creation—also known as ‘matter.’ I’m sure Miss Sirarron will blab on about it at some point.” She chuckled loudly. “But that’s only half of it, if you ask any seasoned scholar!”
“Hm?” Andrew responded, scowling at Demi who mocked him for not knowing everything. Paprika sympathised with his torment.
Miss Murphy paced around the room slowly. “It’s not got a proper name, not yet. Some call ‘desire’, or ‘determination’... but I just call it a healthy dose of attitude!” Paprika didn’t miss the slight headshake from Maisy during the woman's loud, grating laughter. “The twins Dark and Bright craved an objective judge for their might, and made humans to fit that role perfectly: they were given just sharp enough tongues to say the things pokemon wouldn’t dare to utter. And speak their minds they did! A superior was chosen, and the two were made aware. But whatever our species’ verdict was, they didn’t like it either way: they roared, probably cried a bit, then fractured the world into the nonsensical state it is today.”
Paprika snorted. She must’ve been talking about Green Spaces—it was still hard to believe that, at some point in the distant past, anyone could’ve just walked between two cities: in a straight line too, from A to B! He doubted it would ever not sound far-fetched to him.
Smiling, she daintily sipped a cup of tea that wasn’t there before. “Dark and Bright certainly thought it would be the end of the uncomfortable, frankly better forgotten hiccup that was humans—the second thing they could agree on, in fact! Yet there was something else they failed to consider about us. That little spark planted, originally nothing more than a stroke of persistence, only grew in the face of adversity; the countless distortions blossoming after their attempt to purge humans only refined that flame, forged it into stubborn steel. A fleeting sense of opinion we all once shared morphed into the sentiment to survive, no matter what.”
Demi glances at the clock, slumping. He didn't even have it in him to bat away Octillery's probing tentacles in his hair.
“Consider this: Pokemon are unbelievably powerful, and can get infinitely stronger still Yet, when this world was thrown into disorder by Dark and Bright’s tantrums, their miraculous abilities were null against the distorting force. What we needed, instead of the might pokemon possess to rip magnificent holes in the fabric of reality—quickly repaired by the natural regeneration of the world, mind you—was the human talent to carefully pull and reassemble the fabric, thread by thread. So subtly, that the world wouldn’t know the difference. Through this, we’ve managed to establish slowly growing areas of normalcy in the uncertainty surrounding the world.”
The bell rings. Miss Murphy bows, with a vigour that doesn't betray her old age.
“Welp, that’s all for now folks! If you all listen so eagerly next time, maybe Maisy will treat us all to a refreshing drink again?”
Oh, he could get behind that! As he walked out of the classroom behind Demi, thoughts of bickering legends who created the world were replaced by dreams of nearly-too-sweet tea. But heavy footsteps thundered behind them, too urgent to be Ife's sluggish walk. Demi looked back. His face dropped. Then, he just put his hand on Paprika's shoulder. "Just keep walking. You're not a fan of this stuff, " he warned. The Typhlosion looked back himself, to find a flustered Blaziken and intense-looking human—Alex, if he remembered right—walking towards them. They both walked a little faster...
The target becomes trapped within a fierce vortex of fire that rages for four to five turns.
...until, a column of fire erupted in front of them. Alex fist-bumped his preening Blaziken before glaring at them. "You two think you're tough? Think again! You're gonna regret laughin' at us—Blaziken! Put that goofy Typhlosion in a world of pain!" He commanded. Blaziken adopted a battle-ready stance. Demi, unimpressed, looked around as if confirming anyone else was seeing this. Andrew, probably noticing the heat, finally looked back.
"Are battles even allowed in the corridors?" He mused out loud. Demi shrugged, ignoring Alex's attempts to get his attention again. Paprika flinched when a Gengar blipped into view.
"Yeah, big guy was pretty insistent about poke-proofing every wall! It thinks it's natural to 'LET PEOPLE AND POKEMON SETTLE THEIR DISPUTES HONOURABLY.'"
That... that was a pretty good impression, actually, earning a small snort from Paprika. With a dramatic laugh, the Gengar disappeared once more in a wisp of smoke. Even if this was allowed, the Typhlosion wasn't feeling it. That Blaziken looked jacked, and he would probably just get his butt kicked. They could just wait out the ring of fire, and, and—
—why did his human step forward? And, was that his racket in his hand? Why?! Paprika silently screamed.
Demi tapped the side of the black and white tennis racket against his hand with a mischievious grin. "Alright, you want a battle then? Sure, nothing like wiping some idiots in the dirt before lunch, amirite Paprika?" He goaded. Alex clenched his fists, and Blaziken's feet erupted in flames. Octillery was...prepping something. Reluctantly, Paprika lowered himself to all fours and tip-toed forward to meet the challenge. Whether he liked it or not,
It was a fight!
Chapter 13: In Which Two Battles are Better than None (VI)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Blaziken, use Blaze Kick! End this quickly!” Alex commanded. Blaziken heeded eagerly, rushing forward with a foot covered in roaring flames. Before Paprika could even blink, the thick heat was crashing against his side and knocked him off balance.
“Up ya get,” Demi said with a nearly-straight face, linking his arm under his and hoisting him to his feet. “Uh, maybe try a Swift on him? I’ll level with you, I’ve not got the slightest clue what a reasonable amount of force is.”
Paprika looked back: the wall of fire was gone, replaced by a crowd of people blocking the way either side in the corridor. Ife parted the crowd with her sheer size, followed by the rest of their cohort who stood beside her. Ripple huffed.
“Swift. Weird choice.” She growled. Ife merely blinked.
“I’ll judge by power, not by appearances. Besides, yer must be a little curious what Paprika can do?”
The Feraligatr didn’t respond, eyes lasered forward. Ahead, the Blaziken goaded with a cocky grin on his beak, gesturing for him to bring it with an outstretched talon.
“C’mon, your Typhlosion can’t be that weak,” Alex spat. No, actually spat. Demi’s face wrinkled as they watched spittle hit the floor.
“Just go for it,” what’s the worst that can happen?” Demi said. Chuffing, Paprika pointed half-heartedly at the Blaziken and clicked his claws together, channeling power into them and releasing it as four—no, he’ll make it three—shimmering stars that cut through the air.
They collided harmlessly with the Blaziken’s chest. Its expression flickered between confusion, and smugness. Alex cackled, doubling over and pointing at them. “What was that?! Are we fighting a Typhlosion, or a Sunkern?”
Demi sucked in air loudly. “...Alright, that was a bit too weak.”
Wonder how he figured that out? Paprika glowered at him with a small growl. The human gave him a sheepish smirk. “Just give it a little more juice next time—”
“—enough talking! Blaze Kick, full power!”
“Rude,” Demi remarked, sidestepping another blazing flying kick from the opposing fire-type aimed suspiciously close to him. Alex laughed obnoxiously.
“My bad dude! Blaziken, aim for the other loser next time!”
Demi shrugged. “Sure, play like that. Gimme a tentacle or two, Octillery?” He asked. The appendages surged forward, wrapping around the Blaziken’s trailing leg. Octillery looked down with curiosity as Demi pivoted, following through the motion with its own limbs to send the Blaziken crashing into a row of lockers.
“H-hey, it’s a one-on-one fight!” Alex protested loudly. The Blaziken gave Demi the stink-eye as it patted itself off and stood up.The boy just casually flipped his racket in his hand.
“I don’t remember agreeing to that. I don't see a referee either,” he replied with a smirk. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”
Alex’s brow furrowed, scrunching up like a withered piece of paper as he gritted his teeth. “So this is what I get for goin’ easy on a weak trainer. But we won’t make that mistake again, right Blaziken?”
The Fire-type looked disdainfully at the both of them, then nodded tersely. “Good. Crackling Flare, keep that loser’s mouth shut.”
The room brightened. The temperature flared. Demi began to sweat, and he undid the his top button without looking. An honestly comfortable temperature for Paprika was probably hazardous for everyone else; his trainer, noticing Octillery slipping off, returned the boiling octopus to its ball in his bag. A vine stretched out, and gently took the bag from Demi’s shoulder. Paprika mouthed a thanks.
Then, the Blaziken moved. If it was fast before, Paprika could swear it was teleporting now. A sense of relief, then impending dread filled him as he watched the Blaziken blur towards Demi—who somehow, backed out of the way like he was avoiding a crawling baby.
“Get your damn head in the game,” Alex growled. Blaziken glowed with heat, but nodded, its frustration met evenly with Demi’s cool smirk. A flurry of kicks came next, shining with electricity and flame alternatively towards the human. High, low, and everything in between with religious form. Demi avoided each attack effortlessly, like he was playing one of his videogames or something.
“Your ‘Crackling Flare’ is just Thunder and Fire kicks,” he deadpanned. “Did you name it that when you were five or something?”
Blaziken puffed up its feathers, crossing its arms with an indignant glare.
“Just Thunderous kicks?!”
“Not what I said, but—”
“—it took Blaziken months to learn it! Grueling months, from an ancient master living in the Green Space who wouldn’t stop running away every three seconds! And you’re saying it's ‘just a Thunderous Kick?’” Blaziken vocalised passionately in agreement, demonstrating another Thunderous Kick in the air in front of them.
Demi shoulder-checked the Blaziken recklessly, then followed it up with a backhanded hit to its beak with his tennis racket. “I didn’t ask for your life story. We don’t actually care.”
“I kinda did,” Paprika muttered to himself. Demi squinted at him.
“He ain’t one for fighting clean, is he?” Ife mused. What did she mean? Sure, Demi could be a little…odd in his tactics, but he wasn’t downright fighting dirty.
“Ahaha! Right in the jewels!” A familiar, ghostly voice cackled. Paprika spun around to see a Blaziken doubled over, with Demi looking down at it. He wouldn’t…?
“What? I didn’t do anything,” he defended himself innocently, throwing up his hands and stepping back. Paprika just shook his head.
“ Why, you little–” the Blaziken croaked, then kicked Demi’s legs from underneath him. The human landed with a thud on the floor, and barely rolled away from a stomp that fractured the floor tiles.
“Any day now, my loyal pokemon!” Demi said with gritted teeth.
Oh yeah. He was meant to be fighting the Blaziken, wasn’t he?
But he didn’t want to embarrass himself again, not with another meager Swift. So instead, he clawed deep within himself—on that panic, that unease Prima told him fire systems from—and stoked it to roaring life, directing the heat coursing through the ground to erupt underneath the Blaziken’s feet. But his attempts to siphon some energy just ended up opening the floodgates: he watched colours weave into a spire of flame, erupting underneath the Blaziken's feet.
The aftermath was awesome: Demi’s eyes were blown wide as he stumbled away from the column’s wrath, and his face shone white with reflected light. The Blaziken’s body was engulfed in the flames shining so brightly, it forced him to look away.
“H-holy crap,” Demi muttered, transfixed in awe. The Typhlosion cracked his eyes open, then opened them fully with a sigh; he finally wasn’t being stabbed in the eyes by the light.
But arguably, he would have preferred that versus the aftermath: a burnt, wispy mess of feathers remained where a Blaziken once stood. Around its fallen form, the floor tiles were upturned and shattered at best, or charred black at worst. He hardly registered his trainer’s hand on his head.
“So,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets like he was holding something forbidden, “when I said a bit more juice behind it, I didn’t mean the whole tank.” With an expression closer to remorse, he turned to Alex who had returned Blaziken wordlessly. “Uh, sorry ‘bout that. It’ll probably be fine, right?”
“We aren’t that weak,” he spat, storming off. Demi spared him one last glance, then shrugged. The Typhlosion wondered why the entire world was tilting, until he felt his human’s weight underneath his own.
“What are we feeding you…” he grumbled, grunting from exertion when he had lowered Paprika to the floor.
“Did yerself right in, didn’t ya?”
The trainer flinched away, nearly falling over to the floor himself. He craned his head up at Ife, who had somehow made her way over to him without anyone noticing. The Meganium regarded the human with an amused snort. “Oh, calm yerself, boy. I can move quick when needed.”
Paprika looked suspiciously up at her. “What does ‘needed’ mean to you?”
The Meganium tilted its head, seemingly deep in thought. “Definitely not to get to class, I can tell yer that,” she chuckled. He tensed, then remembered she's hopefully a friend, and tried to relax as vines reached for his arm, holding it surprisingly delicately.
The user restores the target's HP by up to half its max HP. More HP is restored when the ground is Grassy Terrain.
He sighed as the energy coursed into his arms. Ife hummed quietly as she worked. “You didn’t come off as much of a showboat t’me, Paprika.” she said. Paprika looked at her face, but her eyes were downcast and focused on her work.
“What do you mean?” He found himself asking. She faltered, only briefly, before that easy-going smile returned to her face.
“I ain’t meaning nothing,” she replied airily. “Just… what was that, exactly?”
“Fire,” was all he could say in response. It wasn’t a move or anything, just a surge of energy he had spilled out of himself. But from the dull ache in his core, the Typhlosion resolved not to do it again any time soon.
“I could see that, ‘course!” Ife laughed. She wasn’t smiling. “It’s just that it takes a lot of skill just to be able to dispel aura like that. Takes most folks months, even years to accomplish it at all, especially on such a large scale like that.”
Demi was arguing with Andrew about something in the background. Suddenly, Paprika realised just how big Ife was.
“What’s your point?” He mustered up the courage to say. Ife looked down at him.
“Nothing,” she assured him. “Absolutely nothing, at all, Paprika.”
“Then can you let go?” He asked sheepishly. Hopefully he wasn’t coming off as ungrateful, but she was squeezing pretty hard. The Meganium’s eyes widened slightly as she looked at the uniform indents her vines made into his fur. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she apologised, bowing her head and retreating back to Lyra’s side.
That was awkward. Well, at least he felt slightly better now. He stood up, and wandered over to Demi who was trying to resuscitate Octillery with questionable methods.
“Wake up,” he hissed, slapping the octopus in the face. Again, and again. Holding back a snicker, Lyra offered him a small yellow crystal—a Revive, he remembered. He hadn’t seen one of those for ages. When he applied the Revive and it didn’t dissolve into its skin, Demi glared intensely at Octillery. “I knew you’re full of bullcrap! You’re fine!” He shouted. Reluctantly, the octopus opened an eye. His trainer utterly failed to maintain a serious look as Octillery felt his face with several limbs. Eventually, its constricted pupils filled out to black saucers with recognition. Demi only shook a head as it clambered on top of him. “Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous…” he chastised in mock-anger.
“Are you done? Everyone else has already left,” Andrew said. Ripple shifted from foot to foot, avoiding his gaze with more effort than her usual aloofness. “Besides, Ripple’s eager to see what your Typhlosion can do now. I truly did believe he was just a pushover.”
“Nothin’ else up there but battling, huh? You up for it Paprika?” Demi said, quirking an eyebrow. To be honest? If it was on good terms, he wouldn’t say no—he answered with a nod, then discreetly turned his head to cough smoke out of the window. He really didn’t wanna be doing this whole 'smoking' thing again.
“We’re coming too! So Ife, I swear if you fall asleep again—”
The guilty Meganium shook her tiredness off, batting her eyes innocently. “Don’t got a clue what you’re talking about,” she said, biting back a yawn.
“C’mon, c’mon!”
Graciously, Ife decided to match everyone else’s pace as they walked through the corridors and to the school’s field. Octillery continued to touch things he shouldn’t, and Ripple began to return his smiles as best as he could.
That was good enough for now. Between this and just sitting at home all day, the Typhlosion thought he could actually get used to this strange, new school.
Wow, was all that came to the Typhlosion’s mind.
“It is rather grand, isn’t it?” Andrew said. Did he say that out loud? And even if he did, how would the human…you know what?
Day’s been going weird enough. Paprika wouldn’t question it any further, and instead nodded in agreement politely. He hadn’t truly been able to comprehend the sheer scale of the school from the cramped hall. But now, with the numerous people and pokemon filling his view wherever he looked on the field, it was clear there were a lot more people than he thought. Lush grasses stretched far into the distance, with uniform-sized battlefields decorating the landscape. Most of them were filled already with pokemon engaged in fierce battle, and it took them a fair bit of walking before they could find one for themselves.
“Alright,” Andrew said, with more excitement than he had ever heard before in his voice, “Who’s up first?”
Demi gestured to Ife. “I personally wanna see what she’s—”
—The Meganium interrupted with a loud, gaping yawn. “No thanks. I’m knackered.” She muttered before settling in a sunny spot.
“Must’ve been a long day of doing nothing,” Demi remarked, then looked at him. He did suppose it meant he was up by process of elimination. Any disappointment on Ripple’s face was replaced by excitement, judging by how her face contorted.
“Cool, I’ll referee. Didn’t wanna battle anyway.” Lyra lamented bitterly, walking to the centre of the battle square. “This battle will be between trainer Andrew plus Ripple, and Demi plus Paprika. Are both parties ready?” She announced in a semi-professional voice. Demi set his bag down along with Octillery next to Ife. Any attempts at touching were quickly culled by Ife’s own vines. “I’m ready when you guys are,” he replied.
Andrew inspected Ripple’s teeth hastily, grabbing her snout and parting her jaws with surprisingly little effort. “Pristine, as always. Ready to tear flesh from bone.” He praised her. Ripple waved him away with a hand, but her scales were tinged red anyway. Any embarrassment on her face was quickly wiped when she assumed a fighting stance. Streams of water cycled around her body as she snarled. “We’re ready,” he said.
“In-built sprinkler, cool trick.” Demi commented, to Ripple’s chagrin. Groaning, Paprika stood in front of him too. Hopefully he isn’t too rusty…
“Well, that’s that!” Lyra said, raising her arm up in the air. “Give it all you got! It’s a fight!” she commanded, slicing through the air with her hand. The Feraligatr and Typhlosion stared at each other from across the field, wondering who would make the first move.
“Ripple, open with Ice Punch. Follow it up at your own discretion.” Andrew said.
“Gladly,” Ripple growled, and Paprika suddenly felt like a fish in water.
“Uh, you reckon you’re dodging that?” Demi asked. Ripple kindly answered for him with a stinging haymaker to his jaw, then slammed her tail into his side to send him toppling to the ground. Groaning, he picked himself back up. “Nice try, I guess.” he said, and Paprika swore he heard the laugh in his voice. “Try a stronger Swift this time. Let’s say… a quarter of everything you’ve got?”
“Pause the offensive. Defend with your cycling.” Andrew countered without missing a beat. He had no idea what that meant, but Paprika clicked his claws more forcefully than before. His paws sparked with the familiar energy, and he directed it towards the Feraligatr. The water streaming thinly around her body concentrated and brightened, negating the Normal-type energy as it collided with her blocking arms.
Ripple made a displeased click: she lowered her arms to inspect the small cut on her arm leaking blue light. Andrew raised an eyebrow, smiled, then clapped slowly.
“First blood. I wasn’t expecting it until at least that Meganium,” he lauded. “There won’t be a second. Ripple, raise your guard.”
Demi scoffed. “We congratulate people for landing a hit now?” He replied. Andrew looked confused.
“First blood of the school year, not just this battle. The latter isn’t even worth mentioning,” he replied casually. Demi ran a hand through his curly hair, a feeble attempt in untangling it.
“You wouldn’t be a regular battler, would you?” He squeaked. Ripple puffed out her chest.
“Five battles a day. No more, no less. Three on every other Sunday as rest.” Andrew answered.
“Well, you—I… yeah, I’ve got nothing to say to that one. That’s a healthy number of battles, isn’t it?” he laughed nervously. “Paprika?”
“Hm?”
“Let’s try surviving…five minutes, maybe? Half my dinner if you make it ten.” He muttered. He was honestly appalled that his human thought he was so easy to motivate…
“Tch—pierced it, again?!” Demi cheered at Andrew’s words.
…it just happened he put a bit more oomph behind that Swift. It was unrelated, really.
“Ripple, no mercy. Liquidation.”
Without a sound, the Feraligatr was gone. Weight and energy exploded against his side, and he wasn’t even given the grace of hitting the soft grass below before it crashed into him again, and again. He still wasn’t sure what just hit him before Ripple returned to standing in front of him, waiting for his move impatiently.
“Try Calm Mind?” Demi asked, and he obliged, focusing inward on himself until he felt the slight thrum of energy reinforcing his attacks.
“Y’know Liquidation’s physical, right?” Lyra remarked dryly. “Calm Mind boosts Special Defence.”
“I knew that. It also boosts Special Attack, thank you very much. Typhlosions are meant to be fast, Special Attackers—we just haven’t gotten around to refining Nasty Plot as a better setup tool.” He replied haughtily.
“Oh. Sorry, I guess.” Lyra squeaked. Demi shook his head, then did a double take.
“Wait, is that actually true?” He asked. Lyra’s eyes bulged. “I’m a damn genius!”
“Come to think of it, I haven' t even seen your Typhlosion move faster than Ife today!” Lyra pointed out. Paprika made sure his offence was clear in his sharp chuff. “She's this slow all the time, by the way. And you’re still just standing there,” she pointed out. Paprika crossed his arms and wrinkled his snout, turning away from the disrespectful girl.
“It’s our move, Typhlosion,” Andrew warned before Ripple rushed forward once more.
“Instead of dodging, focus on stopping her!” Demi said. With the confidence in his voice, Paprika nearly believed he had a strategy. He lamented his situation once more before closing his eyes with a prayer, and clumsily throwing his weight against roughly where he thought the blurring Feraligatr was, disrupting her rhythm enough for him to pelt her with a salvo of Swift stars.
“Head in the game, Ripple! Close the distance with Shadow Sneak!”
“Can she even learn that move?”
To Paprika’s horror, she could: no convoluted explanation in this world could justify why he watched the Feraligatr turn incorporeal, then reappear just to slam her fist into his stomach. He weathered the hit with a grunt, and delivered his own Swift-reinforced punch to her jaw. But the gator looked more pissed off than anything else, as if this battle was just a huge inconvenience to her.
“Longest battle yet. You’ve got potential, Typhlosion.” He said. “But this can’t go on forever. Ripple! Prep Hydro Cannon!”
With a growl of approval, Ripple darted back with surprising nimbleness and began to prepare a dire attack. Paprika could feel the energy being sucked from the air around them, could hear the growing hum in the air. Helplessly, he looked back at Demi for assistance.
The human was no help. “Try not to die?!” He said, looking incredulously at the shimmering attack being prepared. What else could he really do?! Electric…Grass… why the hell does Water not have more than two weaknesses? Fire, gets like, five of them. He thinks. He didn’t really remember, actually.
Wait. That was it. Prima used a Grass Type move at some point, right? Energy Sphere, or something. He shut his eyes shut to block out the light pouring through to little avail. Instead, he focused on what the feeling of Grass-Type Energy felt like when he saw it, trying to mold it into a sphere in his paws. It was incomplete and unstable—constantly losing shape. Whenever it did, he chuffed to himself and poured more energy into it to fill in the imperfections. Eventually, he decided it had to be good enough: sighing with exertion, he shot the Energy Sphere forward, cursing silently as it unravelled before even reaching the prepping Feraligatr. Then, a brighter light overtook the air, a verdant green that drowned out the ocean of blue—the very air itself crackled with energy, before it all faded to only the Sun’s light.
Flowers bloomed spontaneously, along with wildgrasses that were already beginning to buzz with insects. The Feraligatr was nowhere to be found by the time his vision cleared. “What in the world…” Andrew muttered. He trudged through the large patch of overgrown grasses and flowers that had sprouted with feet of lead. He rubbed his eyes, in disbelief the battle could turn out like this. Paprika breathed a sigh of relief when Ripple sat up in the grass, and attempted to stand. Gently, Andrew pushed her back down. "It's over, Ripple. We lost."
“W-who told you I’m done?” She eventually spluttered out between heaves. Andrew’s gaze hardened.
“Your trainer did. There’s no honour in not knowing when you’re beat, so sit down.”
She crossed her arms, but obliged, flattening the plants beneath her when she sat.
“Should I start offering you food more often, then?” Demi joked as he walked to his side: but even he looked disturbed. “But seriously. What was that, Paprika?”
Even if the human could understand him, Paprika couldn’t put it into words: in a moment of desperation, he had just pulled on a reserve of energy that didn’t totally feel like his.
He clicked his claws together—nothing, not even the smallest blade of grass. He couldn’t recreate it, even if he tried.
“Eh. Doesn't matter, a win's a win. So, how did it feel?” Demi asked. He looked more thoughtful than he had seen the boy in a while. Sucking in a breath, he continued to fill the silence. “As in… how did you find the battle?”
Ah. That. His sides hurt, and he was more exhausted then he had ever been in a while. Colder, too. Smoke tickled at the back of his throat too, reminding him of that medicine he couldn’t bring himself to take.
Surprisingly, he felt great.
It was a nonsensical feeling: the slight tremor in his digits, tingling with power flowing beneath his skin. It had been a while since he had let loose like that, let himself feel truly empty of whatever aura was made of that swirled within.
“Good to know,” Demi said softly—he was smiling, he realised. “It has been a while, huh… and it’s not like we’ll get out of battling in this insane school either. So—”
—he nodded. He knew what he was trying to say: it was funny how bad his trainer could be with words when it wasn’t just to piss someone off.
Demi smirked. “Cool, cool. Glad you’re up for it, man.”
“You’ve got potential,” Andrew stated calmly. He was meticulously spraying Ripple’s wounds with a potion from his bag. “But when are you going to drop the whole ‘noob’ act? No… domestic pokemon outputs aura like that.”
Demi retrieved his bag and Octillery before replying. Paprika watched the octopus try to eat a bright plant, then gag and spit it out. “I’m not acting. We aren’t competitive battlers.” He replied incredulously. “Is it that hard for you to just believe that?”
“ Yes.” Andrew cut in sharply. “The ocean of a pokemon’s aura, their ability to cycle it efficiently…that takes hard work. Years of constant training, careful meditation and strict dieting.” Their eyes locked. The Typhlosion felt cold seeping into his skin.
“So what’s your shortcut?” He asked. Demi scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don't ignore the question. What drugs are you spoonfeeding your Typhlosion? What Rare Candies are you using?”
Demi just blinked at him, then laughed. “Dude, you can’t be getting this pissed off on day one. You lost. It sucks, okay? ‘Specially considering that whole ‘unbeatable’ persona you got going on: so let’s just call it a fluke, or a lucky hit if it makes you feel better. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Tch—does any of this mean anything to you?!” Andrew accused.
Demi looked down at Ripple in amusement, who was glowering up at him with her empty, scarred eye. “Nah, not really. It was fun though. We should do it again sometimes.”
Ripple shot to her feet. This time, Andrew didn’t protest. She gave Demi one long, hard look before stomping away. Her trainer followed suit.
“We’re done here. And when we battle again, Demi, we will win.”
“Sure, sure. See ya again, dude!” Demi shouted after them. Octillery waved eagerly.
"Anyway," Lyra drawls out, looking at Demi briefly. "We’re pretty much done here too, aren’t we? That Metagross did say that we could take as long as we needed to get to know each other."
His human scratched his chin, his thoughtful frown turning into a mischievous grin. “Yeah, it did, didn’t it?”
“Yup! And I feel pretty acquainted, if ya don't mind me saying. This is gonna be the earliest we've been home in years, huh Ife?!" The Meganium hums, acknowledging the suggestion at her own pace. "We could take a walk, or have a picnic, or..." Suddenly, the Meganium chirped out with a wide grin to Lyra: a spot of suspicion stained Demi’s face as the trainer too shared a similar expression.
"Or," She begins, her smile rivalling that annoying Gengar's, "We could do something really special. What do you think, Paprika?” The Typhlosion in question squinted, grumbling, then nodded slowly.
"Great! How about you Demi?"
"What are we doing exactly?" He asked slowly.
Lyra’s smile trembled slightly. Or maybe it was just his imagination. "It's simple, really—there's a rally going on today that me and Ife were planning to attend. But this sorta stuff is more fun with a friend, right?"
Demi shrugged, a blunt, non-commital gesture. "I guess so."
Well, if his trainer was going, he’d go too.
"Yesss! I told you we'd get at least two of them to come, Ife!" She whisper-screamed to Meganium, throwing her arms around the monster's neck in celebration: Ife merely nuzzled back into her hair before pushing her back slightly and gestured to the three of you, smiling all the while. The trainer cleared her throat loudly."Oh! Yeah—sorry. It isn't that far from here, promise; just walk with us for a couple of minutes?"
It sounded more like a question than an assurance, but he wouldn’t knock her down for being a little nervous. Paprika hummed in approval. Lyra and Ife began to walk towards the main school building, but Demi stopped them. “Why can’t we just hop the fence? It’s not like there’s anybody watching us,” he suggested. Lyra seemed unsure, but began to follow Demi. It wasn’t long before they all arrived at the boundary of the field, with a modestly-sized gate standing menacingly in the way.
“So, what’s the plan?” Lyra asked.
“Octillery is!” He replied, turning to Ife with a polite smile. “Could you stick out your neck for a second?”
“Okay,” she responded slowly, craning her neck over the fence. Paprika just watched dumbly as Demi got a running start, and Octillery swung from Ife’s neck with its tentacles to launch them both over the fence. His human landed on the other side—barely missing the road, actually—with a grunt.
Ife just blinked slowly. “That kid’s gonna get himself killed, isn’t he?”
“Ife! Be nice!” Lyra hissed at her. Ife snorted in amusement as she picked her trainer up, and dropped her on the other side. Paprika himself managed to scramble over the fence, and didn’t fall flat on his face. He considered that an achievement. Now, only Ife was left on the other side.
“And I’ll just—” she rifled around in her bag. Realisation was ugly on her face. Ife praised her wits and intelligence until she was pink.
“Says the one who's still on the other side of the fence!” Lyra huffed.
“I’ve got a plan,” Ife responded. He watched the Meganium look one way, then the other, then kick a hole in the fence to walk through. She whistled casually as she did so, then walked along the pavement like nothing happened.
“That works too,” Demi admmitted, which was ridiculous considering that wasn’t cool in the slightest. The Typhlosion sighed, shaking his head as he quickly caught up with the party heading deeper, into Flamionis’ Heart. Hopefully, the day wouldn’t get much more troublesome than that.
Notes:
Have you ever tried to play football against someone who doesn't play the game at all?
Sure, you'd expect it to be an easy sweep for the more experienced player- but there's just something oddball about the way a noob plays, isn't there? More commonly, the noob wins on pure surprise factor alone......or something like that. To be honest, I don't know how the Typhlosion beats the Feraligatr either.
Chapter 14: In Which we Breathe a Little (But not a lot)
Chapter Text
Paprika wouldn't lie to himself—that little 'sparring' match was something else. Now, don't get all snobby with him, just put yourself in his nonexistent shoes: to go from not even thinking of a battle for good few years at this point to going tooth to tooth with a gruffled Feraligatr and a haughty Blaziken?
Yeah, doesn't seem so wimpish now does it?
To be fair, it could've gone a lot worse. He looked down at his arm as he walked, wondering if he imagined the indents of vines in the fur. At least Ife was there to help, even if she could be a tad intimidating at times.
"C'mon, just touch it, it's not even slimy!" Demi said, holding out Octillery to Lyra who yelped and hid behind Ife. He was enjoying terrorising that girl way too much.
The Typhlosion snorted; his trainer truly was always looking for the next laugh. If Paprika was a little meaner, he'd think Demi was just straight up careless and had just forgotten about it already, forgotten about the thud of Ripple's body hitting the floor that even he could feel; forgotten about the anger Andrew loosely sealed behind his cold voice; forgotten about how for some people, battling was a way of life they had just subverted. It didn't mean a lot to him, maybe a cheap thrill or uncomfortable situation at best; but did it matter to Demi like it did to that Youngster once, starting out on his journey?
It was hard to tell. It wasn't like he could ask, either.
"Hmm, we might have to pick up the pace a little," Lyra said, playing with a braid as she walked quicker. Demi accelerated to match her pace. Octillery patted the badger's shoulder gently, gesturing him to keep up. "Hey! Don't be lagging behind on me now, Typhlosion!" She huffed, loud enough to sound urgent but quiet enough to not seem crazy in the middle of the street. Chuckling quietly, Demi jogged up ahead—maybe trying to avoid his own nagging. Ife swung her neck back and blinked meaningfully at him, then gave him a subtle, beckoning flick of her head. He finally dropped to all fours, covering the distance between them in three generous bounds before slowing to her pace: a leisurely, almost relaxed trot.
"Hey," she said, eyes fixed on nothing in particular ahead.
"Hey," he replied, giving the Meganium pause to reply before prompting her. "So what's up?"
Ife chuckled, a deep, rich sound. "Nothin' much, Paprika. Just thought it'd be nice to have yer company." He nodded in response. That was fair.
She bent over slowly, lowering her statuesque neck until she was eye level with him. "Does... significant aura abilties run in the family?"
He huffed, more to fill the silence the Meganium kept around her than any real annoyance. "I dunno. Haven't seen any of them in years." Ife hummed, without agreement or objection.
"Water's weak t'grass, we all know that, 'course—but excuse me if it isn't downright peculiar for a Fire-type to use one to knock 'em out cold. Especially against that Feraligatr: tough as a Metapod, she is."
"What, a Metapod?!" Now that was a weird comparison. But as Paprika looked up at her, expecting a lighter expression, but she still had that serious, understanding smile drawn on.
"Yer never had to fight one of them in the early days? Sturdy buggers used to give me an' Lyra a headache, even if they could only Harden and Protect."
"...I just torched 'em." He said sheepishly, feeling rather small for putting it simply. "Demi and I could go through three, four Metapods easily in a good tend minutes—part of the reason I evolved so early, actually."
The grass-type grinned slightly wider. "Really? A soft 'mon like yerself wouldn't even bat an eye whilst beating 'em?" He bristled defensively.
"I could still do it now!" He quipped back, not quite believing it himself. "There just isn't a point in harassing the local bug population at this point." Eyes widening subtly, the Meganium lowered her head further in admission.
"Now, now, I didn't mean nothing by that—most people and pokemon like soft, look at it that way!" Her petals jostled uncomfortably. He sighed, finding himself unable to hold it against her even if he tried.
"Yeah, fine," he said; but he clung to the tiny detail that she hadn't taken back the 'soft' label.
Ife exhaled calmly, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. "But seriously Paprika. Didn't mean to insult you. You're different. And I reckon you've heard that before; excuse me for being a lil' selfish, but I enjoy a bit of 'different'. Wouldn't you?"
He nodded. He did too, after all. "It's fine, it's fine. But, where is your trainer taking us? We've been walking for a while now," the badger asked.
Her gaze hardened slightly. "It's a rally, for enthusiasts." She said. "Y'can ask me all the questions you want once we get there. Just know that this is important for Lyra. And me. And a coupla' other people too, 'kay?"
That didn't make sense to him, but the Typhlosion decided against pressing further. "In that case, it's cool you're sharing it with us. We've hardly known us for couple of hours, too." The Meganium began to step faster, and Paprika was torn between letting her fade out or keeping up: but his sympathy won out against reservations, and the Typhlosion met her pace with a puff.
He looked ahead, ahead at his trainer who was starting to look a light shade of worried already; his hand idly rested on one of Octillery's appendages in lieu of the handle of his racket. Lyra looked back at them, opening her mouth to speak but then shaking her head and muttering to herself. The further they walked, the less general hubbub of people and pokemon swarmed around them randomly. Interestingly enough the people filtered into a regular crowd with a common direction; Paprika caught wind of a cacophany of hushed whispers between small clots of people, each word laced heavily with suspicion and eagerness.
"Where are we going?" Demi demanded flightily.
The girl didn't turn as she responded. "I told you, it's a rally."
He snorted. "What kinda 'rally' attracts these sorta people?" He gestured wildly to the crowd growing around them, only receiving hard looks and bitter comments in response. "See? This isn't normal."
"Are you normally the type to ask this many questions?" Lyra asked off handedly."I would've just gone alone if I knew that. I really thought you guys would be different." She added, her voice dancing between bitterness and wistfulness. Ife poked his shoulder.
Ife poked the badger's shoulder with a vine then leaned in to whisper, "Sorry, she's a lil' emotional right now. Been going through a rough spot, we have."
'Rough spot?' They seemed perfectly fine to the fire-type, up until—well, now. They were still walking uncomfortably fast for the Typhlosion, and it didn't look like they were slowing down anytime soon: in fact, Lyra was practically steamrolling ahead, muttering various apologies as she cut through the crowd. (Not like he couldn't maintain that speed. He was sure he could beat all of them in a race, if he really tried. He wasn't slow!)
"Sorry to hear that," he murmured thoughtfully. "Does it have anything to do with this 'rally' we're going to?"
The Meganium nodded, but provided no further explanation.
When they came to an abrupt stop, Paprika nearly knocked Demi down: only a firm tentacle wrapped around his waist stopped him from making a fool out of all of them, and the Typhlosion muttered a thanks. A gruff looking man along with an equally rough-looking pink dog—Granbull, if he remembered correctly—stood sentry at a door, allowing people to file in one by one after he checked a piece of paper.
"What, you got one of those for us all?" Demi turned around and smirked at the two of them: looks like he was setting his sights on annoying a new person.
To be honest, Paprika was just glad it wasn't him. He looked forward, watching the dsitance between them and the man shrink. Lyra breathed in shakily, then breathed out.
"No."
"Wha-No?" His smile turned incredulous, then fizzled into a frown. "So how are we getting into that... mangy looking building?"
Lyra finally turned, her eyes scanning over the four of them. "I dunno—anyone got any ideas?"
Ideas. Now? Paprika a few days ago would probably be in kahoots: but it seems like everyone just loved putting him in terrible situations. Between Prima and that crooked tree ghost, he didn't have many cares left to give: exposure therapy works wonders, huh?
"Look, I dunno how y'kids got yourselves into this mess, and I'm done trying pull people from rock bottom. Show me the papers, and I don't ever have to think of you or this ever again." the man said to Lyra.
"A-ah, well..." Lyra stumbled, looking at Demi helplessly. The guard arched a brow, and a low growl boiled in the Granbull's throat.
"What? You didn't come to such an ugly part of town jus' to get tongue tied, did you? Spit it out." He demanded. Lyra looked at Ife next.
"do something!" She hissed lowly.
The Meganium and Typhlosion nodded to eachother, and walked in front of Lyra after she stepped back; the Meganium sauntered innocently in front of him, up until the grass-type was eye level with the man. Growling in warning, the Granbull tried to put himself between the two—it yapped in question as the man shook his head softly. "No need to be hostile, Darling. I'm too tired to not play nice anymore."
The Granbull whined softly, still staring daggers into Ife's side. (Not like she could see, he noted; the Meganium was tall when she wasn't hunched over.)
"You heard me. What do ya want?" The man said with furrowed brows. Ife turned to the rest of them slowly, shaking her head.
She spoke in a low warble. "Y'know, I don't feel good doing this. We gotta find better ways t'do this stuff next time, alright?"
Demi leaned into him. "What's she saying? Sounded sad though," he asked. Before he could give a response the Meganium gave a brief trill—vines sprouted from the ground, knocking the human off his feet before he could even shout. She moved at sickening speeds for her size, before rearing up, tensing, and bucking him ruthlessly in the side, hurtling him through the air. Trapped in morbid surprise, the Typhlosion wondered what it would sound like once he hit the ground: hard? Dull? Wet?
Perhaps all three.
But the only guilt he'd take away from this was from that particularly dark train of thought; a bloom of blood-red and decay-green flowers caught his fall like an Ursaring's embrace, protective, but suffocating. The guard's singular pokemon, a now raging Granbull exploded into action: but Ife acted faster, muzzling it quickly with a couple of thick vines.
"Interesting decision. Me personally, I'd make sure my trainer's still breathing after gettin' a nasty kick like that. Wouldn't you care that much? I'm sure you both doesn't get paid enough for this. Take the rest of the day off. Consider it my pleasure." The Meganium suggested, before gently releasing him. The Granbull initally gathered murky, spiteful energy into its claws but then looked at the downed human. It gave a rude gesture before running to his side, assumedly to check he was still breathing.
That Meganium was starting to worry him: even now she seemed unmoved, her eyes eerily calm.
So calm, the glassy reflection of her eyes was reminscient of death.
"There's our solution." She whispered, walking back to Lyra's side. She only nodded and gulped.
"C'mon, we aren't getting another chance like this!" Lyra commanded, not waiting for a response before bolting inside the open door. The crowds devolved into vultures: seems like not only them were missing an invite to the club, huh?
It didn't matter now, though; the Typhlosion, Octillery and human were forced to follow Lyra and Ife further down this rabbit hole- the only way to get answers seemed to be further down into this shady place. And so they descended- Demi seemed to trust Paprika's vision amidst the darkness, but the Typhlosion himself was wondering if their luck was running out. He could only keep track of Ife's petals fluttering as she galloped away. The only thing stopping him from losing her entirely was how mercifully slow the Meganium was, her top speed barely beating a solid jog from Paprika.
Still, it was disorienting taking so many sharp, decisive turns—did they know where they were going? Or was any place other than 'here' a better place to be?
Questions, questions, but no answers for any of them; he didn't wanna leave Demi behind, and not even he expected him to catch up to a stampeding Meganium. Paprika was just about to start losing hope until he noticed the duo slowing down, then come to a complete halt in a dead end.
"What," Demi spluttered, catching his breath against the nearest wall in greedy, reckless gulps, "Was that?!"
Lyra didn't answer, but Demi continued anyway. "Ife, did you—kill that guy?" His voice dropped to a low whisper, as if he was fearing the answer.
"Dramatic trainer you've got there," She said to Paprika casually. She shook her head at Demi, who gave a sigh of relief. Or a pant.
The badger still couldn't tell, the poor human was still reeling from that run. Perhaps they should go exercising more often? Octillery blubbed sympathetically, rubbing Demi's head in an attempt at comfort. It only succeeded in messing up his hair, but Demi was thankful anyway. "Lyra, please—just tell us what's going on! We're in too deep to even think about bailing now."
He had a point there, Paprika could hardly make out his exasperated face from a couple of steps away. Lyra finally yielded with a sigh and slumped to the floor, leaning heavily against her Meganium.
"I wasn't lying about the rally, by the way. It's meant to be a gathering for the Swords of Justice." She said, hugging her knees. "In and out. That's all it should've taken with three pokemon's firepower. But now look where I've gotten us!" She gestured around them. Nothing but rotting, black walls. "I wasn't expecting the place to be so big. That's all."
Paprika hummed attentively. Demi was currently probing the nearest wall, as if it would have a secret compartment like in the movies.
It was absolutely stunning how their priorities differed, wasn't it?
"Demi, I—thanks." She chuckled, wiping her eyes. Mumbling a thanks, she allowed Ife to help her to her feet again. "It's out of place, but thanks for trying to make me laugh."
His head whipped back around painfully to look at her. "Uh... yeah, no problem," He said casually: but the Typhlosion knew he actually thought that'd work. That human truly was his favourite idiot, sometimes.
"Hey!" A voice called out, and they all looked for the source—and the light—coming from down the hall. Another human no more than two years older than Demi was walking towards them wielding a Charmeleon shakily. The pokemon gave out grumbles of protest, but was quickly reprimanded by its trainer. "Hey, you got any better ideas of what I'm gonna use as a light? You're the one who ran down my phone battery; remember when I was telling you about that?" The lizard gave a snort, but no further objections. Huffing righteously, the human brought up its flaming tail as a pseudo-torch once again.
"Sorry about that. Boss told me to round up any stragglers who got lost once the lights went out. Weird innit? Y'think they'd invest a little more into the lighting system, considering how big this place is..." Their voice trailed off abruptly, as if the thought merely vanished from their mind. "But that's enough talking from me. You coming?"
Faces searched faces for a wordless verdict. Eventually Demi stepped forward, giving a firm affirmative in response. The human, their face illuminated with soft suspicion made no further comment.
"Alright, just this way then," they said, spinning on their foot and walking away, gesturing for them to follow. "Just try not to get lost, okay? I'm not a guide."
Despite a solution stumbling into them, Paprika still couldn't shake off that feeling of stubborn wrongness pervading his body; it sat persistently in his mouth like mud, and he thought he could hear it clacking wetly against his canines in protest of this journey. But he could be stubborn too. Growling softly in defiance, Paprika quashed the shakiness in his jaws and forced himself forward. Lyra's silhouette blended seamlessly in the dark against Ife, who had to hunch slightly to fit through the halls. She walked steadily and complacently, giving neither a complaint nor an eagerness for the path ahead. Demi was the closest to their impromptu guide and the only one Paprika could actually see: but was it from the Charmeleon's meager glow, or something else?
Maybe he was going a little loopy in this dark place. But what if he wasn't? The trainer walked forward purposefully, his grit seeming to glean bravely even against the darkness.
"Here we are," the human said, giving the Charmeleon a hearty pat on the back before placing it on the ground. It looked as if it was going to put some scars into the human but held its claws, resolving to instead seethe audibly to itself. "No need to thank me, really: nobody does anyway. Just down this corrridor, through that big door and you'll be juust where you want to be. Take care!"
"Thanks- wha?" Lyra started, then choked out. Come to think of it, when he looked around too it was as if the human and Charmeleon were never there; they had been swallowed by the darkness, and the Typhlosion doubted they'd ever meet again.
Ah well. Thank you, mysterious human anyway.
Back to the next step though. They walked until the door was frowning over them, almost daring them to open it. Demi turned to address the rest of the party.
"Lyra, do you have any idea what could be behind this door?" He asked. She hummed thoughtfully before responding.
"The Swords of Justice, and what I need." She responded airily, withdrawing slightly into herself.
"Right, right..." Demi didn't look too convinced. "Nothing we need to worry about though."
"Mhm."
"Cool!" His voice sounded strained. "So, I can just open it right? But Paprika—be ready anyways, okay?" He continued rambling nervously.
"Demi?" Lyra said sweetly. He asked her what was up. She pointed ahead with a malicious smile on her face.
"Octillery's already opened it. Wanna lead us in?"
He cursed sharply under his breath—don't let Mum hear that, the Typhlosion thought—and turned sharper still, looking ahead into the gaping maw of the cavern way. Paprika, reaching forward to grab the human's shoulder, let out a cry; there was a light ahead! Glorious, saving, merciful light, dancing just beyond the dark that lay ahead. Lyra let out a sigh of relief, sounding as if she was almost in tears; Demi, completely dropping the 'cool dude' act hugged Paprika, ruffling his fur roughly; and Octillery, ever unconcerned, was just happy to see everyone else happy.
Ife took a steady breath in, then out. Nothing more, and nothing less. When Lyra looked over she gave a soft smile, but as soon as nobody else was looking- except the observing Typhlosion himself- her face returned to a neutral, disillusioned visage.
There was a light ahead, sure; but Paprika wondered what it be like if all you saw was the darkness surrounding it.
"Another worrier, huh? You both flatter me." She said enigmatically, kicking up dirt with a step forward. "I'm fine. I've been worse before. Done worse before, too; if that guard's still on your mind, jus' know if his dog knows any better, he'll already be safe and sound at the nearest hospital, okay? Nothing to feel sorry about."
Paprika nodded, still unsure. He ushered her gently in front of her, then followed the rest of the group as they stepped out of the dark, and further into uncertainty. The needles of light pricked his eyes as he walked out, and the badger hissed in protest until his eyes adjusted to the light.
The Sun was high in the sky, beaming down the fleeing summer warmth the Typhlosion knew he'd long after in a couple of days- autumn could be a dreary, cold time. Demi gunned ahead of the rest of them, wooping carelessly with his regranted freedom. "Finally! Sweet, clean air!" He rejoiced. Lyra walked up, crossing her arms and shaking her head.
"We were in there for what, 25 minutes at most? Get a grip, Demi!" She said with a smirk. Demi pointed an accusatory finger at her.
"Hey, it's your fault were in there regardless! I don't care how long it was, any time is too much!"
Lyra hummed obnoxiously, clearly not listening. Demi sighed tiredly, letting his shoulders drop loose in defeat.
"So, where are all these people anyway? Seems like there was a lot of them outside... the other outside, I guess."
The girl twirled a braid thoughtfully, manipulating the lithe thing with a deft precision that betrayed years of compulsive fiddling. "I don't actually know. The only info I got was to go here, and go through that building- only thing we can do is go deeper." She said.
"You reckon we'll get back in time for dinner?" He grumbled. And Paprika was now aware he was hungry too. Thanks, Demi.
Lyra muttered another apology, but Demi persisted anyway. "What am I meant to tell my mum, huh? 'Sorry, decided to go off to a sketchy place with a random girl because she asked nicely. Don't kill me.'"
"What did you want me to do?!" She snapped, blazing hotly. "I couldn't have just sat there and waited for the police to come in, waited for the missing pokemon to be filed and looked at and then forgotten, just like the millions other innocent monsters who've gone missing." Ife crooned softly in protest, but Lyra went on.
"Not now, Ife- okay?! I can't deal with him acting like this is all a huge waste of time when this could be everything! We could solve this!"
Her voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper that Paprika could barely hear himself. No doubt Demi and Octillery would miss it entirely.
"we could find her!" The hope was painfully obvious on her face. Ife merely shook her head slowly, clearly liking the idea less and less.
"Fine. Fine!" She said, pushing off from the Meganium and walking forward. "I'll do it by myself: whether you like it or not Ife, I'm doing something about it. And I'm doing it now. " She nearly toppled Demi as she stormed past, hurrying further into the growing foliage.
"Jeez, what did you guys do to her?" Demi hissed, massaging his arm gently. "She hits hard."
Ife was frozen in place, breathing heavily as if she had just been running. Her eyes were wild and wide, the little life in them ebbing away as Lyra got smaller and smaller in the distance. Demi shrugged, then turned to Paprika. "She's gone dead. Paps, what's happening?" His voice was languid, but Paprika could sense the worry starting to ebb in.
He chuffed determinedly; that was enough. That was all he needed to do something, and do it fast.
Barking sharply, he pointed after the general direction of where Lyra had ran, hoping his message was clear. The human looked surpised for a moment, but then nodded. "Right. Should probably go after her." He gave a thumbs up, and Paprika shook his head in disbelief as he walked away.
The last he saw of them was Octillery, still perched in Demi's bag, saluting stiffly. He copied the gesture with his paw, a small smile tugging at his jaws.
As he turned back to Ife, his heart sunk deep, deeper still into a visceral part of his chest; the Meganium had collapsed into a gangly heap where Lyra had once stood, snoozing shakily.
Really?! At a time like this?! He didn't hesitate to jolt the Meganium vigorously, not stopping until she opened a single, exhausted eye.
"What's even the point?" She muttered, shaking her head.
"What do you mean, 'what's the point?' There was a point when you brought us here without saying anything, or when you didn't even hesistate to kick that security guard!"
She grunted, but gave no further response and instead retreated further into herself, her petals wilting slightly. Paprika kept talking, occasionally shaking her to keep the Meganium conscious.
"Seriously, that scared the crap out of me- I thought you were gonna beat up that Granbull next too..." That got a hollow chuckle out of her, but a laugh nontheless. Her eye remained gloomily downcast though, finding the insects crawling on the floor more interesting than anything he was saying. The Typhlosion swallowed his growing worry, and continued to speak.
"Ife, would you just tell me what happened? I won't judge, I swear." He put a comforting hand on her long, scaly neck. "I won't even tell Demi if you don't want me to."
The Meganium steadied herself with a vine on his shoulder, and Paprika tried to keep as still as possible.
"...Alright, then. Don't make me regret this, Typhlosion; Lyra'll kill me, and I ain't even joking about that." She huffed with exertion as she rolled into a sitting position, shaking her head politely as Paprika tried to help her up. "I'm fine, I'm fine: jus' tired, that's all."
He nodded, not believing a single word.
She looked into his eyes, and Paprika gazed back. She had that absent, searching expression of looking for a memory long forgotten.
"The Swords of Justice came to visit us a spell or so back—came looking for Lyra's dad, I've been told. And when he wouldn't come? Well—" she chuckled darkly. "—They took something to force him."
"Something?" He questioned.
"Someone," she corrected. "A happy and innocent lil' pokemon. A drati—"
"—do you think they hear us?"
"S-shut up! If they didn't, then they obviously have now!"
"I don't wanna fight anyone again... that big flower lizard looks scary."
"Psh! Look at it! Looks half dead, if yer ask me: with a bit of effort, the three of us could probably take them down. And that Typhlosion, looks like a pushover too! We got this: it's just like the training! FOR THE SWORDS!"
"For the Swords!"
"For the Swords...!"
Paprika found himself on his feet again, his ears pinned to his head. Ife grunted as she forced herself to rise. "Looks like we've got company, Paprika. Y'sure yer not too soft to handle it?"
Of course he wasn't! It's just that he'd really prefer it didn't have to be this way. Alas, as three monsters darted at the two of them from above, he didn't have much of a choice anyway. Seems like that these confrontations were happening more and more often: but he was as ready as ever for it this time. Running low on energy, and even lower on patience, the Typhlosion let out a guttural, warning growl.
It was a fight!
Chapter 15: In Which we Fight a Losing Battle -- Brightside
Summary:
I refuse to believe that pokemon just don't get injured in the pokemon world- and I'll write as such.
Sorry, Paprika bleeds in this one. Don't worry tho he'll be fine, his sheer fuzziness protects him from any actual injuries (mostly)....Not a whole lotta 'tea' going on, is there? Eh. Be patient, we'll get there in good time.
Chapter Text
It was a fight!
At least, it was meant to be: Paprika's heart sunk deep as soon as he saw exactly who their opponents were. They landed with varying degrees of grace from the above—they had been overlooking them from the building, not expecting the Typhlosion to hear, he assumed, and from their battlecries, they were probably trainees for the Swords of Justice.
That alone was enough to unsettle the fire-type, as he stood there, closely pressed against Ife's side.
The blazing fervour in the Quilava's eyes however, unwieldy and destructive yet eager troubled him even more. It stepped for cockily, lowering its body to flare the vents on its head: the Bayleef and Crocnaw visibly flinched back, but made no further reaction. "Well, well, well, what do we have here boys?" Stalking slowly, it flashed razor sharp, bright but small teeth.
"A Typhlosion! Man, I'm gonna be this guy when I'm older!" It said, hopping excitedly. "But stronger of course. This guy looks like a wimp!" It punctuated the sentence with a spit, sending a glob of saliva to the dusty ground that quickly sizzled into steam.
He sighed, not mentally prepared for another one of these at all: especially with a loose cannon fire-type with who knows what ready to throw at him. Taking a step forward, he began to plead with the trio wearily.
"Do we really have to do this? I'm sure we can just talk this out, and—"
"—Eh! Bo-oring!" It shot forward with bloodlust, it's outstretched claws aiming to rake bloody ribbons in Ife's side; Paprika caught it by the scruff of its neck (marvelling at how light it was) and threw it back half-heartedly. The Quilava looked mildly peeved, but otherwise unshaken; it merely laughed, then continued to circle the two of them like a predator.
A tiny, overzealous, predator. Why did the world make him do things like this?
"What, y'chicken?" It said. "Guarding that lizard-plant thingy like the good doggy you are? How cute."
"Meganium," Ife corrected sharply—it was sorta weird how it couldn't recognise her species. Wasn't the evolutionary line of your fellow starters common knowledge?
Ife continued, her voice lax. "You'd do well to remember it, too. You younglings are gonna regret this, if yer continue." The Crocnaw and Bayleef shared a worried glance, but the Quilava was unflappable.
"Watcha you gonna do, grow a flower? Are you stupid? Don't know your type advantages? Fire torches grass," It growled. Ife laughed mirthlessly for a long, tense moment before replying.
"Bless your hearts," she said. The Quilava barked sharply.
"Don't patronise us!" It replied hotly. "We'll thrash you!" The Bayleef, its headleaf drooping, finally piped up.
"...Scarlet, I-I don't wanna sound doubting, b-but we just thin—"
"—Spit it out," It interrupted harshly. The Bayleef glowered when it wasn't paying attention, then continued.
"Maybe it's a bad idea to f-fight the objectively better versions of ourselves? Who knows how strong these shadowed pokemon are? You know what the Swords say they do to them..."
Shadowed Pokemon?
The Quilava shook its head vigorously. "No human-worshipping monsters can take on a Sword!" It said. "Besides, it's a three versus two! We've got this." The other two clearly weren't convinced. The juvenile fire-type sighed exasperatedly.
"Fiiine, if you're both gonna be such wimps, double up on that sissy!"
They both instantly turned to Paprika, who chuffed in hurt. The Quilava cackled, jaws split into an upwards, wicked grin; it clearly had the same realisation as the Typhlosion. But its grin widened and grew darker still as it turned to Ife.
"And that 'Meganium' over here? All mine." It snarled roughly.
"R-right!" The Bayleef said shakily. The Crocnaw nodded wordlessly. Ife lowered herself to Paprika.
"You can take those two juveniles, right?" She whispered, eyes trained on the Crocnaw and Bayleef.
He appraised them hastily: the Bayleef seemed sharp around the edges, but unsure; the silent Crocnaw looked at him with cold, glazed eyes. It would have to do. He nodded quickly.
"Good. Let's make this quick then." She sighed tiredly. The grass-type turned back to the trio. "We're done talking. You can start now."
"Tch-!" The Quilava's vents flared up once more, and its companions had the sense to step back. "We weren't waiting for you! Attack! For the Swords!"
The user cloaks itself in fire and charges at the target. It may also leave the target with a burn.
Ife heaved. "Mighty time to split up, eh?" The Quilava charged towards them, clothed in destructive flames- powerful, but untargeted and unsustained. By the time the Meganium and Typhlosion had split apart, swiftly dodging the strike, the Cyndaquil's energy had already disspiated. Ife nodded at him once before galloping in the opposite direction, kiting the eager attacker away from the rest of them. "Hey, fight back!" The small pokemon screeched, fire-wheeling after her. The three of them watched with a degree of awe as they faded out of view intently.
But the Crocnaw was the first to sever the silence. "Water beats fire? This should be fine, right?" It said to the Bayleef. When it didn't respond, it used a clawed hand to shake it out of its stupor.
"Hirb. Right?" It said urgently. The Bayleef finally responded.
"Y-yeah, right!" The grass-type said—or Hirb, as he had just learnt. Nodding slightly, the Crocnaw stepped forward, and reared back its head, its throat bulging with high pressure water.
The target is blasted with a forceful shot of water.
Paprika didn't bother moving as the jet of water hit his fur forcefully: he could deal with a wet coat, and would probably just look like a fool trying to dodge anyway. He merely grimaced, blocking the geyser with his arms as if it was a light drizzle until it tapered off into nothing. He couldn't see anything yet past the water lining his eyes, but he could hear the winded pants of the young gator already.
"No...reaction...just...drenched?" It spluttered out between breaths. The Bayleef stamped a foot in worry.
"How could Scarlet expect us to deal with him? If he takes your strongest move s-so easily," the Bayleef said, its voice raising. Doubt, hot and thick worries bled out of its mouth and onto its companion, until they were both drenched with the smell of fear; Paprika despised how it was a scent so familiar to him. "Just imagine a Flamethrower or something on me! I would perish!"
Little did they know, the Typhlosion didn't even have another one of those in him- it felt that calling up his fire grew harder and harder with each passing day. But they didn't need to know that, did they?
The Crocnaw, snarling under his breath shook his head strongly. "No. Swords strong together." It pointed a sharp finger at him. "He cannot beat us if we have righteousness on our side."
The Bayleef didn't seem convinced, but stilled, its fear waning slightly. "...I try and remember that, Ryppel. Together, like we practised?" Hirb proposed tenderly. Ryppel nodded with a slightly smile.
"Together."
And, with a strength Paprika was sure wasn't there before, the Crocnaw tore forward savagely—the badger felt like the very air by his cheek was being rended apart as he narrowly darted out of the way of his slashing claws. The Crocnaw focused energy in its claws then slashed again and again, showing no signs of frustration even though each and every attempt was met with nothing but empty space. For good reason too, Paprika realised dumbly— eventually he didn't backstep far enough and was met with impossibly sharp claws, raking mercilessly through his trailing arm. The Crocnaw grinned madly as it felt resistance give way, but its smile quickly waned as it brought back its arms to inspect its prize.
"What? Does it not bleed?" It said with an unsettling disappointment. The Crocnaw held a large tuft of his claw he had sliced cleanly off of his arm. Paprika gulped as his other hand rubbed the fuzzless area on his arm. Hirb gasped, choked, then reprimanded it harshly.
"Ryppel! We've been over this, we aren't trying to make the enemy bleed, we're trying to defeat them..." It tiredly. Bloodlust still ran rampant deep in the alligator's shaking eyes, but it was covered by the low glow of realisation.
"...And bring them to justice," he finishes numbly. "Of course."
This wasn't going to do; he had to do something. "Bring me to justice? For what?" He asked gently. Their eyes snapped to the Typhlosion, with such confusion it made him dizzy.
"Crimes for affiliating with humans and their sins!" Hirb said, with more conviction. They really did believe they were in the right, didn't they? Harassing him here, ripping out some of fur- though, he as meant to get his summer coat coming through now. Maybe it just meant less shedding later? He'd remember to thank the Crocnaw if that was the case, then.
"Do I not get a trial? I'm innocent until proving guilty, y'know!" He pleaded desperately. Hirb averted its gaze to the ground, finding a nearby pebble more interesting than whatever he had to say.
"No," it said softly.
Sharp-edged leaves are launched to slash at the opposing team. Critical hits land more easily.
"This is the truest judgement! Trial b-by combat!"
Most of the projectiles whistled close past his raised arms harmlessly, but the few that did find their mark left a forest of cuts piercing through his fur and into his skin. The scores left into his skin were superficial but painful, making him hiss as the air rushed past the open cuts. The Typhlosion forced his beating heart to still, and focused on the two in front of him. He was sure he could talk them out of fighting. Hirb looked with his mouth agape at him, with the same expression he had whenever an attack actually hit.
His nose twitched in agitation; he had a few words he wanted to say to that Octillery. But it wasn't here. Neither was Demi. Only Hirb and the warring Crocnaw, staring at him.
"Ryppel, right? That's your name?" He asked. The Crocnaw blinked rapidly, then nodded. "I know a Feraligatr friend—well, I think she's a friend—who's called something similar. Wouldn't you like to meet her?"
It turned uncertainly to Hirb, who just shook its head in response. But after a moment of consideration, it took the bait. "Really?" It said, playing with its claws. They still had tufts of his fur in them. "I've never met a Feraligatr before." Paprika grinned: he had found an opening, and was eager to sink his teeth into it.
"That's fine, that's fine! So, how about we just take a deep breath, and talk this out?" He tried to look as approachable as possible to the adolescent Johto starters as they silently contemplated the proposal. Eventually, Ryppel nodded bashfully and step forward.
"I think," he begun breathlessly, "I would like that."
And for a blissful moment, it seemed like that would be that: it seemed like the 3 pokemon would sort out the conflict without any further blood drawn.
But for some strange, dark reason, something else happened.
"No," Hirb muttered, inaudible to anyone but itself. When he said it a second time, Paprika heard him, but decided not to make any comment. On the third denial, when his mutters morphed into a high, desperate shout accompanied with keener, stronger leaves shot like a thousand dying suns at him, the Typhlosion snorted sharply and threw up his own assail of Swift stars on reflex; the normal energy clashed with the grassborne assault with a series of high whistles. Although the Typhlosion noted dumbly that his attack won out easily and aimed true, raking bloody ribbons into the Bayleef's side.
Paprika worried that it was going to get back up on sheer will alone; he was guiltily relieved when it slumped down to the floor, all its energy focused onto not passing out there and then.
"Evil, evil...all of you are evil..." It whispered venomously, eyes dull and downtrodden. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Ryppel beat him to it:
"You hurt him." It said softly, pointing a single, glistening claw in accusation. Paprika shivered. It was cold. Why was it cold?
"It attacked first," the exhausted badger responded, shakily- he was starting to feel worse and worse. Dread pooled thick and black in his stomach, weighing him down. A stream of water circulated between its fangs and claws, and hurt shone white-hot in its eyes.
Everything faded to black and white. Everything except the Crocnaw, summoning a crazed energy to himself, each and every inhale and exhale it took carrying promises of pain. His pain.
He could hear water swirling thickly everywhere, like coiling snakes. "You hurt him." He felt claws digging into his flank before he heard its voice. The Crocnaw struck once, then again and again, each and every word punctuated with another tumultuous blow.
He was so, so, very tired. The flurry of fur being ripped out of him into the air would quickly be followed by his skin, wouldn't it?
Then his heart. Maybe his lungs. He didn't particularly care in the moment. All Paprika really felt was a strong compulsion to close his eyes: just rest his heavy eyelids for a moment, just until he felt a little less tired.
"Just leave us alone!" A desperate voice above the water screamed.
That's what he would do. Paprika ignored the flow of strikes peppering against his body, closing his eyes. And then, perhaps for the first time, he finally began to see.
The unrepenting sequence of strikes clashing against his body, threatening to rend him to smithereens. Each strike was unreasonably swift, swifter than he could ever hope to perceive; but what he couldn't see in individual slashes and bites, he saw in patterns. Why hadn't he noticed it before? It seemed painfully obvious now: the Crocnaw flowed in and out like the sea's might, unrelenting, yet predictable. The intertidal rhythm of the monster felt no more complicated than the Typhlosion's own breathing: in and out. Up, and down. Black, then white. It was so, so, easy for him to counter the powerful but inexperienced momentum crashing against him- then, a flitting moment where he could slip his claws effortlessly between the Crocnaw's exposed ribs. Now, his vulnerable throat he knew his teeth could sink effortlessly through scales and sinew and deeper, into the visceral liquid that flowed beneath its skin.
But Paprika saw something else, something else between then and now, something else beyond the binary retaliations that presented himself. It was never good to fall victim to the hysteria panic caused. He enjoyed one last deep breath of inbetween, then retracted his claws and raised his arms, bringing them down gently underneath Ryppel's arms in a lukewarm embrace.
Something was dripping onto his arms. Paprika hoped it wasn't his own blood, and looked down with timid trepidation, only to be met with the unpleasant realisation that there was a Feraligatr latched onto his arms, the resultant water from before soaking his fur thoroughly.
He growled as he shook his arm, not really doing much but jiggling the Feraligatr's head about... again?
He looked down. It was too small. The teeth didn't feel toothy enough. Wait—Paprika mentally reprimanded himself for losing focus in such a critical moment, while they were... doing what again? He felt like he had just woken up from a dream, though he remembered the Bayleef he had hurt.
The Crocnaw kicked him in the stomach, hard. Paprika had half a mind to throw him there and then, but then figured there was probably a reason he was holding the water type.
"Let me go he's hurt," it muttered weakly, its flailing already tapering off into half-hearted writhing. The poor thing sounded choked, as if it had been crying. But who was hurt? His eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the sparse vegetation and rock surfaces, before settling on- crap. He forgot about the Bayleef. He placed down the Crocnaw recklessly- ignoring its cries of protest- then rushed over to the creature's side. The 3 parallel cuts left in its side looked nasty, but hopefully nothing too deep: but the bleeding hadn't stopped yet.
The Bayleef—called Hirb, he had remembered—had probably put all its energy into those Razor Leaves, and had left none to heal itself with. Who was teaching them to fight like this?
Or a better question, how much blood loss was dangerous for a grass-type? Either way, he should do something about it. Now, rather than later.
Ryppel had stalked over to him. "We've gotta stop the bleeding somehow," Paprika said to it, watching as it jostled Hirb. The Bayleef chirped dazedly, but gave no further response. It shook once, then twice, becoming increasingly more desperate with each and every time the monster didn't respond.
"Hirb, wake up. Hirb!" Its puffy eyes flicked to his. "What did you do?!"
Paprika chuffed: now wasn't the time for questions. "Later, please! Now we've got to focus on making sure it can recover. Is there anyone nearby who has any medical stuff, like bandages or-!"
The Crocnaw had already found a solution, and coldly ripped out a large tuft of his fur from his thigh. Paprika commended his quick thinking but really wished he hadn't had tugged so hard- it hurt like heck. It ripped the chunks of fur into small pieces with its teeth, then pressed it against Hirb's side.
"g-good job..." Paprika croaked out, still clutching the furless area of his leg. Ryppel was unconcerned with his pain, still intensely focused on the heaving Hirb laying. The tears that welled up in its eyes were evaporated quickly: an interesting technique to know, the Typhlosion thought.
Why, in this situation, was the first reflex to hide its own tears?
"Will he be okay?" Ryppel asked. (At least he knew the Bayleef was a 'he' now...) Paprika nodded.
"Yeah, his energy'll heal him up in a bit. It'll be faster if we get him to a pokemon centre, though—"
"—no." Ryppel refused, in a sharp, surprisingly assertive tone that left no room for argument. "We aren't going to any human buildings. We have healers here. They'll know what to do."
Paprika looked around for a moment. Nothing but rocks and bushes, and the dark building looming behind. He wondered how Ife was doing with Scarlet. "Where is 'here', exactly?" He asked, hoping to glean some information from the Crocnaw. It looked at him suspiciously, as if trying to pluck any ill intention from his face.
"Our camp is a further down. If you come in peace—and without any humans, they are your friends." It spat, voice still shaking. He had half a mind of asking if it was alright. "And stop trying to act like you're on our side! None of you are!"
Paprika sucked his cheek in thought, then responded. "...you're right, we're not." He said, trying a different approach to getting the Crocnaw to trust him- perhaps if he went by his narrative, he'd go along with it. "Ife and I—she's the Meganium, by the way—were sent by our trainers to retrieve a friend of ours. We were hoping if some of you could help us."
"E-eh?" Ryppel replied with a sniff.
"Yeah, it's true," he continued more confidently. The lie beginning to tell itself. "Just get us what we want, and we'll be out of your skin. No questions asked." The Crocnaw nodded thoughtfully, still clinging onto Hirb. "I'll carry HIrb, and we can go find Ife and Scarlet, alright?"
He gulped as he bent over to gently pick up the Bayleef, half-expecting a claw to gouge out his eye. But the Crocnaw merely watched passively as he piggybacked the still-dazed Bayleef, placing its front legs over his shoulders and propping up its back legs with his arms. And then, they were ready to go.
Ryppel clearly wanted silence, but Paprika timidly chipped away at it with question after question.
"So, what do you guys do when not sneak-attacking random pokemon?"
The Crocnaw didn't turn to reply, clambering over a rock. "We train. Listen to lectures from our leaders. Train again. Anything to prepare for the fight that's ahead."
"What fights?" He asked. That question seemed to pique its interest.
"The fight against the World," it said with an air of mystery. "To take Unova—and the rest of the regions—back from human control. And to shap einto a better, fairer rule, where humans and pokemon can be equal, with our wish."
Paprika considered pressing his luck more than that, but decided against it; the Crocnaw was agitated enough already. Unstable. Instead, he redoubled his attention onto where they were walking- it seemed that the water type had just picked a random direction to walk in, trusting in its intuition alone to find his comrade.
What would happen once they found them? Would he find the charred body of his new friend, beneath a cocky fire-type? But then Paprika remembered that guard outside the building with his Grunbull, and how effortlessly and quickly Ife had taken care of him. He knew humans were on the more flimsy side, but still... that Meganium had a strange power around her. One that made him feel uncomfortable, like needles were digging into his chest- he had tried to ignore it before, but the feeling was just getting stronger and stronger. Suddenly, the Typhlosion was more worried about whoever didn't back down against her would end up hurting more, even if they were a fellow fire type.
Eventually, the monotonous pattern of rocks gave way to one that showed the signs of battle—plants laid in unnatural places, clearly summoned purposefully by someone, and there were various scorch marks on the ground and on rocks.
However, no Quilava and Meganium. Even Ryppel seemed to sense something was off, quickening its pace. He tried to keep up as best as he could, puffing as he was aware of the large weight he was carrying.
"Scarlet!" Ryppel cried, stopping suddenly; the Quilava looked like it had seen better days, with a black eye and panting heavily. A single vine was wrapped slackly against its front leg, and Paprika wondered why she hadn't just bit it off by now.
"Ryppel, hey!" She said between pants with a devilish grin. "Nice to see you're doing better than I am with that Typhlosion—even if it was probably a weakling anyway. This Meganium though..." she gritted her teeth. Paprika was still yet to see where Ife was. "Must be a real battler! Giving me a real run for my money, eh?"
Shoulders raised and sunk unsteadily. Eyes darted to rapidly between the shadows, searching intensely for something lurking in them. There was still a monster behind that bravado, the Typhlosion realised. A young, scared, and injured one.
Ryppel, opened his mouth to respond, and shut it again. "What?" The Quilava huffed, following the Crocnaw's eyes- her eyes widened then her vents flared when she spotted Paprika.
"You didn't—why does it have Hirb?!" It shoved a paw onto Ryppel's chest. "What did you do?!"
There wasn't time for a response, however: behemoth thumping sounded from close by, slowly getting louder and closer. Scarlet gulped, letting the fear flood her eyes only for a brief second. "L-later! Just help me deal with this first, and then we can bash that Typhlosion's head in. It's coming."
Ife finally walked into view, and Paprika thought she looked even taller than before. "So, yer finally ready to give a straight response now, or do we need to go through another round of this?" She lowered herself to the floor with a huff, and sat casually. Scarlet made no move to attack, but instead took a step back. "Don't make me put ya through that again. It really does break my heart, t'see such a young firey Quilava like yerself in pain..." Her neutral face showed none of the sentiment in her voice. Scarlet barked in defiance.
"Don't make me laugh! A hero never gives their team's secrets; that Dratini is as good as ours!" She said, with a hint of pride in her voice. Ife nodded in response.
"Alright then," she said, flicking her head slightly. The Quilava let out a scream as the vine coiled around her neck retracted, sweeping her off her feet and slamming her on the ground near Ife. The Meganium placed a single paw heavy on its belly, then pressed hard until it stopped struggling. She shushed it with twisted gentleness, as if she was trying to remove a splinter from its paw.
"So, which one this time?" A small, unassuming tendril extended from her neck, hovering above the Quilava's body. Its eyes widened and the Quilava's struggling redoubled, but Ife slammed her foot ruthlessly into its stomach. "Quiet. This is your fault—don't make it any harder, okay?"
Its body stillened again.
"Alright, as I was saying, a claw, or a tooth? Last chance to tell me where bud is, by the way."
It spat in her face. Ife wiped off the smouldering saliva with an eerie smile.
"I see." She said. "We'll take a tooth this time. Relax for me."
The tendril forced its jaws open, and wrapped daintily onto a tooth in the quivering mouth—then tugged, and tugged hard.
She wasn't going to go through with it, right? No, no, the Typhlosion thought, that would be ridiculous. But she kept on pulling, and Paprika was starting to get antsy. He watched the Quilava thrash and Ife watch on wordlessly, until he could take the sight no longer.
"Stop!" He shrieked, and Ife's eyes widened. She looked over, past the immobilised Ryppel and at him.
He shivered under her cold eyes, but continued anyway. "Ife, what are you doing?! How does this help find them?!" Ife shook her head, and sighed tiredly.
"Stay out of it, Paprika." She said calmly, then continued to tug. He growled in dissapproval, not caring how loud it was. He quickly dropped to a knee, and placed the Bayleef as carefully as he could against a nearby rock with shaking paws. Ryppel snapped out of his stupour, and instantly begun to attend to the Bayleef who was beginning to stir.
"Scarlet? Is that you?" He mumbled, with one eye forced opened. The badger shook his head, and stepped out to face Ife, who was acting as if nothing had just happened.
As if nothing had ever happened, Paprika thought, and then spoke. "How the heck does torturing the Quilava solve any problems?!" He asked—another question, still no answers.
"You do things your way, and I do them mine," She said, looking cooly at her. "We both get things done. I just like 'em done quicker, what's wrong with that?" She added venomously. Plants had already begun to raise out of the sunbaked soil and stone ominously.
"Well 'your way' is horrible! Let go of Scarlet, or—"
"—Or what?" She interrupted massively, standing up abruptly. "Y'see, I like you for a reason Paprika. You're soft. Got no idea what to do with that power, inside of you— yeah, I can feel it, Ripple did too. Tell me, what exactly are you gonna do against someone who isn't afraid to do the right thing?" He scoffed.
"'The right thing?' Ripping out teeth?"
"No, doing what needs to be done to save someone I care about!" Her composure finally shattered as she stood, towering higher yet higher. The Sun was at its zenith, and Ife cast a shadow over him with sheer height alone. Paprika had begun to forgot just how big she was. "What good is talking gonna do now, huh?! Try and talk me outta this one, buttercup!"
She swung her neck forward, and Paprika flinched, half expecting to be whipped himself by vines. But instead she sent the Quilava flying with a help towards him; he barely caught the thing with blood dribbling out of its maw. It kicked him roughly in the face and Paprika dropped Scarlet in surprise, who limped off quickly towards Ryppel and Hirb.
"I-I'm glad you've come to your senses," Paprika begun quietly, his face dropping at the bitter chuckle he got in response; he didn't believe it either.
"This really, really, isn't easy for me, believe me- but I'm just making sure I don't obliterate my information in the crossfire." She turned towards the Sun beating down, and bowed her head reverently.
"It's a beaut of day, isn't it? Early summer days like these, any respectable grass-type should spend getting a good sunbathe." She said wistfully, then turned to him once more with such energy the Typhlosion was forced a step back. "But instead I'm here spending it making another monster hurt."
"I try to keep it cool, I really do- God be with you, Paprika Typhlosion."
Light erupted from all directions, a kaleidoscope of rays that all rushed towards Ife. Paprika gave his own silent player of protection, then dropped to all fours, gathering the sparse energy he had left to flow around him, then dissipate in a calming aura blanketing his mind.
He was going to give it his everything, even if the very action bled him dry. Simple, really—what else he could he do? Afterall, it was fight.
Chapter 16: How to Fight a Losing Battle -- Brightside -- Revised
Summary:
Throwing hands with pokemon is an incredibly stupid idea...
Demi does it anyway. To varying levels of success.
Chapter Text
"Lyra, where the hell are we going?"
"Shut up and follow, or don't follow at all," she snaps back, not bothering to turn around. Yeesh.
You decide to keep it shut for a little—your throat is feeling kinda scratchy, anyway—until she comes to an abrupt halt. Her head tilted up slowly into the sky, then to the sides. What was she looking for?
"Alright, so where are we?" she mutters. (So now you were considering where you were walking? Seems it was only a bad idea to do so when you said it.) "It was just meant to be a bit further down, I was sure of it...!"
That's it. You're absolutely fed up with this 'mysterious wonder-place' Lyra kept dancing around in her speech: you're going to find out what she was talking about, and you're going to do it now.
"What are you talking about?" You ask, more insistently; Octillery holds up tentacles menacingly behind you, consolidating that you aren't taking no for an answer. Lyra smirks slightly, pointing to Octillery's outstretched appendages above your head.
"Okay, okay, as long as Octillery puts those down." She says with a chuckle, but the joy quickly drains out of her face. "I thought I'd get whoever I was paired with to help me find a pokemon I know."
Octillery retracts with a melancholy gurgle. You listen intently, nodding for her to continue.
"It only took me a bit of searching to find where the Swords had taken her—a relatively small base, close to Flamionis' heart. I'd do it alone, but I wasn't sure I'd be strong enough," she explained, though the last past seemed strange to you.
"You're plenty strong, I've seen how Ife takes care of things," you argue. Lyra's face screws up.
"I never said anything about Ife," she replies slowly. "If we did things her way, we probably would've already found Bud by now."
You spare her a comment. "And what's the plan once we get there?"
"I don't know," she admits, shying away from your gaze. "I was just hoping we could brute force our away through."
You aren't able to stop a high, disbelieving scoff from escaping your mouth—it was that great of an idea.
"Look, I was running out of options, okay?! The authorities take too long, my Dad didn't want to do anything, and what was I meant to do- just sit around, and wait?!"
"Could've at least told me what I was getting into..." you mumble. She picks up on the backhanded comment and smashes down on you harder, her tongue lined with passionate frustration.
"So you could've backed out of it, to save your own skin? Or what, so another person could've politely told me that they didn't actually care about Bud? Work with me, here, Demi." You think she'll keep berating you, but only she sighs and held her head in her hands. "Just put yourself in my shoes- you would've done it for Paprika, right? Or Octillery?"
She has you there, you'll admit. Even though you had known your octopus for, now that you think about it, not even a day— you'd probably do anything for the little guy. Although, you would've come clean about it in the beginning.
"Yeah, yeah, we might as well just keep going then. There's not really anything else we can do." You begin to walk again, stopping when she makes a confused hum.
"You aren't gonna leave?" She asks tentatively. You whip around, shooting her a glare.
"Are you stupid? Leave you to do what?"
That hasn't even been a possibility in your mind, and it certainly wasn't one still. Just what does she take you for?
She mumbles a half-hearted insult in response with a slight upturn to her lips. "Sure, just lead the way then," She says, gesturing for you to carry on. You nod in response.
"And Demi?"
"What?"
"Thanks."
You've been walking for a while now. The relatively barren landscape stretches far and thin in all directions, drawing murmurs of worry from Octillery and more vocal complaints from Lyra.
"Ugh, how far out are we gonna have to walk?!" She groaned, halfway down to collapsing on the floor in defeat. You quickly remind her that it is still her fault that you're here. "Cry about it," she mutters with a cheeky shrug, and you throw up a 'colourful' sign at her with your hands. You exchange various wondrous signs on your hands as the two of you walk, until Lyra throws up a hand in front of you- it takes a second of wracking your brain, wondering if it was an advanced middle finger before you realise that she was signalling for you to stop.
"What is it?" You ask. Lyra merely points ahead, and then pulls you low to the ground. Freakishly near where you were crouching, a duo of monsters walked dutifully. The taller one trailing behind shakily you could recognise, clearly a Garchomp—no, Gabite—carrying several logs of wood in its scythes. All its effort is concentrated on the perilous tightrope of not dropping the hefty objects, clearly unconcerned with the babbling coming from the pink, goblin-like monster wielding an ungodly large hammer dragging through the dust. Occassionally, the Gabite grunts loudly, then hobbles quickly to keep up, a rosy tint of exertion colouring its scales. It growls something to the pink creature, who just waved it off with a stubby hand and smug smile in response. The landshark scowls, but hangs its head low.
"They're heading towards their camp. We could probably try following them," Lyra says suddenly, her eyes trained on the duo ahead. A moment of skeptical silence later, she looks at you, perplexed, like she was just mentioning the weather to you.
"What, you speak pixie?" You scoff, gesturing to them. She plays with a plait as she responds.
"No, I understand what the Gabite said!" She replies quickly. You didn't buy it.
"My dad works with dragon types, alright? Bud's a Dratini! Let's just focus on this now, and you can ask me all the questions you want once we find him," she stresses on the last part. "We'll need a way to... incapacitate them."
She gestures to your bag, and the realisation hits you hard too: Octillery was probably the only one who could do it. "Right," you confirm, not feeling confident in the slightest. You gingerly slip your rucksack off your bag, then hoist the idle Octillery into your arms. His appendages snake around you arms, tugging and writhing until he's comfortably held. You share a brief, hopeful look with Lyra.
"Hey, Octillery? Can you do something for me?" It looks up at you with its wide eyes. You can see your expression reflected in the blackness of its irises. Finally, it nods slowly. You point to the pair of pokemon slowly getting further away from you. "Think you could get their attention for us?"
It cocks its head. Lyra pipes up with a smile.
"Could you maybe just... give them a friendly heads up from us? Nothing much, just..." Octillery crosses its tentacles with a huff. She trails off, looking to you helplessly. You sigh, then pat him on the head.
"Shoot one of them, Octillery. Just shoot them down." You say bluntly and the octopus gives a chillingly enthusiastic nod. It pulls itself up to sit on your head, steadying with a tentacle tight around your neck. Hopefully you don't choke. A long, tense moment passes. Then another. On the third, you consider calling Octillery off and maybe reconsidering your line of attack, but a sound like thunder rips through the air, streaking your vision stripes of white. You recoil feverishly into yourself, rubbing your eyes frantically until the bright behind your eyes slowly fades into a peaceful darkness.
Your eyes snap open. Lyra frets above you, saying something you can't quite make out against the unending buzzing tickling your ears. Groaning, you manage to pick yourself back to your feet—when did you end up on the ground, anway? Nevermind that: you strain your eyes at the crumpled form of the Gabite ahead and the pixie standing unconcerned over it with a bored look. It pokes it once, as carefully as one prods an interesting rock they find on the floor.
It doesn't stir. Shrugging, the creature turns towards you, and its look flashes with mischevious glee. With a crazed smile, it starts charging towards where you're standing, hammer trailing massively behind it through the dust. Rubbing your eyes, you half-expect to just wake up from this dream—with the fluffy weight of Paprika against you despite your warnings not to sleep on you again: he always ignored you of course, and part of you didn't mind it either.
The user swings its whole body around to attack with its huge hammer. This move can't be used twice in a row.
It isn't a dream. Instead, your vision returns to the blurry pink form toting a titanic hammer, currently plummeting towards you at murderous speeds. Octillery throws up its tentacles in a valiant but frail defence and the creature only grins wider; the hammer picked up speed, bathed in white light that seems to scorn the Sun's glow. By the time the condemning thud of metal meeting the Earth sounds, you realise that your legs had carried you to the side in an explosion of motion, leaving your conscious mind to deal with the aftermath of momentum. You hurtle to the side, gritting your teeth as you catch yourself with outstretched arms.
The creature's eyes sparkle. It lifts up its hammers and looks underneath it eagerly, only to whine audibly at what it found.
Or rather, the lack of it. It was looking for your remains, you assume.
Something pushes a familiar, balanced weight into your hand and you grip onto its handle tightly, and will yourself to look down at it.
It was your tennis racket, still perfectly glossy despite the day's events. You admire the sleek, simple design and catch Octillery's reflection in it—his murky, black eyes.
There's more than just empty ink stirring deep within them.
In, and out. You suck in cold air through your mouth and breathe it out hotly, gradually steadying yourself on now rather than then.
In, and out. It was incredibly unfair that you were put into this situation, with the leader of this recsue mission nowhere to be found. You could only hope she was still alright.
In, and out. The creature's hammer shone, catching your attention. The pink dwarf raised it up once more above its head, then began walking towards you slowly. Octillery tenses.
In—
The user swings its whole body around to attack with its huge hammer. This move can't be used twice in a row.
The blinding light fills your vision once more, followed by the hammer rushing down towards you. That was fine. More than fine, actually. You exhale slowly, letting the energy release from your mouth in wide and warm ribbons.
—And out.
Maybe you were doing too much before. You take a small step back, shuddering at the impact of the hammer with ground sending vicious tremours through the Earth. It raises its hammer clumsily, then swings again with a less enthusiastic grin. Another step to the side was all you needed—instead of being crushed to a pulp, you're instead hit with the sheer force of displaced air, raking in heavy winds across your body. Baring your own teeth, you goad it onwards with a grin. This isn't the best the Swords have, right?
"Tinkaton!" It cries out in frustration. You look past it, at Lyra who looked like she was about to faint. You give her a cocky thumbs-up. Back to this thing, you guess.
Your dread turns into a reckless exhiliration in the brutal game you were playing: feeling the air explode with faerie force encased in the steel. What would Paprika think of this, you wonder? The poor thing would probably have an aneuyrsm just watching. Hopefully he's doing alright with Ife wherever he was right now—they had really become closer friends, last time you checked.
The creature stamps a foot on the ground with a childish screech. Scoffing, you raise a hand. "Dude, could you quit that? I'd rather you started swinging the hammer again. Hurt a little less, now that I think about it." You cover your ears to drive home the point. It scowls at you, then raises its hammer once more with a huff. It was tiring, for sure—things mostly just went down with the first swing, huh? Nevertheless, you ask Octillery to try and disarm it after this swing. He vocalises his concern (strange how its gurgles were starting to take meaning to your ears) but makes no objection.
"Oh, thank god," you mutter, quiet enough to sound scathing but loud enough for it to hear. The pokemon slams down its hammer a final time, running solely on spite. Siezing the opportunity, Octillery pummels its wrist with a tentacle, forcing it to release the hammer. Another limb cradles the rugged handle as it plummets through the air.
Your pokemon lets out a wail as the weight of the hammer drags it forcefully off of you, and onto the ground with a sound like a wet sponge hitting the sink. He squirms there for a moment, then relinquishes with a defeated sigh. Laughing boisterously, the creature walks from where Octillery had thrown it towards its weapon once more. Not on your watch, though—you get a running start at the pink, annoying football and punt it as hard as you can with the most satisfying connection of your life. Whistling, you watch it sail through the air and land a few strides forward. Not bad, if you said so yourself.
Lyra watches with her mouth agape, her face cycling through an uncomfortable amount of emotions: fear, surprise, relief all shone like stars in her eyes.
"What the hell do you call that one?!" She screeches, looking around like she was crossing a road, then sprinting at you.
You shrug, twirling your racket around in your hand. It slices cleanly through the air. "I dunno, didn't wanna get squished by the big hammer?" She scoffs incredulously.
"And what, the pixie was blind? Never held that gigantic hammer in its life? There's gotta be more than that, Demi."
"Let's just focus on this now, and you can ask me all the questions you want once we find Bud," You respond swiftly, and Lyra visibly deflates with a muttered okay at hearing her own words reflected.
Octillery wails like a banshee. You flick your eyes down to him. "We should probably try and get him out."
"Y'think?"
You don't grace that comment with a response, instead grabbing the handle of the hammer. Lyra follows suit, and you both begin to heave. The hammer remains stalwart however, stubbornly preferring gravity's embrace than yours. After a few seconds of tugging, Lyra falls back with a yelp. "And that little thing was carrying it with one hand? Jeez," she puffs, panting heavily. Octillery looks at you with sad and big eyes. You couldn't just give up, could you? You'll just pull a little harder, that's all it takes.
She laughs. "Dude, it isn't moving. That's a solid, what, 100 kilograms? We need to think of something else."
The hammer doesn't budge, gleaming with the light of challenge to you. You pull a little harder.
"Seriously, I'm sure I could convince that Gabite back there to lift it. You're just gonna hurt yourself."
You swear it shifted slightly. How much more could it take? You plant your feet down with a puff, and pull a little harder.
"Demi," her hand rests on your shoulder. "This isn't helping any one, you know that. I know it's hard seeing Octillery like this, but we've gotta change gears. Let go!"
You shake your head, and pull a little harder. The hammer acknowledges your effort, raising just enough for Octillery to squeeze its limb out from its clutches. He rolls over on the ground with a relieved sigh, nursing the crushed limb. Lyra wheezes dryly.
"And that's 'normal', too?"
You stall for time to think with a drawn-out sigh. "If you were paying attention, you'd notice that Octillery was lifting too. He just needed a little more help," you respond. Doubt grows on her face—good. By redirecting her questions to herself, hopefully she'd forget about this altogether. These sorta conversation always got under your skin: like, 'Demi, what are you doing trying to lift that by yourself?' and 'Demi why are you trying to pick up that Larvitar?'
People always thought they knew your limits better than you did. Was it too much to ask for others to just mind their own business?
You pick Octillery once again. He looks sat you with deep, thoughtful silence. Almost judging.
"Is that Gabite still unconscious?" You ask Lyra. She shakes her head, pointing back where you were before.
"No, I managed to get its attention. Maybe we could convince it to help?"
"Alright then, lead the way," You say, taking one last look at the discarded hammer before walking away from it, your tennis racket still resting in your hand. The Gabite quickly forms in your vision. It was slumped over the logs it had been carrying so meticulously, now strewn like a child's toys on the floor. It hears you approach and erects like a toy soldier, yellow eyes fixed nervously on you. Its body was tensed, as if to attack, but Lyra saunters casually between the three of you.
"Relax. Garlath's your name, right?" She says cooly. 'Garlath' steps back, but nods. "Heard you talking to that pixie thing."
It crossed its scythe-like appendages with a growl.
"Yeah, a Tinkaton, whatever. All I need to know is that you want out of this gig. Me and my friend here? We've got a way. Let's shake on it." She says, surprisingly smoothly.
Stepping forward skittishly, Garlath holds out on of its scythes and looks expectantly between the two of you. You lean over to Lyra with a small smile. "Is this some sort of deadly handshake you've initiated?" Lyra shoots daggers into you with a look, reaching and clasping the outstretched blade comfortably with a smile. They shake, eyes fixed strongly on eachother until the Gabite yields with an approving huff.
"Demi, you wanna get in on—"
"—Nope!" You promptly take a step back. "I ain't cutting yourself. Don't care if you're not bleeding."
The Gabite looks at you and growls lowly. Lyra chuckles with a wistful tone. "No, he isn't insane, I promise. We can't leave him behind either, sadly."
You groan loudly. "I'm starting to think Andrew's the most normal outta the three of us..."
"Just shut up and follow the Gabite!" She declares, gesturing for Garlath to lead the way. The Gabite takes one last look at the discarded wood logs, then leads you forward in silence. Its pace is hurried, and it stopped to look around occasionally, like some sort of invisble threat was lurking just out of vision.
"Soooo... where are we goin', big guy?"
Garlath whips around to look at you, then spits a glob of mud on the floor. You back off with disgruntled murmurs. Eventually, Garlath stops and looks intently ahead. You try to discern what it sees—nothing but sparse bushes and gravel around greets you. "You sure this is a good idea?" You ask Lyra. She nods, though you see doubt start to creep onto her face.
"A dragon doesn't lie, Demi." She says. As if that was his cue, Garlath reaches a claw out and begins to prod the empty space. Deathly curious, you watch intently as it drew flowing, graceful lines through the air, until its scythe hitched: like getting caught in an invisible, omipresent sheet fabric. It sighs slowly, driving the scythe into the bump; the Gabite then began to rip with an unsetttling hum, carving out a hole in the nothingness itself. For once in your life, you had no comment to make about the situation; you just watch awestruck as space gives way to Garlath's masterful motions.
You don't even know why humans bother with science classes anymore. Garlath steps back, revealing a pathway to somewhere else. It gestures with a scythe, then steps into the tear, leaving just you and Lyra standing there, wondering who'll be the first to step through.
"You reckon we're still gonna be back by dinner?" You ask bitterly. Lyra chuckles softly in response.
"No," she says, stepping forward into the unknown. "I don't think we will." You follow suit, gently squeezing one of Octillery's shaking appendages.
How long is a moment, you wonder?
A few moments later, you came back to your senses somewhere Else. The barren landscape had given way to yet another forest stretching in front of you, reminding you fondly of your journey to school. Garlath was shifting impatiently on its claws, waiting for you to follow. Stepping forward, you find your legs are heavy and nearly fall over: Octillery loops a tentacle around a tree branch, staving off the fated meeting of your face with the floor for a little longer. You mumble a thanks.
"Haha, you alright?" She calls from behind, helping you back to your feet. "I feel a little weird too. I wonder what that was...?"
You don't know either; you look back for any remnants of the breach, but only find a chipper-looking Chespin waddling through the undergrowth. It waves enthusiastically, displacing fallen leaves near itself, and you wave back. "Let's just get this over with," you mutter, tentatively taking another step forward: sensation was slowly returning to your lower body, thankfully.
Bustling with life, there never seemed to be a single spot of darkness lurking as you walked through the forest; the Sun seemed to penetrate even the most pesky of crevices with warm, nurturing light. Pokemon swelled around your impromptu party wherever you walked: laughing, running, flying, gossiping about in this unfamiliar Green Space. Despite the thick brambles littered on the floor the Gabite navigates it with surprising gracefulness. Lyra wasn't doing so well: karma had promptly bit her in the back for laughing at you before, determined to make sure she tripped too. Garlath walked at a more relaxed pace now—was it the familiar environment, or maybe not having that 'Tinkaton' lording over it? Either way, you could almost enjoy this leisurely stroll. That is, if worries didn't creep at the back of your mind, bothering you with sharp, persistent troubles. You fight them down valiantly, reaffirming yourself that Paprika was doing fine: if Ife was even half as strong as she looked, it would be a cakewalk for the two of them.
"Halt," a voice commands, and the Gabite goes stiff like a doll. You and Lyra share a concerned look. Octillery tilts your head subtly upwards until your eyes meet a figure coiled with tension on top of a towering rock. "Gabite. You are early. Where is your superior?" It demands. The Gabite shifts uncomfortably on its feet then looks helplessly back at the three of you.
"What, you didn't know this would happen? They sound like they'll kill us!" You hiss desperately.
"Well?" The voice persists. Impatience holds thickly in the air, like a miasma settling on the landscape. The background noise of monsters wizens into nothing. The land shark splutters out a sequence of growls, only met with a haughty snort in response. "Hmph. I forget the less... dedicated amongst us don't receive the blessing. No matter, I shall take these interlopers off your hands. You are dismissed, whelp."
Garlath doesn't shift. The air only grows heavier. "Was I not clear? Or have you spent so much time submerged in sand and muck that its clogged up your ears?"
"Pretty sure Gabite don't have ears," you whisper. Without looking, Lyra jabs you in the side.
The Gabite in question shakes its head in distress whilst mumbling to itself. A low, mocking, laugh rings out. "Good. I prefer it this way—I am always happy to obliterate a lowly dragon like yourself. The humans can be the cherry on top," the mysterious voice says. Its stance shifts subtly.
The air shifts rapidly around you, stealing the air from your lungs. Something terrible is coming.
The target is attacked with a knee kick from a jump. If it misses, the user is hurt instead.
Garlath collapses with a gargled cry. Only then do you see streaks of purple and white fur across your vision, and your head whips around to the pokemon in front of you. It kicks the downed Gabite aside with a scowl, then focuses its attention back on you with an unreadable expression.
"Humans. Octillery. If you come peacefully, I'm sure you'll be judged less harshly." It says. Your eyes finally focus on the sleek form of the monster, namely its whiplike fur extending from its paws flowing in wind that did not exist.
"WARNING! WARNING! POWERFUL POKEMON DETECTED IN THE AREA! FLEE IMMEDIATELY!"
Everyone jumps, and you swear under your breath as you fish out ROTOM from your pocket.
"Hey, didya not hear me?1!" It screeches, vibrating with an angry digitised expression. "You should be running for your life!!! Preferably now! "
"It's a little late for that...!" You scowl, aiming the camera at the pokemon. ROTOM's face droops.
"Oh, that's a Mienshao! I'd say about, hmm.... LV 75? 80 at worst. Probably knows Hi-Jump Kick, a nasty move at that. Oo, Ooh- I hear that Mienshao can obliterate boulders with a single punch, too!" It chirps, and you desperately wished it would keep quiet. You were feeling bad enough as it was, without the destructive fun facts assailing you.
Still... out of morbid curiosity, you ask him what level Octillery is. You immediately regret the question.
"About 40, it replies with a sheepish grin. "Huh-hey! That's pretty good for a freshly caught pokemon! Though... y'all might be a little out of your league. Good luck!" With that, it shuts off abruptly. You shake the phone to no avail, then slot it back in your pocket with a curse under your breath. The Mienshao appears unbothered.
"Hopefully that is the only motivation you need to realise what the best option is right now," it purrs in a soft voice. You sigh.
"Maybe you're right," you say, giving the saddest look you can muster to it. "It's been a long day. Hasn't it?" You turn to Octillery, gently patting its head.
"Good. Come peacefully, and we may show mercy yet—"
"—so how about we make this fast?" You interrupt, stepping forward. You point your finger up at it, and flash a smile at Octillery. "Use Hyper Beam!"
The target is attacked with a powerful beam. The user must rest on the next turn to regain its energy.
"-Tch!" The Mienshao masterfully sidesteps the beam, its fur flowing like a ballerina against the forest floor. It doesn't manage to avoid a light charring to its side, and it recoils with a strangled choke. Octillery lets out a weak trumpet of triumph, leaving you wondering exactly why it knows how to make that noise. Did fish have music bands?
"You fight with no honour," It spits, already assuming a fighting stance. Octillery slumps down against you, panting heavily in a strange, cephalod way. You blink rapidly, suddenly remembering where you are.
Power erupts from in front; in a blink, the Mienshao has closed the gap between you. It corkscrews a knee up, aiming for your stomach, which you barely manage to stumble out of the way on your foot: the fighting type adapts quickly however, sweeping your trailing foot underneath you with a flick of its whiplike fur. Your face finally has its meeting with the eagerly awaiting floor—your world falls from you, and you end up hitting the ground with a loud thud. Looking down at you, the Mienshao projects again.
"Can't you just cower in the corner like your companion? I do not enjoy abusing the weak, human."
Rolling away clumsily, you pick yourself up to your feet with a pant. Lyra was currently kneeling down beside Garlath, desperately trying to bring it back to consciousness.
"Your monster is spent. Give up." It suggests, giving you an infuriating amount of space to consider.
"And do what? Let you take another pokemon prisoner?" You pant, still catching your breath. Your trousers were caked with mud at this ponit, a far cry from the perfect black they were before. The Mienshao cocks a brow incredulously.
"Prisoner? We take no prisoners, child. Only show our recruits the truth, the only way out of this twisted world!" It exclaims passionately. "Not that a human like you would understand. The weak often don't."
"Shut up!" You shout, driving your aching body forward with a cry. Octillery, seemingly invigorated by your defiance lashes out with its tentacles which the Mienshao easily parries. While it was distracted you kick viciously into its exposed stomach. Your foot connects with a satisfying sound, although the Mienshao doesn't react in the slightest.
"Brave, I'll give you that." It praises. "Not many humans can say they've so much as landed a hit on me. Even fewer live past that point."
You can't even make out what happens next, only a searing pain in your side. You stumble, threatening to lose your balance, but manage to steady yourself at the last possible moment. You've felt worse, you reassure yourself.
"Demi, just quit!" Lyra pleads desperately, still kneeling beside the downed Gabite. "It's over! If we play nice, hopefully the Swords'll go easier on us!"
You turn on her ruthlessly, cringing at how hoarse your voice sounded. "So you've brought me here to who knows where, and you're just giving up?! Did you ever care about that Dratini in the first place?!"
Lyra mutters something out you can't hear against the growing thrum in your head, so you face back to that increasingly irritating Mienshao who's been dancing circles around you. The worst part is, you're sure it could've already knocked you out twice over if it was feeling even slightly threatened- you're nothing more than an amusing distraction, a fly to be swat.
Your hand clenches against your racket. Still just a fly. If so, you weren't just gonna lay down and take it: it was gonna have to swat you down itself. Octillery, sensing your conviction wraps his tentacles around your arms tightly. The Mienshao breathes out calmly, then steps forward. It takes everything in you not to flinch back. But you don't.
"That is your truth? At such a young, tender age? Ah well. Nevertheless, I tire of this game we play. For your conviction, I shall make this quick, and hopefully non-fatal."
It raises an outstretched paw, collecting an overwhelming amount of energy in the tiip of its finger. A blue orb of pure energy collects, bathing the sun-drenched landscape with an eerie blue light.
"Valiant effort, human."
The user looses a blast of aura power from deep within its body at the target.
This move is certain to hit.
What you'd do just to be in school right now! With a cry, you squint your eyes shut and swing your racket forward—the energy colliding with the hardy thing sends tremours up your arm and into your core, but you're unharmed. The sphere instead ricochets off of the rack with a whistle, hitting the Mienshao square in the chest. A faint sense of satisfaction flutters in your chest as the Mienshao is sent hurtling into a nearby tree, nearly toppling the behemoth over. When the dust kicked up clears, there is no crumpled form of a stuck up fighting type, only the impact left by the sphere.
"All for naught."
Air parts once more. You somehow react in time, shielding your face with a tentacle shielded arm just in time to intercept a brutal swing aiming directly at your neck: it was impossibly fast, faster than any pokemon you've ever seen before. Blow after blow connects with your limbs, moving faster than you could think in a desperate defence. The only thing that registered to your exhausted mind was the dull throbbing left in your tired arms.
You feel unbearably slow in comparison. Too slow. So, you move a little faster.
Charging recklessly, you drive your shoulder into its midform, throwing your entire weight into sending back a few steps. The previously composed look in its amber eyes had given way to a withering scowl.
"What is the point of this? A fight a human couldn't hope to win. It would be flat heresy to even entertain the notion." You throw an uncoordinated punch, knowing that it would've never hit anyway. The Mienshao chuckles dryly, retaliating with scathing kick to your left leg. Its expression changes into a frown, noticing you haven't given way. Instead, you retaliate with your own series wild kicks despite the growing aches in your body screaming at you to give up. Still, it dodges out of the way with little difficulty. So you move a little faster.
You whip your arm forward and Octillery extends the motion, slapping the Mienshao with a wet thud in the side. The only real damage you were doing was frustrating it alone, each show of defiance threatening to shatter its composure altogether. Its whips crack through the air towards you, and you move a little faster to avoid the brunt of it. Still, the relentless onslaught of strikes force you back a step with a grimace. Octillery pants, and spits out a glob of ink into the Mienshao's face. You chuckle weakly at its traumatised expression, but dread the slight shake in its paws.
"M-my fur," it whispers with thinly-veiled rage. "Hours spent daily maintaining it! And this is how you fight?! By defacing it?!"
"Hey, black looks good on you," you mock. It stamps a foot down, cracking the ground with the sheer force of its anger.
"Enough! The Swords have fought long and hard to get here, and I shan't allow a meer human to—"
"—Do you ever stop talking?!" You growl, punching it as hard as you can in the jaw. Your hand hurts, but the look of surprise on its face was more than worth it. Looks like that composed fighter persona it's wearing was crumbling apart.
"Perhaps I have been too lenient with you, for such damned impudence to be displayed! Here is a reminder you won't forget for lifetimes to come." It kicks at your feet once again, but it takes you just a little too much time to realise it was a cleverly placed feint. The last thing you see is Lyra and Garlath, finally on their feet once again with the girl holding a strange, purple pokeball.
You've bitten off a little too much, this time. Pain erupts in your eye, forcing you into a dizzying fall. Octillery coils around you protectively, but for all his tentacles he can't alleviate the brutal sense of failure you feel when you connect with the floor for a final time.
[Demi was overwhelmed by his defeat! He whites out!]
Chapter 17: Background Noise
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
On the walk home, Ripple chose to walk beside him. He couldn't possibly figure out why.
There were two facts as clear as night and day: one, he had failed her.
Two, he had failed him. "How the hell am I meant to explain this one..." He muttered to himself, paralysed by dread. The Feraligatr's rough hand rested heavy on his shoulder, her claws digging into his clothes slightly. He sighed. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he assured the gator, patting her hand lightly. "Let's just get home already."
Andrew watched a pair of boys with a Dragapult run past, shouting carelessly as they hurried towards their destination. Sometimes, he found himself wondering what it would like to be someone else, if only just for a day: to only have your own hopes and dreams resting on your shoulders. Would it feel liberating? Easier? Mundane? Unfufilling?
The boys skidded around the corner, followed quickly by the dragon sailing through the air. Either way, it was undoubtedly more 'normal', as others would put it. Horrible word, if you asked him—nobody was truly normal. But some people?
"My nose still hurts," Ripple grumbles, rubbing her snout tenderly.
Some people were a little further from the definition than others.
There. That was his secret, the reason why he seemed just a little off or 'quirky' to anyone else around him. He could List:en to Pokemon, a blessing given to the youngest son of the Sukui line in every generation. Generally, he could understand water types the best—to him, they sounded exactly like a person speaking. On the other end of the spectrum, electric types were almost completely lost on him: apart from a general feel of emotion, he could only discern an irritating background noise from them. He was only greatful neither Lyra nor Demi had one, at least not yet.
So what was the problem? He'd admit, it sounded great in concept: some would kill to understand their partners better. And when it was just a quiet conversation between Ripple and him, he could truly appreciate his quirk. But now, on the streets?
"Hungry-" "Too spicy-!" "Idiots, idiots everywhere..." "But that's just a theory!" "Is water wet?" "Why isn't it a water type, again?"
"Who's that-?" "I could go for a coffee right now" ":3" "Vaporeon isn't even that cool..." "Get away from me!"
"chocolate..." "It's that Hypno again." "Do you know what ELSE is massive?" "RAH!" "Chin up!"
"You promised!"
"HATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATE." "Ugh, him again—" "The Swords—" "❄︎♒︎♏︎ ♌︎♏︎♑︎♓︎■︎■︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ♌︎♏︎♑︎♓︎■︎■︎♓︎■︎♑︎📬︎"
The noise was deafening. Covering his ears didn't help, either—he'd long since puzzled that out since he began Listen:ing to them speak. His understanding didn't come from what they were 'saying', not in a traditional way anyway. Some pokemon didn't even have mouths to speak with, though he heard them loud and clear; the current theory his family were going through was it was a form of 'mind-reading', as ridiculous as it sounded. Everyone knew true telepathy was impossible, afterall.
Andrew walked at a brisk pace, slowing as the noise finally began to wane slightly. Eventually, his saviour, the bus stop, was up ahead. He checked his phone quickly, letting out a sigh of relief at the ' five minutes' gracing him on the schedule. It wasn't a fancy or even fast way of travelling, but it was the only one willing to go to Flamionis' edge; people seemed to have a real aversion to actually leaving the town in the traditional way, either from tales of powerful, territorial pokemon ready to maul unsuspecting trainers or superstitions of bad fortune to those who dared try. Of course, people didn't just stay cooped up in this small, nowhere town: standardised routes through anomalous Green Space—Desire Paths, as it was coined a while before he was born—were the norm for travel to and from Flamionis.
Andrew knew better than stupid myths however. The stigma against the edge of town was more of annoyance than anything else. Just why did they have to live there again?
"Could you perhaps reconsider where to sit?" He snapped, but scratched her under the chin anyway. The Feraligatr had ungraciously threw herself with a huff, clearly still in denial that she wasn't a lap pokemon anymore. Ripple shook her head with a blissed out expression, then began to gnaw on his arm gently. He groaned. Might as well get comfortable. With a sigh, he took out his phone once more, then browsed his messages. Lyra still hadn't responded to his text—strange, considering for the past week she had replied within an hour at most. And apologised profusely if she took anything over 10 minutes. Perhaps she finally found something else to do than bother him?
He opens his unread texts, and freezes. Ripple lazily tilts her head up, with an inquisitive whine.
3 unread messages, all from him. He opens the contact labelled 'Your destiny.' (he had tried and failed to change it from that, and had eventually given up). They said,
Where are you? It is unlike you to be so tardy.
If I have offended you in any way, please tell me. You know I tend to struggle deciphering your will.
This is going too far now. The only thing you're accomplishing is worrying your parents and me. Please respond, Andrew.
He sucked in the warm, summer air. It felt cold against his teeth.
"It's him again?" Rippel said with a huff. Her good eye looked intently up at him. "You've already told him to leave you alone."
She was bluntly honest, as always, but it was a little bit more complicated than that. His fingers slipped feverishly over the digital keyboard, trying and failing to think of an appropiate response. The familiar humming of a vehicle sounded from in front. Silently grateful, Andrew watched the red bus deccelerate to a stop in front of him; he quickly shoveled the phone back into his pocket, and patted Ripple on the head, who stood up with a small grumble of dissatisfaction.
Board the bus. Scan your pass with an affirmative beep from the receiver. It was all going swimmingly, until the driver behind the glass whistled sharply.
"Damn, kid!" She tapped the glass separating them with a predatory gleam in her eyes. "That's a strong-looking Feraligatr you got over there. How much for it?"
Andrew paused. "Pardon?"
"How much for the gator with the gnarly eye scar?" She repeats. "Been thinking of getting back into the swing of things. It looks terrifying too, those teeth!"
He breathed in deeply, then released the air from his lungs. "She isn't for sale," he responded curtly. He took a step forward, towards safety in the bus seats, hoping that she would get the message. Ripple followed, her displeasure humming loudly behind him in his ears.
"Wait, wait, every pokemon has a price: 'specially a female starter, those are crazy rare! How about this? I give you a crisp £500 for her, you wait a few months for the magic to happen, and you get a brand new Totodile egg to keep as yours! It's a win-win, if you ask me."
"£500 pounds?" He sputters out, blinking wildly. Surely a life wasn't that cheap?
"A steal, innit? Most places'll only give ya £250 for it, if you're lucky. You coming around to the idea then, kid?"
Before he could retort, Ripple slams her fist against the glass, loud enough to make it squeal with barely-contained power. The driver's face quickly sours. "Woah, woah, easy girl! Ain't no-one trying to hurt you!" she chuckles, looking helplessly at you. "Fancy returning her to her pokeball? Big girl's getting a little worked up."
"Don't have it on me," he responded coldly. People like this deserved no warmth from him. Ripple arched a brow at him, raking her claws against the glass. Andrew considered it for a moment, but thinks better of it; he shook his head, and Ripple relinquished with a snort. The woman slumped over in the driver's seat with a relieved sigh. Andrew leaned in front of the glass, for a final, condemning remark.
"And lady? They all understand what you say perfectly clearly; and not all of them'll listen when someone tells them to back off."
Just when did people start to forget how powerful the monsters they lived amongst? He pitied those who thought they could go toe-to-toe with pokemon, and still be left standing.
"Ripple, let's sit," he said, then walked away. Something told him she didn't want to go back into her pokeball, so he decided he might as well enjoy the company. When he sat down, Ripple squeezed awkwardly against him—these seats probably weren't designed with a whole Feraligatr in mind. She held her head in her claws when she sat. "Not feeling like crushing me now?" He joked. The trainer barely managed to catch a half-hearted excuse of being tired from her.
Condensation collected between the gaps in her claws. This wasn't usual behaviour for her, so he pattted her gently on the head. "Ripple?" The condensation evaporated away hastily, from her hands, as if it had never been there. Just when had she learnt to do that? With a tempermental huff, the Feraligatr tilted her head up, and he quickly noticed her red, puffy eyes.
"She's an idiot," he assured her, but she didn't seem convinced.
"I nearly did it," she started, looking blankly at her own claws. "'Poke-proof glass.' What a joke." He tried to retort, but she just kept talking: he couldn't tell whether it was directed at him, or she was just letting the thoughts flow out like water. "It would've been so easy, too. I'm sure my claws would've nicely slotted between her eyes. Maybe rip out that tongue too while I'm at it, to make sure she never says anything like that again." Her claw rests gently on the seat. The feeble fabric gives way like butter to the blade, with a wailing tear.
"Ripple—"
"—But maybe my jaws would have worked better? She did like my teeth. Maybe she'd like to feel them in her own flesh." Something bubbled beneath her with those words that he could feel like a fog- it settled heavily over her eye, which in turn glistened with power. "Quick, and clean, just how you like it. In fact, we could do it right now..."
Her innner monologue trails off into hateful fantasising. With an exasperated sigh, he racked his brain quickly on something, anything to snap her out of this. His mind settled on a certain, irritating Typhlosion.
"Hey. Do you think Paprika gives good hugs?" He said. placing a hand on her snout. She went cross-eyed trying to look at his hand, then gave up with a squeak.
"What...?" She asked dumbly. He hissed out of his teeth, but continued.
"He's freakishly fuzzy. I bet your hand would just sink into his fur if you pressed it against him." Ripple blinked wetness out of eyes rapidly, then nodded.
"I guess. His fur kinda tasted like, what's the word, candy fuzz?"
"Candy floss?" He suggested gingerly. Ripple lights up with a wide smile.
"Yeah, that! Definitely then," she said. The Feraligatr leaned against him gently. "I envy that annoying human. Demi could get hugs from him whenever he wanted." Tears begin to streak down her snout and onto his lap. The water-type rambled on about the semantics of hugging fuzzy Typhlosion. Looking out of the window, Andrew listened, ocassionally giving an affirmative grunt or nod—she didn't need anybody to talk to, only someone to listen.
"Why did you bring him up?" she eventually grunts, sharpening her claws against eachother with a screech. Andrew jolted to attention, stammering out his response.
"Because you were spiralling. Again." He said. Ripple sniffed.
"Sorry," she muttered, nestling her head into his chest. The Feraligatr looked absolutely ridiculous, her body contorted in ways that baffled Andrew, just to lay herself on him. She puffed out warm breaths against him chest in an irregular rhythm.
"Don't be. You're trying your best," he said softly, then rested his head against hers. Screw fluffiness, Feraligatr scales could be quite comfy too- comfortable enough that Andrew slipped into a light sleep, lulled by the steady breathing of the beast beneath him.
"This is the last stop!" A voice announced. Andrew groggily awoke, then tapped Ripple in the jaw until she was roused too.
"We gotta get off," he said, trying to stand up. The Feraligatr reluctantly stood up too. As they walked towards the door, Andrew caught sight of the driver trying to sneak off the bus before they noticed. Their eyes met. She wilted like a flower underneath his burning gaze. It took only a warning growl from Ripple to send her running off the bus, nearly falling over as she did.
"We'll get on the later bus next time," he said, his eyes still fixed on the place she had been in. "We don't need filth like that bothering us."
With a hmph of agreement, Ripple stepped off the bus, and he followed. After a few seconds of walking, the gravitas of his actions hit him once more, no longer an ignorable buzz behind his anger at the driver. What was he going to say once they got there? Andrew breathed heavier, but didn't let it show to Ripple as she walked in front. The house wasn't that far from here: he could see it peeking out already. An intimidating flight of stairs led up to the zenith with the bungalow on top. He was mentally preparing himself for the ascent, when Ripple turned around with a titanic grin.
"I shall be your humble steed," she said with bombast, and took a knee in front of him. He scoffed loudly, looking around as if there was a secret camera in on the joke. Ripple puffed out her cheeks. "Just get on!"
He wondered if this was some attempt to cheer him up. It didn't really work, but he appreciated the effort anyway: so he hoisted himself awkwardly onto the Feraligatr's bulky shoulders, and held on tight.
"Comfortable?" She chortled. He reluctantly answered positive. Without a second wasted, the Feraligatr treated him to one of the rare times she moved quickly; with only a small pant as warning, space melted into a bright blur, quickly robbing him of his vision. The trainer could only press himself as tight as he could against the sprinting Feraligatr on all fours, his only clear sensation the unyielding tremours sent through his bones with each and every heavy impact she made with the rocky stairs. Wind knived past his ears in a high chorus of movement and speed, and he was admittedly terrified he'd let go and be sent flying. By the time the Feraligatr screeched to a halt at the top of the staircase, he was winded and felt like throwing up—though, a twisted sense of pride gripped his heaving chest. Ripple could be fast.
"There we go!" She said, her large jaw ajar as she scooped up air into her mouth. "We should...do that more often."
"We shall not," He responded hastily—that was not becoming a regular thing. He shook his head at her disappointed growl as he threw open, feeling slightly more confident to deal with the challenge ahead. Speaking of challenges...
"Andrew, you're home," He said, with a courteous bow. The monster in front of him sat patiently on its hind legs, its meticulously maintained purple mane flowing in tandem with ribbons streaming off of its head. The centre of attraction- the stunning aquarmarine jewel, encrusted into its forhead in the shape of a diamond- gleamed sharply in the sunlight streaming through a nearby window, blinding the human and Feraligatr as they looked.
He gritted his teeth. "Yes, yes we are." He responded. This was his second 'quirk' of his, continuously his headache to bear:
His Implement, Suicune.
Gliding gracefully on its dainty yet powerful limbs, he sauntered down to greet them. "How was your day? Pleasant, I assume?"
"Tch. Where's Dad?"
He frowned. "Still not back from their excursion, you know this."
"Then I'll be in my room. Call me if you need anything," Andrew replied, his eyes trained on the door to his room. Suicune let out an ungraceful squeak.
"J-just wait, young man! Are you not hungry? I did my research, humans eat three times daily! I prepared some rice if you'd entertain the meal."
"I'm not hungry. Ripple can have mine." He countered, ignoring the happy buzz he List:ened from Ripple. Suicune whimpered, making him roll his eyes.
"Forgive me for being a little selfish, but will't you at least try? For all my power, it is quite difficult to operate a stove with paws..." He pleaded with big, wet eyes. Andrew was unfazed.
"Yeah, you're powerful. I get it, you mention it a lot. Just leave me alone," he grumbled, walking around the Living Legend to get his room. He shut the door behind him—the Suicune didn't get the message. It opened the door, sticking in the tip of his dainty snout.
"Andrew," he began. Andrew cut him off savagely.
"Didn't anyone teach you to knock?!" He shouted, groaning as he threw himself onto his bed. Unease bubbled sharply in his chest with each and every breath; whenever he tried to control his breathing the feeling lashed out with knives at his ribs, punishing him with sharp pain. He was told that he'd be personally acquainted with Suicune eventually, but nobody told him that day would be today—he'd honestly prefer it if he was all prissy and stuck-up like the legends portrayed him as, instead of so casual and concerned for him. Father had warned him not to fall victim for the farce; though even now, Andrew found his resolve wavering.
Suicune eked itself into his room, until he could see its red eye poking through. "No, they didn't. What is knocking?"
He paused. How does one even begin to explain? Sighing loudly, Andrew sat up on the bed. "If a door's closed, you hit it. Then you come in." Suicune tilted its head.
"Seems like a waste of good woodworking to me. But, if you insist," he said. Suicune grabbed the doorhandle with a ribbon, walking backwards and shutting it.
Wait, why would it be a waste? It wasn't like he was going to break it, or—
—Oh no.
With a sickening crack, Suicune's balled paw easily caves a hole into the oak door. Pieces of wood splintered out in all directions, a piece landing insultingly on his bed. It carefully removes its front leg from the hole, and opens the door once more.
"Did I do it right?" He asks, innocently batting its long eyelashes. He felt like picking up his shoe, and lobbing it right at that dollface.
He List:ened into a laugh from Ripple. "It isn't funny!" He shouts, and the Feraligatr quickly disappears from Listen:ing distance, leaving only a slightly bashful looking Suicune standing by the door.
"I assume I didn't, from your expression," he continues sheepishly. "Did I hit it too hard?"
"You think?"
He hums submissively in acknowledgement; the human buried his reddening face into his hands. When he looked back up, his Implement still hadn't left.
"...I'll eat the damn rice. Just don't break anything else," he relinquished. Suicune's face visibly brightens as he dragged himself out of bed.
"You'll love it! I researched so many human recipes on those bright boxes of yours..."
"You still broke my door, though." He said with a scowl, and Suicune backed off with a sheepish grin, shutting the door (gently) behind him. Leaving him, alone, to think. Finally. He ignored the splintered door for now and flopped back onto the bed, still reeling from the day's events.
"Andrew," a faint, muffled voice buzzed from afar. He pushed the presence away in his mind. Andrew was perfectly content to just rot in bed for a brief moment, thank-you-very-much. Whoever was calling him would have to wait.
"Aaaandrewww!" Regrettably, he was forced to List:en to the voice was more; it hummed like a particularly whiny swarm of locusts deep behind his eyes. He scrunched his eyes shut, to little help.
"Leave me alone," he moaned, burying his face into the velvety pillows. They were still too soft, despite his requests for other beddings- the accolytes just assumed they knew best, as always. His face sank uncomfortably far into the yielding surface.
"Andrew!"
The voice ripped through his eyes with a searing pain. He blindly shouted a 'what!' whilst gripping his temple, cursing whoever was calling him with a passion. Mind filled with static, he clumsily stumbled out of bed and towards the door, watching the yellow iris settled behind the makeshift window left generously by Suicune. The pupil dilated to wide, inquisitive puddles like locomotion. They darted across the room, before settling on his face.
"Suicune--you--Dinner--Too-Salty--"
That was all he managed List:en to: everything else was lost in a crackling pain of static, fizzling from behind his eyes. He tried to focus on Ripple's words, but only managed to send a sharp, pain straight through his head, whiting out his vision. By the time he had steadied himself against the wall, Ripple had already flung open the door and was holding him with a concerned hrr.
"I think you broke something," He muttered, leaning into the Feraligatr's weight. He tried to supress a laugh as Ripple worriedly searched his body- each chuckle sent new precpices of pain spiking into his head. "No, don't be daft. Not physically anyway. Let's just go eat whatever crap Suicune's cooked. My afternoon can't get any worse," He said bitterly, walking towards the door. Ripple steadied him with a giant claw, which he batted away gently. He was fine. He knew the door frame was there, and wasn't going to walk into it as he left.
Andrew found that his head hurt the least with his eyes trained on the ground. He walked as quickly as he could to the dining room, briefly flicking his eyes up to watch Suicune dance around the table with an apron fluttering with the motion like a cape. A pot of rice was subtly carried with suspended water, the water particles so fine that an untrained eye would think the Living Legend was psychic. He knew better, of course; Suicune's potency had been drilled into his head every day since he could walk.
"Andrew dear, are you alright?" Suicune queried, crouching down ridiculously close to the floor until he was forced to look his deep eyes. He looked away with a tch.
"I'm fine," he said between pursed lips, the sound pressed out and elongated unnaturally. The Legend hummed decisively. He jerked back as he felt a cold and wet paw stroke his forehead. Why were they wet? How were they wet?!
With a sigh, Suicune retreated. "I see, I see... so soon already? The potential in this generation is astounding!"
"Speak english," he snapped, not caring how disrespectful he sounded. If the pseudo-deity walked into his life like he belonged there, he'd be treated as such.
"Apologies. I suppose such a short lifespan would make you impatient: I hear it is a defining factor of adolescence, too!" Andrew glowered the beast down. "I'll get to the point. Welcome to your first List:ening sickness! It may be painful and confusing at first, but don't worry—I have helped almost all in the Suikun ancestry with this. How are you feeling, Andrew?"
He looked at Ripple in disbelief, who merely shrugged back. "Crap. Like someone stuck an old telly behind my eyes and left it running." He admitted, slouching down on his chair. Suicune sat patiently in front of him.
His eye twitched. "See, that's good! Consider that a testament of how far you've come as a List:ener."
"I couldn't have just gotten a 'well-done' for it?"
Suicune ignored his snarky comment. "To remedy your pain, just stop List:ening for a few days—the buzz shall fade eventually."
What? Andrew must've been staring intensely at the pokemon, because he continued soon afterwards with a nervous grin. "You look confused. Is my English less than satisfactory?"
"It's alright. I should turn it off?"
"Yes. I said that. Weren't you listening?"
"I thought List:ening was a permanent thing. There's an off-switch?" He asked, palms clenched together firmly. Suicune looked back with a blank smile.
"Yeees? Why does this sound like new information?"
His ignorant tone infuriated Andrew- why was he so out of the loop? You'd think someone waiting for him to be ready since his birth would at least know a bit about him. "Because it is- I've just been dealing with this racket in my head ever since I was 7! Tch—I don't even care anymore. Just tell me how to do it."
"W-what?" He said, the normally steady smile plastered on his face wavering slightly. Large, gleaming teeth peeked out between upturned lips. "I-I don't know," Suicune spluttered out, and it gave Andrew a slight comfort seeing how thoroughly ruffled he was: looks like there was something behind that calmness he kept around himself. "It's like asking the Deerling foal how it learnt to walk! Or the Charmander how it keeps its flame alight, they just- do."
The pokemon played with a ribbon as he talked. "How have you not gone insane?" It whispered in an almost accusatory tone. Suicune's eyes had narrowed to disturbing slits. Moisture in the air condensed into the air, falling onto the floor in a probing drumming of rain. "Even the best List:eners I've trained couldn't go more than a conversation before intense, long-lasting pain. And you've just been dealing with it?"
"I don't know," he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. "It isn't much worse than dealing with you talking at me." The human's leg bounced uneasily. Even now, Ripple's inner monologue buzzed foggily in his head despite the pain. This wasn't meant to be normal? "So what do I do now?" He asked. Suicune muttered something to itself in an language he didn't recognise, shaking its head distressedly. Its normally pristine hair was drenched in water, swaying weakly as he paced. He looked as if something had gone terrribly, fatally wrong.
"Suicune?" He muttered softly after a pause. The Living Legend flinched back with a growl.
"I do not know!" He shouted, and the pain in his head returned tenfold, like a swarm of irate bees. "I don't know, okay?! How am I meant to? Nobody told me that one of you humans wouldn't work normally!" He spat the word out like bitter phlegm, shaking his head wildly. Ripple took a step forward, but no further. A concerned expression mottled her face. "I didn't want to work with some... some moody adolescent who doesn't know who I am, and probably wouldn't respect it anyway! This isn't how things are meant to be," his voice trailed off into a meager drawl. The Suicune laid his head on the dining room table, weakly swatting violet hair out of its eyes. "I don't know," he said again, holding his head in his paws.
Ah. That cursed word again. 'Normal.'
He stood up: the pain was more bearable than staying here any longer, even as his world blurred slightly. "I'll take some Paras-cetemol for it," he said, already walking to a familiar cupboard he knew some would be kept: it was usually for Ripple, but it would do just fine for him. As much as he tried not to look back, he stole one a glance at Suicune.
Was this the pokemon he had been pledged to from birth? Utterly pathetic.
"W-where are you going? We need to figure this out," he mewled, still too afraid to actually follow through with the intent.
"Go find some other kid to bother. Hopefully you can find someone more normal. I'm going to my room," he spat, turning on his heels and walking away. Suicune started stammering out something else, so he shut him up quickly. Despite keeping his voice calm and level, just like he had been told to his entire life, he couldn't stop the sheer exhaustion rushing out like flames, hot on his tongue in his response.
"I'm going to my room. Please do not disturb me." He said coldly, then continued walking. Ignoring the hole in the door- another one of the Legendary's blunders- he threw himself on the too-soft bed, and tried to ignore the buzzing in his head. He did not bother changing out of his school clothes before trying to rest, despite how the Sun still shone with promise outside.
Somebody knocked at the door. "What part of don't disturb me don't you monsters understand?!" He screamed, any semblance of composure lost from his voice. A lumbering Feraligatr walked in without a word, then laid down beside him. He pushed her half-heartedly in the jaw.
"Piss off," he said. He didn't mean it, and Ripple knew it. Her presence tickled lightly at the edges of his consciousness, tentatively asking for entrance. Pain prickled in his vision, but he nodded emotionlessly.
"Demi." She stated curtly. Andrew looked her in the eye welling with emotion. She blinked slowly, then looked away.
"What do I think of him?" He said. Ripple nodded. The human took a deep breath in, letting every ill-will against his new acquaintance escape with the controlled air out of his mouth.
There was something... spunkish about that boy. Something about him that was unbearably loud to be around, eagerly challenging those around him to do something about it. Andrew would be less bothered if it was just fragile masculinity, like many of the other teens he'd met. It was admittedly a guilty pleasure, shattering their sensitive egos with his pokemon. But that boy? There was something else behind him. The Sukui line prized serenity above all else, a tradition Andrew religiously upheld despite the rest of his qualms with tthe rest of their aethos. Although it had been relatively easy unitl now, even that brief meeting with Demi had begun to unravel him quickly.
It wasn't his fault, of course: how were you meant to stay calm against someone with seemingly so little respect for your pokemon? He saw the way he had stared down Ripple, with nothing more than a challenging glare. It irked him to no ends. How were you meant to stay calm, when they were blissfully (and viciously) ignorant to everything you stood for? Demi treated battling as a fun past time—foolish. And the worst crime: how were you meant to stay calm, when their sinful way of living seemed to work? Demi had wiped the floor with them with little difficulty. And in such an unorthodox manner, too: unacceptable, absolutely unacceptable. He would have to train harder from now on, to put idiots like him in their place.
"He's interesting," Andrew said finally, fiddling with his sleeve. "Certainly an intriguing one to keep our eyes on."
"I," she spat, "would like to see that smug face punched in. "
She mimed punching the air with a whap. Andrew chuckled, despite the pain throbbing in his ears: he was sure somebody was delivering that punch for Ripple, right about now. Incredibly sure, in fact. He eyed the Feraligatr slowing inching closer suspiciously. "We should still up our training, just in case; we'll only get more challenges like that after school starts for real."
Ripple groaned. Andrew scoffed. "What?"
"They always bring out a grass type. Those Grass Knots hurt like hell..." she complained.
"They hurt more the more you weigh. Lay off the cookies, and maybe try going on runs more often," he responded. Her eye glinted furiously.
"I have a dense skeleton," he List:ened with some difficulty. "You know that!"
It was true, although it didn't hurt to take the mick out of her every once in a while. He was so busy winding her up that he didn't even notice the gator launch forward at killer speeds with a clear victim in mind- the innocent human was brutally smushed under nearly a hundred pounds of pure alligator.
"And now you're trying to crush me to death!" he said, punching her in the neck. His fist slid harmlessly over the cold, slightly wet scales. "You're freezing. Pull this sort of stunt in winter, and I swear I'll get you deported to some swamp in Johto. Don't try me!"
Ripple chuckled throatily in response, only redoubling her efforts to hold him close. She clearly had a vendetta against moody humans left unhugged.
"If you're going to bother me, at least answer this: why'd you do it?"
Ripple frowned, and static buzzed like tv static around her words. "Did what?"
He didn't want to come off as rude, but was too tired to phrase it any other way. "Walked home with me today. Got on the bus, too: you usually hate that stuff."
"I needed it," she answered quickly. "Been feeling antsy recently; dunno why. It's the kind of feeling I get when the weather's about to change. But don't act like you didn't need the company too. You're lonely."
He scoffed incredulously at that one. "I pick my friends carefully. Not my problem you're one of the only ones to be satisfactory so far."
"I know, I know. You'll try with these ones this time, though, right? Even Demi?"
He paused. Lyra was alright, overzealous at worst—she had a resolve hidden that even she herself didn't seem to notice. Andrew could learn to respect someone like that. Demi however?
"I make no promises," he said, turning over on the bed to escape her gaze. Ripple forced him to turn back.
"Make one for me. Now." She demanded, her eyes narrowing. Their gazes contested for a moment, but the pokemon came out victorious. She had always been irritatingly persistent; though part of Andrew was thankful for that. It helped to have at least one person knowing what they were doing in your life, even if it was solely just to meddle with it.
"Alright, alright," he conceded. What were those boys and their Dragapult running for? Andrew still found himself wondering, wondering what it would be like to worry about nothing save for your own next destination- Suicune's words still bothered him at the back of his mind, but Andrew fought down his worries for now. Now, he decided to focus on Ripple, still staring at him with expectant but caring eyes.
"I'll try. Just for you."
Notes:
The Clefable seems deep in thought, in whatever book she's reading. So focused that it takes you a moment to summon up your courage before you can walk up to her. It stirrs with a small chirp, then smiles sweetly at you. Interestingly enough, she knows what you're looking for before you even ask. She opens the old but loved book to a page titled 'Mach:inations.'.
'Mach:inations'. A long contested but undoubtedly present part of human history. Believed to originate from the Bright's power- before pokeballs were widely available, they were humankinds only defense against the monsters we share the planet with. Mach:inations are, in simple terms, human equivalents to pokemon moves and techniques. Do not be deceived however: Mach:inations are always weaker than actual moves. Furthermore, not all humans can learn Mach:inations, usually confined to a specific demographic or mindset of human. Further information has been proposed but is unconfirmed- these are only the facts we understand about Mach:inations.
The description wasn't what you were looking for. You thank the Clefable for its help, then hand the book back. It squeaks urgently however, redirecting your attention back to the page. Not seeing what else to do, you begin to read the 'Mach:inations' again.
'Mach:inations'. A long contested but extremely prominent part of human history. Theories suggest it origins from the Dark's power- before humans learned how to harness and control the monsters they share the planet with. Mach:inations, despite being weaker than pokemon moves, are undoubtedly potent in their uses- albeit restricted to specific bloodlines or groups.
You wipe your eyes. Had the page changed? The Clefable chuckles lightly and closes the book. You try to get another look at it, but it slaps away your hand with a frown and points to the clock: it was getting late. It hops off its high chair, and floats mystically down to a desk. She scribbles down something on the paper, and hands it to you. 'Come back later,' it read. With a dazed nod, you turn around and take your leave, thoughts of shifting pages and meanings swirling in your head. Further investigation was needed, it seems.
Chapter 18: In Which we Fight a Losing Battle -- Darkside
Summary:
Paprika's going through it. Don't worry though! He'll be fine.
...Probably. Idk. Maybe some tea could solve his problems? It couldn't hurt to try though, would it?
This one's extra long, and the next'll probably be around the same length. Happy reading!
Chapter Text
A two-turn attack. The user gathers light, then blasts a bundled beam on the second turn.
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Paprika!" She shouted over the growing thunder of light in the air. Paprika chuffed in response. The Typhlosion tossed his weight forward into a roll, colliding like a furry cannonball with Ife's side. Her concentration lapsed for a split second, just enough time for the Solar Beam gathering to disperse in sparkles. But Ife punished him with a warning kick to the side, her claws sinking uncomfortably far into his fur. And further.
"...What the hell?"
And further still. Soon, Meganium was half a foot deep in Typhlosion. She ripped her front leg away with heavy grunt. He patted his own body down. Nothing broken, it seemed: he could at least be grateful for that. Paprika scrambled to his feet to look at the Meganium once again, who was circling him with a tired frown.
"Seems like that's new for you too," she said cooly. Although when Paprika inched closer, she retaliated with a flurry of vines erupting from the ground, leaving angry red marks through his fur on his already battered arms.
"Can we not talk this out?" He pleaded. Ife's face somehow darkened despite the Sun beating down on them mercilessly.
"Talking? Y'still trying try t'pull that crap on me again? Get with the program, Typhlosion!"
Light collected above her once again. Surely she couldn't throw another one at him?
A two-turn attack. The user gathers light, then blasts a bundled beam on the second turn.
The beam smashed into his side: is this what those Metapod felt back then? Paprika felt sick, whether due to his exhaustion or moral disgust he couldn't tell. But even then, those Metapod had endured the hits, with nothing more than a blank glare and a Harden in response. And Solar Beam was a grass type move, right? Pretty sure he resisted that, even if didn't feel like it: he could endure this, he just had to. Gathering his courage, he called out once more to Ife. "This doesn't help us find Bud in the slightest! What would Lyra say if she was here right now?!"
Ife to hesitated; Paprika was given brief reprise. "Lyra ain't here, right now," she responded, eyes downcast to the ground. "Ain't no one here to judge me but you. I'll take you out of the picture, then get what I need t'know out of that Quilava, even if I hafta rip out all of her pretty lil' teeth."
Paprika hoped that Scarlet was okay. Her spunk reminded him of Demi, but she was hurt —small droplets of dried blood led to a nearby bush, like a dramatic murder scene he used to see on tv. Except it was here. In front of him.
Just what had he gotten himself into? And, was it Ife's fault?
The Meganium scales shone in the light, casting green reflections onto the sunbaked ground. Ife flourished in the harsh sunlight; Paprika was just uncomfortably warm more than anything else. Gosh, what he'd do just to pull off an Eruption right now...
"That's all you've got then?" Ife said: more disappointed than taunting. "Standing there like a headless chicken. Maybe that win against Ripple really was just a fluke."
Paprika didn't respond. He was too tired for this: he'd kill for a bed to crash in. Ife tutted, her voice laced with surprising softness.
"But maybe that's for the better. Just relax for me, and I promise I'll make this quick," she said, before slamming a foot into the ground. Paprika had better sense than to stand around and wait: he took a step back, narrowly avoiding a frenzy of plants lashing in front of him.
"That looked painful," he said, nervously observing the rows of razor sharp thorns lacing the vines whilst twiddling his paws together. Ife really did mean business.
"A lot of things are!" She replied, and Paprika got a sudden feeling that it would be quite a bad idea to stand where he was. He forced his protesting legs into run, his paws pounding painfully against the ground. Vines writhed with fury. Paprika screamed. Ife looked onwards with an intense gaze. "You get used to the pain after a while, though—trust me."
His panic was briefly override by festering curiosity. "What?"
Ife laughed dryly. "Yer wouldn't know. Everyone loves a Cyndaquil, or a Quilava, or a Typhlosion," She spat. "Powerful, respectable pokemon. If you were strong enough, no one could tell ya what to do anymore. Could've culled this whole mess before it even began."
Paprika puffed out a weighty plume of smoke. "I don't think I understand," he said. He didn't like where this conversation was going, but anything was better than just being whacked around by some vines or beams of light. He just had to keep her talking.
"Who's the last kid you saw with a Meganium, Paprika?" She asked. Although come to think of it, back in that hall he hadn't spotted a single other Meganium. He had dismissed it at the time as mere coincidence, of course, but now?
"You're right," he muttered. Ife nodded with a grim expression. Paprika matched her nerve with optimism. "But you're plenty strong! So what's your problem?"
"My problem? Do you think I just woke up powerful one day? 'Cause I sure as hell know that you did! Sweet Paprika, wouldn't hurt a fly, yet somehow shrugs off Solar Beams and Frenzy Plants like nothing!"
Paprika responded meekly. "So that's what the vine-thing's called, I knew I had heard of that before..." Ife glowered at him with a wild glare.
"See what I mean? Excuse me for bein' a bit envious, but it just ain't fair!" Her foot stamped viciously; Paprika flinched, half-expecting more of those terribly sharp vines to come shooting up. Nothing. He relaxed once more, regarding Ife with a cautious yet sympathetic smile.
"I see where you're coming from," he said quickly: maybe, just maybe he could talk her down. If he could just do that, they could even help Hirb! He was sure Scarlet would come around to the idea, too. "I think it'd suck for me too, if I felt I wasn't strong enough to do what I needed. But you aren't weak, Ife! So please, could we think of another solution to this? I really don't wanna fight you," he begged, not caring how his voice trailed off into a wheeze.
"You think," she sauntered forwards casually. Paprika tried to maintain a wavering smile. "You see, but do you know?!"
She didn't even bother making eye contact before assailing him once more. Groaning achingly, the Typhlosion forced his heavy arms up once more; frantic vines slammed into him with a reckless (but waning) fury. "This isn't working," he assured her, gritting his teeth when another whipped against his side—they hurt like hell. Still, the Typhlosion persisted, for everyone's sake. He could get through this. Everyone could be happy in the end! There just had to be another way, he knew it.
Solar Beam sounded its radiant alarm, forcing the Typhlosion's eyes up; Ife was hunched over into herself. She looked as if she would collapse in a light breeze, as fragile as a wilting leaf. His voice battling a losing fight against the light in the air, Paprika pleaded out one last time to Ife.
"You're not getting back up after this one," he warned. Ife growled back, shaking any doubts out of her head with a snort. Her petals quivered explosively. Light gathered into an impossibly incandescent orb above her. It washed a sea of overpowering heat over the Typhlosion, unlike any warmth he had felt before. It wasn't comforting or rejuvenating, instead blindly hostile; it prickled against his skin through his fur in waves of incredibly small but sharp needles, forcing a gasp out of him. The Typhlosion found himself looking back, briefly catching sight through a distant bush of a downed Quilava, a delirious Bayleef and a dissociating Crocnaw. He ripped his gaze away from the sight with a heavy chuff. The Meganium was gathering destructive power with a crazed expression once again.
"It doesn't matter what happens next, if you don't get up either! All I need is one irritating Typhlosion out of the way, and I can do whatever I want afterwards with those runts! "
What happened next was short and bitter: pain, white-hot, roaring, pain pushed in him inwards. Stretched him out, laid his desires and agony bare like a tapestry, in shades of warm orange and red. He breathed in, and out. Pain clawed around his lungs in thorny vices with each and every compression and expansion of his innards. He could see nothing in the dark. Paprika got the notion that maybe he didn't needed to see- perhaps, he only needed what he knew elsewhere.
A seed presented itself politely in his paws. It throbbed insistently in his grasp with a comforting heat, despite the pain wracking his body- he focused on that, the undulating warmth anchored against the pain spiking against his being. The Typhlosion snorted, though no sound came from his maw. What good was a seed in a time like this? Destruction was wrought in all directions- nothing but a budding seed to defend himself with seemed more like an insult than anything else.
It pulsed harder, forcing his arm forward. Paprika reconsidered the unassuming object: what was it? Small, for one. Fragile. Paprika was sure he could crush it into smithereens with nothiing more than a half-hearted squeeze. But it could be so much more. How big, he wondered, would this seed grow? The thought put a faint sense of excitement into him, despite the scenario- it didn't matter what it grew into, Paprika was sure it would be meaningful.
There! That was all it took. A faint spark of a half-baked idea branded the hardy little seed, the seed that had travelled from Kanto to Kalos all in vain, waiting eternally for someone to solve its mystery. If it was being honest, it was quite close to just calling it quits there too! But then, it was given to a Trevenant. Then a Typhlosion. And, when it had been expecting the Typhlosion to take months or even years to puzzle out its mystery, it had just done it! In a day! Maybe this new generation wasn't as forsaken as it thought.
Better stay focused though- it couldn't miss its moment, not after all these years. Things would change, whether those old sods Dark and Bright wanted it or not.
With a hum of satisfaction and a surge of vitality, the seed finally began to grow.
Cold. Not hot, not burning: not ripping through his entire body. Just... cool. It was a comfort, though an odd one.
He didn't know when he ended up the ground. Paprika didn't know why it hurt so much to stand, either. Still, the Typhlosion forced himself to his feet reluctantly: who knew the floor could be so comfortable?
Did he always have this fanny pack? The Typhlosion opened it, but didn't recognise any of the contents: maybe it was someone else's. He took it off, and threw it to the ground.
No, it was always his. He... got it for his birthday, remember? I'm surprised you've forgotten so soon. Checking that it—and the vital package inside—was secured safely, he began to deal with the aftermath of whatever had happened. Looking forward, Ife was collapsed in an unsightly heap of vines and limbs: it was hard to tell where her foot ended and already dying biomatter began. With a whine of concern, Paprika ripped away the aging vines from her body no matter how hard they clung. When he was done, there was nothing save for the barely breathing form of the Meganium. He breathed a sigh of relief. She would be okay.
"We could end it now, right?"
His head whipped around. Ryppel had creeped out of the bushes, leering behind him like a hyena closing in on its prey. He took another step closer.
"That thing," he said, pointing at Ife's sunken form, "hurt Scarlet. She hasn't said anything to me. Do you know the last time Scarlet shut up?"
Paprika shook his head. "I can't let that happen. She didn't mean to hurt her!" He denied the notion with a passion, even if he didn't believe his own reasoning himself: he just had to have faith. Faith in Ife.
Ryppel reacted with neither anger or sadness: instead, he posed a single question to the Typhlosion.
"When would she have stopped?" He asked, looking intensely at him. The Typhlosion's ears pricked up despite his exhaustion.
"When she found out where Bud was," he answered meekly, busying his vision with Ife's petals.
"Scarlet wouldn't give that up. She's too proud—we all are. So where does that leave us?" His voice quivered. "Would she pluck out her claws after the teeth? Maybe her eyes too? And then, when there was nothing else to take but her life, would that monster do it?"
"No, no, no," He denied once more. Truthfully, he couldn't answer that question himself: just how desperate had she been? Paprika couldn't fathom how unbearably weighty dealing with this must've been. Demi and him had been separated for what, a day at most since they had met? It just felt unnatural to do anything else. If what Lyra was saying was true, who knew how long it had been?
Would he had gone as far as her? No, he couldn't dwell on that. Paprika instead refocused on defending the Meganium. "You're not being fair to Ife, she was stressed! Desperate! You'd do the same thing for Hirb,"
The Crocnaw looked long and hard with him, his snout wrinkling. Eventually, he stamped down a foot with a growl. "Why does this have to be so hard? If Hirb was here, he'd know what to do—he passed all the tests effortlessly. He'd know what to do with a Shadowed Pokemon who refuses to just be evil!"
"But he isn't here," Paprika said sympathetically. "So what do you think should happen?" Ryppel's tail whipped in the air.
"What I want is to rip you both apart right here and now," he said dully, his eyes downtrodden. They snapped to Paprika's face with surprising intent. Emotion swelled passionately behind his blue eyes."But, what I think, is that you and your friend should leave. We can't help with your 'Bud' problem. We'll all be better off going our separate ways."
Ife would hate him for letting this end here: she'd just have to live with it... and hopefully not kill him in the process. The Typhlosion's mind was already racing through what she could do once she woke up- scratch that, if she woke up.
"Ife?" He shook her shoulder. The Meganium looked more peaceful than she had been for a while at this point. However, they had places to be, humans to find and homes to get to, so Paprika took in a deep breath of air and tried to think of a solution.
Aha! Why hadn't he seen it before? Digging through his fanny pack (that had always been there) attached firmly and snugly to his waist, Paprika struck gold. He carefully extracted a herb that smelt strongly of cinnamon from the bag, then crouched over Ife. He waved it once, twice, thrice underneath her snout. Almost immediately the Meganium's eyes opened with a jolt, and Paprika flinched backwards. He was gracious enough to give her a moment before speaking.
"Ife? You alright?" He said, leaning over her. The Meganium looked blankly ahead, only occasionally catching his gaze.
Paprika chuffed dissapprovingly: she looked exhausted, even more than he felt. He'd have to brew something for that.
"Paprika? S'that you?" She whispered, barely lifting her towering neck off the floor. He nodded, and quickly rushed down to support her.
The Meganium wheeze out a hoarse, bitter laugh. "Ah. So y'haven't put me outta my misery yet. Jus' wanna rub it in my face then? I'll give'ya that, it is pathetic." Paprika growled impatiently.
"What are you talking about?" He asked, giving her the sternest look he could muster; however it quickly waned at defeated look on her face. The Meganium shielded her face with a leaf.
"Don't play stupid, Typhlosion. I know how this world works. All I'd ask is f'you to make it quick, that's all."
Oh, so that's what she meant- Paprika laughed loudly. "I'm not gonna, what, kill you? " Although his face shifted to a wide frown. "You didn't actually think I was gonna do that, right?"
Ife grumbled something.
"Right?" He insisted. If it was the Meganium's attempt to make light of an already crappy situation, Paprika questioned her sense of humour heavily. If not—
"Just what does a day in your life look like?" he wondered out loud—
—it only worried him further. The Typhlosion had never seen this sort of exhaustion before, the type that infiltrated deep beneath a monster's surface. He recognised it instantly, and sought to do something about it with a determined huff. Reaching into his bag poised readily at his waist once more, the Typhlosion rifled through with his paw until his hand settled on a soft, freezing to touch leaf. He immediately recognised the texture and temperature as a Rejuva-mint. (Why wouldn't he? He had been doing this for years at this point.)
Unfortunately, there was an issue.
"Hey, you don't by any chance have a tea cup on you, do you?" He asked sheepishly. The fire-type didn't need Ife's horrid look back to realise it was a dumb question. With a mumbled apology, he refocused his attention on finding another solution. What else could you use as a cup? His eyes beadily scanned the surroundings, a fruitless endeavour that only bore rocks, the ocassional bush, and more rocks.
Ah well. Beggars can't be choosers. Paprika picked up the rock that looked mostly bowl-like to him, focused a minute amount of energy into his claw (not like he could manage much more right now, anyway) and began to painstakingly hollow it out. He thought it was just going to be a quick job, but what he assumed was a couple of minutes later, he was only a quarter done.
Paprika sat down next to Ife with a sigh. This was going to take a while.
A few moments of intense carving later, Ife finally spoke again:
"Why?" Was all she said, the simple question enough to make Paprika pause. He looked back at her, and cocked his head. She opened her mouth to speak again, huffed, and waved him off.
"Take your time," he said with a smile, then continued his deathly-boring task.
"What did you and yer trainer think was in it for you when y'agreed to come? I've been ponderin' over it, and I still can't see no reason." She eventually asked.
Paprika worked tirelessly with a hum. He shrugged. "Seemed important to you. Demi went, and I guess I followed."
The Meganium chuckled dryly. "So you're just here cuz your trainer was?"
The Typhlosion shook his head with a snort. "N-no, 'course not! If I thought it was a bad idea, I wouldn't have gone with him. You guys are important to me too," he assured. He was about halfway done with the bowl, so he pressed on. The sound of his claw scratching against rock filled the air with a jarring grate that tickled his ears unpleasantly.
"I'see, I 'see." she responded. And then there was silence.
And then, there wasn't.
"Do you hate me?" She asked. Paprika looked at her now cool and composed face. If he didn't see her rage and desperation carved onto her face mere miniutes ago, he wouldn't believe it was possible. He couldn't even tell what she was feeling right now—hopefully regret, though. His arms still stung from being whacked around so much, and his fur had tufts ripped untimely out. He was sure he looked utterly disshevelled. Not that he cared. There were bigger fish to fry, after all. All that aside, his answer to her question?
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"Yes," he spat, looking scornfully down at her. He longed to see that cool look burned off her face." I was already exhausted from dealing with that cooky Crocnaw and Bayleef, and you actually tried to attack me just because you were desperate?! You're insane! I don't know how anyone could put up with this." Paprika stood, his emotion clawing to a raging peak. " I wish we never met. I hope we never meet again. Just look at the state of me!"
With a scowl, he stormed off. He didn't need this kind of stress in his life, part of his Trinity or not.
(That wouldn't do. He thought harder about his response.)
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"No," he sighed, looking fondly down at her. He longed to see that tired grass-type smile once more, like she did earlier today. "You were scared. I was inconsiderate. Who cares if some nobody Quilava was hurt if it would've worked? I should've deal with that Crocnaw and Bayleef better. No wonder you tried to attack me! This is utterly my fault." Paprika stood, his emotion swelling further. "I wish we could find them right now, and find Bud. You don't deserve this."
With a huff, he walked off. He'd put this right, whether he was fatigued or not.
(He shoved the thought elsewhere. That wouldn't do either.)
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Paprika hated dilemmas. So, he turned the decision into something else. Something better.
"Kinda," he said, looking down understandingly at her. The Meganium's facade temporarily broke wide open, leaving shards of incomplete emotion bare to him. Paprika was sure he'd cut himself on of the pieces if he tried. "It was a bad situation, I know. It still is. But you shouldn't lash out at people trying to help you just because of that! Truth is, I hate that you didn't let me help more. I bet you don't let Lyra help either." By the time he was finished speaking, the makeshift bowl was done: he carved out the last chunk of rock with a satisfying clink.
"You've all gotta do it the 'nice' way," she retorted, looking at him with more passion then he had seen in her before. Her eyes glistened with emotion. "It was getting nowhere. I'm sorry."
Paprika stood with a grunt. "Now isn't the time for apologies, Ife. I'm not giving up on Bud, and you shouldn't either!" He pointed dramatically at her with a smirk; a small smile tugged on the edges of her scaly mouth, too. Paprika let his paw fall to his side with a small poofing noise as it was cushioned by fur on impact. Ife looked aside with a sniff. Embarassed, she wiped her nostril with a vine. Paprika offered out a helping paw, but she stood up by herself with only a small wobble.
"Look at wat'cha done now. Got me all emotional," she said. "I'll... lay off those young'uns. From earlier." She stumbled out. Paprika huffed happily: he was glad that was sorted out. Now that Crocnaw, the delirious Bayleef and that bleeding Quilava would be safe and sound!
Uh, scratch that actually. That sounded better when he didn't think about it too hard. He turned to Ife with such speed that she took a step back. "What is it?" She asked.
"Bin the whole 'no apologies' thing!" He said, a devious idea already burning in his conniving mind. The cool leaf was still waiting patiently in his paw, anxious to be put to good use. And there was a stream of water nearby, too!
"We've got three monsters to apolgise to. Maybe they'll be willing to listen over a cup of tea?"
"For the record, I still think this is a stupid idea," Ife said. She had tried to help for a bit, but then resigned to resting whilst watching Paprika work. The Typhlosion ignored her pessimism, humming busily as he worked. He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—listen to her. Paprika rarely had ideas like this. So how could it possibly be a bad one, if they came so rarely?
He scooped water into the two makeshift cups, then placed them gently on the side of the stream. He was preparing a simple herbal brew, with nothing but a few ribbons of Rejuva-mint leaf from the pack that the Typhlosion, for your information, had always owned. However, the Typhlosion then frowned: two hands, three cups. He looked at Ife, who looked like she was about to doze off.
"Hey, a little help here?" He asked sheepishly. Ife looked sluggishly between him, the hollowed out rocks, then shook her head. Although she extended a petite vine to pick up one of them. He gave her a grateful nod. Ife stood with an effort, whispering something under her breath; the Typhlosion picked up the other cup on the floor, with special care not to spill any of the swirling liquid inside. Then, they began to walk.
"What's the plan to find 'em then?" She asked. Paprika threw her a look.
"We could probably just follow the trail of blood Scarlet left," he said. "With a bit of luck, the bleeding hasn't stopped yet." Ife looked irritatingly unbothered. He wasn't one to shame people for their mistakes, sure, but hers was a pretty big one! So with a squint, he continued. "Just how many teeth did you get through?" He asked. Focused more on the makeshift cup in her grasp, the Meganium responded curtly.
"Just one. Figured if I gave her a big enough scare, she'd blubber it out eventually. Props t'her for holding out, though," she said. Paprika nearly threw his meticulously made cups at her right there and then. He refrained himself, but felt bold enough to ask the question planted in his head by Ryppel.
"When would you have stopped?" He said. Ife glanced at him briefly, only to shake her head slowly.
"I'm not heartless, Paprika."
"That's not an answer!"
"It isn't, is it?" She responded after a small pause. With a sigh of defeat, Paprika followed the trail of dried blood over a nearby bush. He stepped over the sparse foliage, feeling the bony bark digging into his leg and threatening to ensnare him. The Typhlosion ripped his leg away, groaning as some tea dripped out onto the floor: he was starting to think less and less that this was a good idea. Still, Paprika forced himself onwards through the poking and prodding bushes biting at his legs, determined to follow through with the trail of blood spiralling away. Speaking of that blood...
"...Hey, is it normal for someone to be bleeding that much?" He asked, spinning around to look at Ife. The Meganium walked calmly through the sharp plants, either unaffected or uncaring to the scratches. She whistled highly.
"I applied some anticoagulant." She must've been aware of Paprika's gobsmacked face, because she quickly added, "Nothin' fatal, 'course. She won't bleed out. But she won't forget why that tooth was removed, either."
Paprika puffed out a small ball of smoke. "W-why can you do that?" Ife shrugged.
"Gotta do what you gotta do, Paprika."
That was it; no more questions. The Typhlosion felt sick enough as it was: his stomach still kinda hurt from being beaten around so much today. Instead, Paprika busied his vision and mind with a singular tree looming ahead. Ife tapped his shoulder with a vine.
"That's them ahead. You still sure you wanna do this?" She asked. Paprika cocked a brow. "The Bayleef's probing around. Probably trying to collect energy from the soils, I'd say? No wonder his roots have had to go so far, there really isn't nothing here," Ife explained, head swivelling to scan the surroundings. Barren, with the ocassional echo of plant life. The soil was sun-baked thoroughly: how did anything grow here?
Better yet, how could Ife figure that out? Paprika opened his mouth for another question, but shut it again. He didn't want to know anything else she did, to be honest. Ife nodded approvingly: "Smart choice."
Sly comment aside, Paprika was the first to move any closer: yes, he was sure he was doing this. His arms were starting to hurt from carrying these awkward cups—they really didn't hold liquid well. Paprika treaded lightly, but Ife proceeded with resounding steps that held no subtleties: Paprika envied it, in a strange way. She seemed sure in where she was going, whether it was a good place or not. True to Ife's words, the Typhlosion soon noticed the headleaf of a Bayleef poking out from the tree. His mouth ran dry, yet he inched forward slightly more, craning his neck to look at Hirb: he was slumped against the tree, feverish-looking. Overall he was looking worse for wear than he did earlier: just what had happened to him?
Hirb looked at him, making the Typhlosion flinch at how vacant his eyes looked. "Scarlet, is that you?" He slurred, straining himself forward only to fall flat on his face. After a moment, the Bayleef giggled hysterically. "Floor's closer than he thought! Didya get something for me to drink, like you said?"
Paprika's eyes flicked down the hollowed out rocks he was holding. He wasn't sure if this was the right Mint for the job, but what the heck? Couldn't make his hysteria any worse. "Y-yeah, course!" He replied. He shoved the other cup towards Ife who took it with a huff, then slowly heated up the water to a simmer with his paws. The Rejuva-mint dissolved into the water with a shimmer, leaving a mellow blue liquid in the makeshift cup. He quickly dropped to his knee, and held it out to Hirb. The poor thing didn't even seem to remember where he was, only seeing a warm drink which he sipped lightly. The effect was near-instant: the Bayleef's face shifted from dazed to suspicious as his senses returned to him.
"W-whuh?" He muttered, looking around cautiously. His wide eyes danced around, before settling on Paprika. "You!" He scrambled to his feet, and took a clumsy step back. His head leaf began to hum with power.
"Relax, kid," Ife said. Which honestly had the opposite effect than she intended. Hirb squeaked out, his body stiffening in fright.
"You're the one who ripped Scarlet's tooth out! S-stay back! I like my teeth..."
Paprika chuffed sharply. "No one's getting their teeth ripped out, we just wanna talk!" He assured. He didn't think he could mentally cope with another fight today. "So could we maybe sit down, enjoy this tea, and we could talk it out? Like civilised pokemon?" The Typhlosion emphasised the 'civilised' with a glower at Ife, who relinquished with a snort.
"I was only gonna do somethin' if he did," she said. The Bayleef in question was shaking tremendously, seemingly torn between putting Razor Leaves in the Typhlosion or putting them in the Bayleef. Slowly but surely, his stance lowered, leaving only the relieved form of a child standing in front of him.
"I-I guess I can do that," he sighed. "A true Sword shows mercy to his opponents. R-right?" Paprika nodded, not caring about anything other than the 'mercy' part.
"Now that that's sorted, how about we all just sit down and take a deep breath in, then out?"
The Typhlosion's eyes locked onto a wheel of fire hurtling towards them. He spat out a glob of soot dangerously close to hitting Ife. She regarded it with mild interest, then focused her attention on the fire raging behind Hirb too. At this point, Hirb was self-conscious. He fretted audibly, stamping a foot in the dust.
"What, do I have something on my face?" He said. Paprika shook his head tiredly.
"No, but could you just scooch a bit? ?" Maybe three steps to the left?" Hirb's confusion was visible on his face, but he obliged with no objection. Leaving only that irate wheel of fire rushing at him. He waited patiently for the move to come towards him, until he could feel the warmth of fire licking against his face. Against the uncomfortable sensations Paprika pushed his weight forward, forcibly ripping the Quilava out of the Flame Wheel.
"Not doing that again," he assured. The Quilava struggled fruitlessly, but the Typhlosion kept a firm hold on her until the writhings stop. When he was satisfied she wasn't going to bite him in the nose if he loosened, he spoke. "I just wanna talk."
The Quilava opted to spew embers into his face instead of responding. "Your friend wanted 'just to talk' too," she said, looking up at him defiantly. "Do you all only have one trick?! It ain't gonna work on me again, y'hear?!" Paprika blinked cinders out of his eyes. They prickled uncomfortably against his eyelids, making his eyes water.
"Fair enough," he admitted. To be honest, he was surprised he'd gotten this far either way: just had to make what you could out of an already crappy situation. "What would it take to convince you?" He asked hopefully.
"How about my weight in gold, how about that? Better yet, un-rip out my tooth!" The Quilava retorted hotly. Suddenly, it jerked its body just hard enough for his grip to loosen. His negligence was rewarded with a flurry of kicks to his stomach. Scarlet somersaulted through the air, landing gracefully a pace back from the Typhlosion with a fiendish smirk.
"Y'know, I've got a better idea: how about you get thrashed?!"
...Really? Paprika sighed. Despite his frustrations, the Typhlosion still tried his best to reason with the spunky Quilava. "Do we have to do this again? It didn't go anywhere for anyone last time." Scarlet didn't respond, instead throwing another low kick at his stomach.
"I stop when I say I wanna!" She screamed between blows. Ife mouthed something to him, but the Typhlosion shook his head in response—she probably needed to blow off some steam. He remembered that it worked for him, some time ago. Bracing himself with grimace, Papika forced himself to endure the harmless but painful hits peppering against his body.
"Just cause you're bigger...and stronger..." Scarlet huffed. For a moment, Paprika thought she was done.
His heart dropped painfully as the Quilava's lower half erupted in flames. He only bothered to protect his swinging satchel with an outstretched paw; he'd already accepted this was gonna hurt bad.
"Doesn't mean you're better! None of ya are! Not that stupid Meganium, or them, or, or...!" The Quilava rage burnt brightly; she let out a pained roar before kicking Paprika again powerfully in the stomach, sending him skidding back. The dust clouds he kicked up billowed like shapeless beasts through the air, scratching his throat and stinging his eyes. The jagged flames on her back cut through the air carelessly with a fury that couldn't be healthy- even for a fire type.
The user attacks the target at full power. The attack's recoil harshly reduces the user's Sp. Atk stat.
Flames danced in the edges of his vision, before encompassing it entirely. The heat was unbearable: yet the Typhlosion endured it all the same, choosing to look beyond the flames and into the light. The fire crackled. Then faltered. Smoldered, then stopped. When the smoke followed suit, snaking high in meagre wisps lining the sky, all that remained was a surprisingly serene-looking Quilava, who sat in front of him with a defeated look. She wiped her mouth with a paw, then inspected it with a scowl: still stained red. "Welp. I'm done. Do your worst," she said, somehow maintaining a defiant smile despite the sag in her shoulders. Paprika didn't miss the nearly nervous flick of her eyes to Ife, however. He sat cross-legged in front of her with a huff.
"What does our 'worst' look like to you?" He asked. The Quilava scoffed.
"Your friend's forgotten how to rip out teeth, then? I still ain't telling you nothing about that 'mon."
Paprika bit his tongue. Suppose he walked into that one. "Fair enough, I guess..." He murmured. "Still, I think this would be important to you. It's important to me, at least." Scarlet squinted suspiciously.
"Not like I can do anything, already put some burns into your fur," she responded airily, but leaned forward.
"Ife," he said softly. The Meganium hesitated, then trotted over wordlessly. If she had any regrets, it didn't show on her face as she sat down opposite the Quilava. All attention collapsed inwards to focus on her as she took a deep breath before speaking:
"I've come 'ere to apologise, kid. If you're offended by anything I did, I'm sorry it happened." She said stone-faced. Scarlet flared up, and he didn't entirely blame her for it.
"You're 'sorry anything happened?'" She spluttered out. Ife looked uncertainly back at him, and nodded. "You're joking."
"I don't recall sayin' anything funny," Ife responded flatly. The Quilava laughed loudly, her voice ringing discordantly with disbelief, fatigue, and—he couldn't believe it but—fear. Her mouth hinged opened, closed again, opened once more.
"And what's an apology meant to do? Put the tooth back in my head?" She growled. Ife didn't respond. Paprika stepped forward, and piped up.
"I know, I know, but if there's anything we could do—"
"—yeah, save me the talk," she waved him off with a paw. "Are you always tryna solve everything with a bit of 'friendship and harmony'? No wonder you're such a wuss." Paprika growled, but held his tongue. "See? Too wimpy to even do anything about me. And you just wanna be friends?"
Beside him, a subtle yet distinct and wet sound of flesh being separated whispered. Paprika's eyes followed a vine wrapped around a tooth streaking through the air, then throw the tooth by the Quilava's feet without a further sound. The Quilava's eyes widened in shock, quickly followed by a hiss. "I don't think you can un-rip a tooth, smart guy!" She shouted. Why did Ife think that'd work? He turned to her for an explanation. The Meganium looked onwards at the juvenile cooly.
"It ain't yours," she sighed. Scarlet's gaze snapped back on the tooth again, and Paprika followed suit; too big, and too flat for a Quilava. So...!
"...What the hell?!" He cried. Ife glanced at him, wiping a dribble of blood away from her mouth with a vine.
"This was your idea, Typhlosion. Dunno what you're getting yer fur all puffed up about," she said. "Tooth for tooth seems like a pretty good deal t'me. Ain't much else I could've done."
Paprika held his head in his paws. That's absolutely not what he meant! "That has to hurt like, a lot!" He whined.
"You're not wrong, so don't make my pain any worse," she responded tiredly. She regarded the Quilava with a grunt, who nearly jumped in response. "So? Are we good now?"
"You're insane," she mumbled. The Quilava had dried the tooth of saliva (and blood, he refused to admit) on the ground, and clenched it furiously in a paw. Despite this, a curious grin was plastered on her face. "buuut I guess it saves me having to rip it outta of your head myself, so thanks...?" She trailed off, clearly expecting a name. When she didn't respond, Paprika elbowed the her.
"Ìfẹ́dayọ̀," the Meganium huffed powerfully. "Bit of a mouthful though. Keep behaving, and Ife'll do just fine."
There was no way this actually worked. But against Paprika's naysayings, Scarlet looked at Hirb, then back at Ife, and nodded. Now that the Quilava was calm, Paprika could finally look at her properly past the feisty persona she had around her: even covered by a thin layer of dust, the Quilava's beige fur shone vibrantly with warmth, fading into a deep indigo on her overside. Her striking red eyes were combative, but periodically flicked towards her Bayleef companion, as if afraid he wouldn't be there the next time she looked.
He smiled to himself; it was good to know there was something behind her bombast.
"What're you looking at?" She growled. Paprika huffed smoke in response, quickly searching his mind for a topic change.
"So... you like kicking, huh?" He said. It sounded stupid, but the Quilava grinned all the same. Like her fatigue had just been an act, the fire-type expertly shot into the air, beating an imaginary enemy with a pair of powerful kicks. They were too fast for Paprika too see; scarily enough, he only figured there were two kicks from the two booms of displaced air rumbling through the air. The Quilava landed in perfect form. She puffed out her chest proudly, grinning even wider.
"Yes, yes I do like kicking. Master 'Shao himself says I could be a mixed attacker for the Swords! He's gonna take me as his apprentice, he says!"
Ah: the Swords. He knew he was forgetting something. Paprika nodded with a strained smile. "That's sounds nice," he said, wishing he could be entirely sincere. "But Scarlet..."
She raised a brow and stamped a foot. "What?"
He didn't know how to put it in words. "Tea? I'll heat it up again," he said instead, reaching out and carefully retrieving a makeshift cup still sloshing with liquid. After a brief glow from his furry palms, the tea was at a respectable boil once more—it was flat heresy to reheat tea this many times, but Paprika considered it the lesser of his sins currently. The Quilava scented the cup and recoiled away with a crinkled nose.
"Y'sure this ain't poison?! Smells a bit too strong if you ask me," she said. Paprika chuckled lightly.
"N-no, Rejuva-mint tends to have a strong odour. But it's good for you, I promise! Heal you right up," he assured. With a huff of scepticism, the Quilava snatched the cup out of his hands and downed it in one gulp. It wasn't like it would burn her considering her typing, but still...
"...don't choke," he grumbled. The Quilava threw the empty rock over her shoulder, which landed with a soft thud. (Goodbye, makeshift cup- you served this badger well...) She gave her shoulder an experimentative roll, and her mouth formed an 'O' in shock.
"H-hey! It fixed my shoulder!" She said. Before Paprika could comment, she shoved a paw in her mouth and inspected it. "I'm not bleedin' either!"
Her face grew suspicious, however. "Just what did you put in that then?" She queried. Paprika shrugged defensively.
"Rejuva-mint," he said simply: wasn't much else to it. His paw rested lightly on his bag. But it was Ife's turn to question him now. She bowed her head until she was within eyeshot.
"What the hell is 'Rejuva-mint'?" She asked. Paprika crossed his arms sternly.
"Hey, I won't pester you about your stuff, so you leave me alone too," he said, turning away with a hmph. Ife chuckled hoarsely.
"Fair enough. Hope we can tell each other some day, though," she said with a hint of wistfulness in her voice. When Paprika turned back around, it was gone from her face.
"Hey! What about you?!"
That wasn't Scarlet's voice. Hirb stumbled forward, as if regretting saying it in the first place. He pushed through however, pointing to Paprika's furry midriff with a limb. "Why wouldn't you drink it for yourself? Those are some pretty nasty-looking burns."
He looked down at himself. True to Hirb's words, part of his fur was charred black. In disbelief, he ran a claw over the burnt patch, only to let tufts of black hair fall slowly to the ground. Scarlet shared a look of incredulity. She sprang to her feet, and poked rudely at Paprika's fur.
"Holy crap! I thought I was just seeing things, but it is burnt!" She grinned horribly at him. "How much of a weakling can you be?" She asked.
"Watch yerself," Ife warned lowly. She then turned to Paprika in a lighter tone. "Y'sick, then?" She asked softly, snapping Paprika out of his thoughts.
"N-no!" He denied quickly. He couldn't be sick, even if he was coughing up smoke every minute, and could hardly start a fire on command anymore, and just went to a hospital, which was for sick people...
"...I don't think so?" He corrected himself. "Can we talk about this later, please?" Ife nodded with a hum. His skin still tingled under her wizened gaze, however. After shooting Scarlet a glare, he smiled appreciatively at Hirb.
"Thank you, Hirb," he said. The Bayleef flushed a shade closer to red than before, kicking a leg bashfully in the dust.
"It's nothing," he responded weakly, smiling. "I-its my job, nothing more. It's not like I did anything about it, either." He added, eager to play himself down: Paprika wouldn't have that.
"Really, I appreciate it!" He repeated with a grin; Hirb rambled on with a stupid smile, his voice eventually melting into a hum, then silence. "I'll live with the burn. It can't be too bad, can it?"
"Yeesh. If ya say so," the Quilava said with an almost pitying look. "That amount of fur looks like it'll take months to regrow! Y'think you'll just go bald for a while?"
"N-no! I don't know what a hairless Typhlosion looks like, and I don't wanna know either!" He denied furiously. Imagined images danced beyond his vision, but he dispelled them all with a flustered huff. Did they have to keep talking about this? Everyone was staring at his fur: even normally stoic Ife snuck a few glances when she thought he wasn't looking. He took a good look at the offending charred fluff himself. With a displeased growl, Paprika plunged his claws into the patch, and ripped it out quickly. He threw the tuft away and watched as it sailed upwards in an updraft.
Huh, that didn't do it; their stares only intensified. "What?" Paprika defensively. Surprisingly, Hirb was the first to answer. He gestured upwards with a limb, to where the tuft of fur had floated away.
"Is that normal?" He asked innocently. When all he received in response was a look from Paprika, he began to elaborate abashedly. "A-as in, does your fur always float in the wind? Seems inconvenient to me."
He snorted. "Usually doesn't if it's still attached to me."
Scarlet snickered. "Still think you should go bald!"
"Shut it!"
"We can't spend all day here bickering like kits," Ife interjected calmly, but was that a slight strain in her voice that Paprika heard? "It's good enough. Dunno where the Crocnaw is, but I ain't especially bothered by it either. We've got bigger fish to fry, eh Typhlosion?" She poked him in the side until his full attention was on her. With a small exhale he rose once more to his feet, ignoring the aches persisting in his body, and faced the Meganium. He wasn't completely sure what to do now; he was grateful that Ife listened to him though. Hopefully, she saw what he sees in apologising. Paprika wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep at night knowing what the grass-type did.
It wasn't like he'd be sleeping now, but at least he'd be awake with good thoughts about her. Mostly.
"Thanks for hearing us out," He waved back at the two of them. Scarlet furrowed her brows and Hirb visibly withered under his gaze: wasn't exactly the most friendly reaction, but it was progress! "Tell Ryppel I said hi!" He added with a smile. Ife waited silently behind, but Paprika found himself feeling rushed all the same. After confirming that everything was fine with the Quilava and Bayleef, he made off to walk with Ife.
"H-hold it!"
He turned around. Then sighed: Hirb was standing in front of them in a battle ready stance, Razor Leaves swirling around his body. "Please don't cut me with those again," he begged tiredly.
"O-oh, sorry," Hirb gasped. With an exhale, the leaves condensed back into pure energy and dissipated into nothingness. "It's just that-well, you—I can't let you go!"
Ife finally spoke up. "We weren't exactly asking you." She growled.
Hirb's voice shrunk. "B-but...!"
"But nothing, kid. Dunno why this Typhlosion even tries with you; you three lost. It's over. Go home." She interjected harshly. He half expected Hirb to have run away by now, but commended him for holding his ground. Although it was getting annoying, now—if he wasn't going to help them, why didn't he just quit?
His eyes darted intensely over the ground, as if searching for an answer to Ife amongst the sunscorched rocks. Suddenly, his head-leaf shot up, and he grinned widely. "I've got it!"
"Got what?" Ife queried, suspicion dripping noxiously from her voice. Hirb was practically prancing around now.
"Oo, ooh, Scarlet, c'mere!" He shouted. Scarlet groaned, but reluctantly dragged herself over. "You guys wanna find our base. We need to fulfill our duty to the Swords. So how about a compromise?"
That got Ife's interest: she nearly pushed him to the floor when she stepped forward. "What are yer thinking of?"
Scarlet flinched away from her gaze; Paprika put a hand on her tensed shoulder, and she relaxed slightly. Hirb stepped forward to meet her- a vine was holding a small metal disc with a logo carved into its shape. It shone dimly but distinctly, catching everyone's gaze. "We'll teleport you straight into the base's holding cells!"
Paprika laughed. "As in, their prisons? Ife, there's no way we're doing that."
His heart sunk in her gaze. She had a Demi-adjacent glint in her eyes. Hopefully his human was doing fine. "You got any better ideas? This is a lead, Paprika. I'm in." Hirb nodded. Scarlet and Hirb looked expectantly at him.
"Don't be a—"
"—Wimp. Yeah, thanks Scarlet." It wasn't like he was planning on leaving her anyway! It wasn't like he knew where he was, if he wanted to flee... there was nothing but the occassional tree, dirty rocks, and sand in all directions. How did Hirb and Scarlet navigate this? It beats him. "What do we have to do ?"
"Paprika, don't do this if you don't wanna." Ife bowed his head to meet him.
The Typhlosion blew thick smoke into Ife's face. By the time the smoke had cleared up, he had time to wear his Serious Face™ and glare at her intensely.
"Now is a weird time to be considering whether or not I want to do this," he replied. Ife didn't so much as smile, but Paprika had quickly learnt to recognise and treasure the slight wrinkle of her eyes. "But thanks I guess. I'm in too."
Hirb squealed, prancing around Scarlet. "Y'see, y'see! I knew we could trick them into doing this!" He exclaimed. Scarlet made eye contact with Paprika, who offered a sympathetic head shake. "Oh... they can't hear me, can they?"
"Don't sweat the details. This is our gamble t'make." Ife comforted. "You just hurry up and do you magic, and we'll take care of the rest."
Hirb swallowed thickly, nodding. "Just stand still for a bit..." He closed his eyes to focus. The badge began to glow brighter, and the surroundings started to blur—Paprika felt as if he was falling. It was a strange experience, but stranger still was how his only thought was a strange sense of saying goodbye to the two of them.
"Hey, Hirb! Remember what I said to Ryppel!" He shouted over the growing hum in the air. He wasn't sure whether the Bayleef heard or not, but decided to have faith.
"Scarlet." Ife said lowly. "Take care of my tooth, wont'ya?"
The blurry silhouette of a Quilava shifted. He asssumed that was a nod. Ife sighed, and Paprika let himself go too.
(The Typhlosion whited out.)
Voices. They rung out in front of him.
"...That Quilava and her team actually did something...I don't believe it..."
It was hard to make out what they were saying against the ringing in her ears. Left felt like right, and right felt wrong, but amidst the confusion swirling he anchored himself on the familiar scent of a Meganium nearby. What was her name again... ah, Ife!
"Get off me, yer mutt," she grumbled. Vines carefully flipped him inside, placing him gently on the cold ground. The sensation jolted him into clarity. Ahead of him, behind bars stood a Gabite and a small pink pixie Paprika couldn't quite recognise. The dragon seemed exhausted with the goblin, nodding or providing one word answers when necessary to her incessant blathering.
"Right!" The pink pokemon commanded, swinging down the gargantuan hammer Paprika was sure was just mounted on the wall at him. He flinched against the wall, but the hammer stopped before hitting the bars. "You Shadowed Pokemon are going to stay right here for eval. If you're lucky, you'll be converted to the good side. If you're not..." It gestured a slice across her neck. (where it would be if she had one.) "So stay put! Play nice and you'll be free in no time."
"Free...?" Paprika looked around. Ah—they were the ones behind bars. That made slightly more sense, he supposed.
"And you Typhlosion,"
"e-eh?!" He yowled. The pokemon hardened its gaze.
"No funny business! Any melted bars, or charred walls... you'll answer to our leader herself!"
"Yessir," he grumbled. He was more interested in what Ife was doing then what it was saying.
"And I dunno what Meganiums can do, but don't do it!" It said, pointing its hammer at Ife. Ife's face tightened, but she gave no other response. "Hello? I'm talking to you? Is your friend deaf?"
He made to answer, but Ife threw him a venomous look. He slammed his mouth again promptly.
"Oh, I see how it is. Just cuz y'think you're bigger and therefore better, y'think you don't gotta answer to me! Well I have news for you if you d'wanna cooperate!" It lifted up its hammer. The Gabite clearly had experience with this before, and darted off to the side. The creature slammed the weapon against the ground, shaking the entire room powerfully- not someone he'd wanna fight, clearly.
"BOOM! TINKATON HAMMER TO YA FACE! "
Paprika chuffed, crossing his arms. Ife looked ahead cooly, evaluating the creature before her. It huffed, then clapped its hands. "Garly! We have work to do. No time for some... mute Meganium and an overly-fluffy Typhlosion."
"...it's Garlath..." it muttered in response, yet followed obediently. Light flooded briefly when they opened the door, but was snatched away quickly when it was closed. Then, there was only the two of them in the room. Specifically the cell. Crap.
"What do we do now?" He asked Ife. The Meganium had made herself more comfortable before closing her eyes. Paprika had reason to believe she was asleep, until she spoke:
"We wait."
"Ah." Was his only response. He slumped against the wall, and busied himself with arranging the leaves in his satchel. Rejuva-mint there. Tor-mint. Argu-mint, and more. It was a few minutes of delicate handling of his plant before he spoke again.
"Do you think I'm too fluffy?" He asked quietly. Ife cracked an eye open.
She sighed tiredly. She kicked him in the side—more like her leg sunk into his fur with a poof. It sunk further and further, until the Meganium was a whole leg in Typhlosion. She finally pulled out when the suction began to drag her across the floor. Ife looked at him, and he looked at Ife.
"I see your point," he admitted bashfully. Ife shrugged, then went back to napping.
Until, she cracked an eye open with a sigh. "Welp, I can't sleep. Wanna learn Frenzy Plant?" She asked suddenly. Paprika scoffed.
"Last time I checked, I couldn't," he responded.
"Didn't you nearly murk Ripple with pure Grass energy? You'd be fine," she assured. Paprika wouldn't admit it, but she did have a point. "Glad we agree. So, let's start." Huffing, she stood to her feet. "We've got time, so hopefully you got patience. Firstly, try coursing a smidge of Grass energy into the ground. Uh...imagine a plant growing, or something like that. That's what I was told."
He was tired, but there wasn't much else to do. Plus, this was better than whatever awkward silence there would be. Half-heartedly, Paprika did as she said: surprisingly, it was easier than before to let the Grass flow through him. He focused it into the tip of his claw, and tapped the ground.
Yelping, he rolled away from the thick tree that sprouted from the ground. Ife slumped.
"Do we know what a smidge is? A truckload of aura means absolutely crap if yer don't have control, Paprika. Do it again. Grow like a... tulip, or something."
Chuffing, Paprika tried to stifle the flow into his claw, even tapped it lighter for good measure. And for his effort, he was rewarded with... a slightly smaller tree. He groaned. Ife snickered.
"Oh, this wait's gonna be funner than I thought. Wonder who's gonna find the whole forest you're growing in here..."
Chapter 19: How To Find The Way Forward -- Darkside
Summary:
Demi won't stop flapping his lips. He also throws hands with some pokemon-- just the usual, y'know?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Wake up.
You've been out for a while now. Reluctantly, you push your consciousness to the front of your mind. It begins to begrudgingly boot up the rest of your body whilst quickly reviewing when and why you lost consciousness—it started with being burnt by your Typhlosion, continued with an Octillery, and then...
A Mienshao? Was that correct? It was hard to wrap your mind around it. Despite your confusion, you open your eyes. That was weird, your left eye refused to follow suit. Grumbling, you stroke your finger over the renegade eye: pain protests against your finger, so you stop. Stop, and think. That Mienshao had punched you, punched you hard, hard enough to leave you reeling hours after. Still, you had things to do, like figure out why there wasn't the familiar weight draped over your shoulders of Octillery. You focus your good eye—Up ya get, Demi!—Where was Lyra too, anyways?
"You're awake."
You react quickly, but only end up seeming foolish in retrospect: you were trying to point a racket that wasn't where it normally was. Didn't have your bag either, hopefully there wasn't anything important you left in it. Taking a small step backwards, you respond to the voice. "If you've done anything to Lyra or Octillery, I swear I'll bite you or something. I dunno yet."
"Pwahaha! I—"
"—Shut it. My head already hurts," You grumble, gripping your temple. The throbbing of your swollen eye didn't help either; you could hardly see out of it. The voice loses its mystique with a clear of a throat. A figure you initially mistook for a short human stepped out of the shadows, clothed with a cape of purple fur and wielding a fan crafted out of the same material and leaves. The monster reminded you of some sort of a primate, but you couldn't put a name to it: someone remind you to freshen up your pokemon knowledge when you get home.
"The human so eagerly bites the hand that feeds, I wonder? Cares they not for the truth I hold?" Each and every word was a nestled question with a question. You couldn't decide which one annoyed you more in the moment to answer. So you didn't.
A wide smile adorned its shaggy features. "Pwahaha! Yet what is this, the eye beholds? A contradiction walks before me; I scent a male, carrying the sharp-cinnamon aroma of the Ennewt. But it's tongue is sharper still! Lying, scheming, thing—durst you proceed, knowing what lies ahead? Nothing but a thousand cuts for one like you."
"What?" You snap. The pokemon shrugs playfully, lumbering over to a nearby shelf. It picks up a flashlight that contrasts with its mystical tone.
"Maybe there is hope for us all yet, then..." it murmurs. "Stillen yourself liar—there may be healing yet to be done," it then says. Seeing no other option, you kept deathly still. It gripped your shoulder tightly, shining the light into your swollen eye. Squinting, the pokemon laughs once more. "Mercy? Failure? I shan't tell!" It chortles richly. "Either cause converges at the same conclusion. Fortune or not, your eye wasn't destroyed as I perceived. Rejoice, liar! You have been spared."
"What are you on about?" You ask again. assuming it was done, you push yourself backwards away from it. "Or if you won't tell me that, could I at least know where Lyra and Octillery are?"
"Not here!" It laughs.
"How'd you figure that one out?" You deadpan back without missing a beat. The pokemon waves its fan like a metronome to some unheard beat as it explains.
"The girl brought you here, asking to take watch. It took the pokeball with the Mienshao, and left! I know nothing more, nothing less! Shall you begone?"
Huh, you didn't know Lyra was so friendly. And she managed to catch that Mienshao, too? Lucky her, you guess. Taking your opportunity, you begin to walk towards the only other source of light in the room—a door, leading who knows where. All you know is that it led away from here, and that was enough for now.
"You seem like a kooky psychic to me. Could you maybe psychic where I can find them?" You ask hopefully, expectations at rock bottom for sense at this point. The pokemon's eyes narrow with its response:
"Elsewhere," it replies. What were you expecting? With a half-hearted thanks, you gather your courage and walk into the light. Immediately your eye throbs more painfully, but you force yourself onwards. No time to waste, you wanna make it home for dinner! You're in some sort of camp, that somehow managed to look shodden and advanced at once: the roofs are poorly thatched, no doubt a pain to be in when it rained, yet there's a flatscreen television through the window that several young pokemon were watching. Was this the Swords' camp, you wonder? Hopefully. Lyra could just grab Bud, and you could all get out of here!
Footsteps, from behind. You dart against a nearby wall, barely missing a Garchomp and and unsheathed Honedge walking past. Or hovering, in the ghost's case. You sigh in relief: you had to be careful.
"Hmm?" The Garchomp grunts. Its golden eyes catch yours, black sclera rolling unsettlingly. The Honedge follows suit, staring daggers into you with a cold blue eye. You gulp.
"As you were," you say calmly, and the Garchomp shrugs, then continues walking... until being slapped in the face by the Honedge. It growls in confusion, but the Honedge merely points insistently at you in response with its prehensile, blue cloth. Realisation shines on the Garchomp's face, and it lets out a warning bellow at you, flashing razor sharp teeth.
"...Brush your teeth once in a while?" You comment. The dragon trails off, then shuts its mouth. It tries to appear aloof, but you can tell it's trying to cover its mouth from you; you can't help but snicker in response. Whining, the Garchomp points a scythe at you. You expect an ungodly move to be launched at you, but instead the honedge rushes forward at you, wielding itself like a blade.
Which, all things considered, was surprisingly fine for you. You'd take an animated sword slicing at you over a creepy psychic ape any day. With only a small exhale of effort, you duck under the strike. For good measure, you slap the flat side of the blade with an open palm, disorientating the sword just long enough for you to grab the handle and wield it yourself. A malevolent voice cackles all around you, bringing your attention back to the Honedge you held. Its eye shines with malice as its cold cloth wraps around your arm tightly; the Garchomp smirks too, crossing its arms.
Nothing happens, which you'd think is obvious. What were they expecting?
"Ow—good grip, I guess?" You say, waving the sword around in your hands until its grip loosened. The Garchomp visibly recoils, only serving to confuse you more: it looks like it was expecting you to be in a heap on the floor. What was the cloth gonna do, suck the life out of you? You'd expect more from the Swords who've managed to evade the authorities for as long as you remember.
With a roar, the Garchomp charges forward, swinging a limb powerfully—but predictably—at you. You easily manage to deflect the blade with a sharp sound. The garchomp rakes again, and again, only succeeding in putting dents in the poor Honedge. Eventually, you tire of torturing the poor ghost and humiliating the increasingly angry Garchomp. It strikes widely, and you hit it upside the head with the flat of the blade and toss it aside. The Garchomp loses its balance and ends up flat on its face, while the Honedge pokes it to ensure it was still breathing.
"H-hey! Thanks for looking after my friend, Gwinny!" Someone shouts from afar. Squinting, your good eye can barely make out the form of Lyra jogging with your Octillery tagging along from on top. You wonder who Gwinny is...?
"...That's not you, by any chance?" You ask the downed Garchomp. It growls contemptuously in response—and it didn't take a translator to puzzle out what that meant.
"Sorry?" You apologise weakly with a shrug. too Lyra closes in on the three of you. She looks at 'Gwinny'. Then you. Then at the Honedge. Then at Gwinny again.
"Demi," she starts lowly. "What did you do?"
What did you do?! "H-hey, they attacked first! I've got a right to defend myself!" You throw up your hands blamelessly. The Honedge screeches behind you, and Lyra sighs.
"I asked Gwinny to look for you! Why would they just attack?!" She explains. You scoff, but your brain makes the connection anywayit was kinda weird how a Honedge would rush at you, instead of just Shadow Force-ing you, or something similar.
"I already apologised," you mutter half-heartedly. The Garchomp tires of wallowing in the dirt, and finally hoists itself to its feet. It grunts something to Lyra, who nods understandingly.
"This is Guinevere. She caught me sneaking into the base, but once I explained who was here, she agreed to help me. She's the one who carried you to that Oranguru! You'd probably still be lying in the forest if it wasn't for her!" She huffs. You turn to Guinevere sheepishly.
"Truce?" You offer. She responds with a sweep of her tail—one moment, you're on your feet, the next you're lying on the ground.
(Touche, Gwinny... Touche...)
Conveniently, lying on the ground allows you to pick up your dignity along with yourself back up. Immediately you're suprised with a bundle of wet tentacles cannonading towards your body, nearly knocking you to the ground again. Your hand miraculously manages to find Octillery's head, and you comfort the creature with pats. "Yeah, I missed being constantly wet too," you chuckle. Octillery stares at you with wide, inky eyes that look like they're about to overflow. "Jeez, it was a solid three hours at most! I mean that much to you?"
"I don't think Octillery understands the difference betweeen unconsciousness and death," Lyra pipes in. Her face seems strangely haunted. "Somebody had to carry the octopus who decided to go through all five stages of grief whilst we walked here. It wasn't Guinevere, and it definitely wasn't Honedge..."
She shudders. Moving on swiftly...
"You reckon there's any clue to where Bud might be?" You say, looking around: all the buildings in the camp. They all look the same to you, with too many to even consider searching one by one. Yet again, Lyra saves the day.
"Actually, yeah! Gwinny was really helpful with that too, come to think of it! She's got a sure-fire way of getting us to where the 'new recruits' are being kept." Her voice is upbeat, but you don't miss the slight waver on 'recruit': you couldn't blame her either. "But Demi? Thank you, for everything. You haven't even known me for a day, and you've done all of this for me! You really are an amazing friend."
She pats you on the shoulder with a grin. You squint warily back at her: you don't trust this, not in the slightest. "Spit it out," you say cautiously. Her smiles falters.
"Well... Gwinny wants to do it by her plan. If we wanna get into there, we're gonna need a distraction. A pretty big one, if we don't want anyone asking questions."
"How big is 'big'?"
She sighs before continuing. "Big enough to attract the attention of Shifting Leaves in Wind herself."
Oh, fine. That seemed reasonable enough: don't know why everyone looks so uncomfortable. You didn't even know a ghost sword could look tense before today. "Alright. So what do you need me to do then?"
"Y-you're not gonna think about it?" Lyra splutters out, sharing an incredulous look with Guinevere. The Garchomp is the first to look back, shooting you an 'are you insane' look. You merely shrug off their doubts.
"What's the worst that can happen? I bet Shifting Leaves is a huge pushover anyway. It'll be fun, probably."
Lyra takes a second before nodding anxiously. "...I don't even wanna unpack that logic. Anyway—siddown! I'll explain the plan." Guinevere obeys, sitting cross-legged on the floor. You follow suit, leaning forward attentively. Lyra puts on her best teacher voice when she speaks:
"So, Demi! You're a human heretic gone rogue, runnin' around with your brainwashed Octillery. You try and attack Shifting Leaves itself—gasp—but are luckily stopped by Gwinny before you can lay a finger on its delicate green body. The heroic Garchomp locks you up and throws away the key; except the key, is right here!" She rifles around in her pocket, eventually retrieving a small but lustrous blue orb. She hands it to you, which you take carefully, cautious not to break the fragile object. It's warm in your hands.
"I don't think this is a key," you comment helpfully. Lyra huffs.
"It's a metaphor, Demi, didn't you do literature at some point? Anyway, it's your job once you're in to grab that Dratini and smash the orb as hard as you can on the ground. It'll take you both home. And once Gwinny gives me the thumbs up, I'll follow suit with my own orb."
You interject. "And what does Gwinny and our Honedge friend gain from all of this?"
Guinevere growls something to Lyra, who nods morosely in response. "She knows what it's like to lose family. It's not that unreasonable to want to stop it happening again, isn't it?"
Yielding, you lean back; you didn't quite believe the dragon, but you couldn't challenge more without sounding like a jerk. "Right, right. Sure." You roll your eyes, catching a spot of purple peeking out of Lyra's pocket. When she shifts, you can just about make out the form of a purple pokeball with 2 red accents on either side. The most striking feature, in the centre, was an 'M' drawn in white. Seems... familiar.
"Hey, was that from before?" You ask her, pointing at the small sphere nestled into her pocket. She reaches into the pocket and pulls out the object; it gleams in the light menacingly.
"This is a Dominus Ball," she says mysteriously. You immediately pipe in.
"Shouldn't it have a 'D' on it then? Is it faulty, or didya just get a ripoff?" Lyra glares back at you, but doesn't relent.
"It worked perfectly fine on that Mienshao! You would've been in a world of pain if I didn't save the day!"
Octillery, as curious as ever, finally notices the new addition to your face: he pokes your swollen eye with a tentacle, and you slap it away with only a small grunt of pain. Lyra chuckles sympathetically. "A more painful world of pain, I mean."
Yup. Thanks, Lyra. You don't even have time to cough up your usual sarcasm before she shoves the ball into your hand. "And if all else fails, you could try using the Mienshao as a wild card? I wouldn't count on it though." Reluctantly, you slip the ball into your pocket- that kooky Mienshao would be staying in there, if you had any say in it. After all, you weren't exactly looking for a second black eye. However, you can't focus on that now—it seems unreal, but you're actually in the home run with this final bit. All you had to was act like a crimminal, annoy some prissy pokemon, snatch Bud and be on your merry way home.
Eager to get it done with, you speak up: "When do we start?"
A low, deep clanging reverberates neither close nor far. Guinevere, Honedge and Lyra share knowing and anxious looksy—ou're just about to run out of patience as Lyra finally explains.
"Now, Demi. That sound means we start now."
The woman sighs, willing the clock to hasten its hands. Days in the office were always... difficult.
Ah well: a boring day meant a day nobody was dying. Had to be thankful for that, at least. Furthermore, she's nearly finished the month's assay—with a bit of luck, she'd be relaxing once she got home. She could only hope her son and Typhlosion were having a slightly more interesting day. She's been worried sick about then recently, with the fire-type's recent evolution and the new school they've started at.
"Ullo! A day not on the field is a good one, eh?" A rich, jovial voice greets her. A man in a smart suit (but crooked tie) saunters in, greeting her with a wave. She waves back, out of politeness than any real kinship: there is something about his oily tone that irks her deeply.
"Can't disagree with that," she replies, omitting how she couldn't agree with what he's said either. She prays desperately that'll be it in the interaction, but the suited man pulls out a chair and sits down, clearly gearing up for a long conversation. She sighs mentally: just how much longer would she have to endure this?
She could only hope her children were having a better, more enjoyable day than her.
"All rise for our leader!" A powerful voice announces, making Lyra jump. Of course, you laugh at her, hoping she doesn't notice the slight tremour in your hands.
"Don't mess this up," she whispers, following the Honedge with a thumbs-up. You nod resolutely: you wouldn't screw this up, not this far in!
"What's the plan, big girl?" You ask, smirking wider as she growls in annoyance. It's promptly wiped off your face when she scoops you up, throwing you roughly over your shoulder and nearly crushing poor Octillery while she's at it! She moves surprisingly smoothly for her hulking size, moving silently to scale a building at a prime viewing point for espionage. You feel like an secret agent as you peek down—should you get code names? I think you should get code names. Octillery wouldn't be against it!
"Thank you, comrade," a calm voice replies, but only a fool would miss the power in its tone: it carries through the air, echoing clearly throughout the entire camp. Lines of pokemon gather rigidly on either side of a path, waiting eagerly for their leader to show their face. Or anxiously: a Magneton looks like they'll short-circuit. Guinevere taps your shoulder with a grunt. You follow her other appendage pointing forward to the form an elegant, poised pokemon, walking into the camp. From the way it sauntered so self-righteously, it wasn't a bad assumption to think it was Shifting Leaves you were looking at.
You scoff. Guinevere whips around to stare into you. "Was expecting it to be a little bigger, that's all. Bet we could take it, any day!"
When would you make your move? You don't quite have a plan, but you're sure you could freestyle something in the moment: all your best ideas came in times of urgency. So you wait, and wait, until the moment seems perfect. You squeeze Octillery reassuringly: this would be fine! After that, you nod to the Garchomp. "I'm going in," you say. With nothing more than a grunt in response, she darts off, sneakily waiting for her chance to swoop in and 'capture' you.
Alright: and with a roll of your shoulders and a couple of star jumps, it's your time to shine.
"Octillery, I want you to hit Shifting Leaves with a Snipe Shot," you ask. He gurgles a protest, but you shush him down. "Yes, yes, I know it's resisted and all that—just trust me here!"
After another moment of hesitation, Octillery Snipe Shots the slowly walking Sword, the concentrated beam of water colliding satisfyingly with the side of its pompous head. To your surprise, it doesn't even react. Burly guard pokemon react immediately, drawing up shimmering Protect fields, but it dismisses them all with a raised hoof.
"But, m'lday—!"
"—Oh, hush, don't worry yourself." 'She' says with a smile—a smile that sends a chill down your bones as she glances at you. You warm yourself with a smirk. "Really, this is a non-issue. Let me deal with this... fly quickly."
Okay. The jig's up. You stand to your full height, and put on the evillest voice you can think of:
"So this is where you pokemon-scum have been hiding? No matter: once I capture your leader, us humans would've triumphed once more!" You announce.
The effect is immediate: a cacophany of whispers pepper the crowd of pokemon. You may not be able to understand what they're saying, but the worry in their tone is unmissable. Shifting Leaves is unfazed, she steps forward towards you with that same serene smile still plastered on her face. You watch her intently, ready to move at the slightest hint of danger. "Is that so, human? We are scum, yet that Octillery draped around you is your only defense," she looks over the crowd, who is eating up every word eagerly. "This, my friends, is the irony of humankind!" They break out in agreeing cries. You stand strong.
"Psh—this octopus? Merely another pawn for me to further our goal!" You retort, trying to recall what Team Rocket would say in this situation. "Pokemon are nothing but tools! Nothing, I tell you!"
"I see," she responds with a bow of her head.
You somehow notice the miniscule, imperectibly small tilt of her head to the left; jumpy as a hare, you're already breaking into a run across the roof when Solar Beam erupts from behind, obliterating a good half of the building in its path of destruction. You measure the risk and take a jump to the next building, rolling, standing, and taunting once more, despite the hammering of your heart against your rising and falling chest. "Nobody important lived there, I assume?" You ask, taking the moment to gaze at the nothingness she so casually left; wasn't Solar Beam meant to be a two-turn move?! She looks mildly interested.
"Sharp reflexes, for a human. And to your facetious question, whoever lived there would rejoice to see the justice being wrought," she says. Anticipating another beam, you speak once more, sweat running down your neck.
"Any more of that funny business, and I use it!" Your hand rifles in your pocket, retrieving the Dominus ball. You hold it up to the crowd, making sure the 'M' was visible to all. It was still heavy with the Mienshao inside. "Years of research, testing on live, unwilling pokemon by the way, all to bring you this! The...the...." (what words begin with an M?) "...Mighty Doombringer!"
She scoffs. "'Mighty Doombringer?"
"Mighty Doombringer!"
"And, assuming that isn't a shoddy paint job on the normal treacherous spheres, why shouldn't I just kill you before you use it? How fast do you think you can react?"
"Fast enough," you respond cooly, confident you could wrangle the situation back under control. "Or maybe not. Tell me, is it worth risking the lives of everyone here? Think carefully, Sword," The smile finally drops off her face: for the better or worse, you couldn't tell yet.
"What is it you humans desire?"
"To capture Shifting Leaves in Wind."
"I cannot facilitate that. This camp would fall," she hisses. "I have fought for years without my brothers to keep our ideals alive. You wish for it all to be brought down for some childish request?"
Good: she was on the defensive now; all that was left was to seal the lie. Hopefully Guinevere knew what she was doing. You jump off the roof, landing with a quick roll. You hold up the 'Mighty Doombringer' for all to see as you walk towards her.
"Then let's negotiate," you smirk as she circles you, hoping Octillery's now feverish shaking won't give you both away.
"Are your superiors that desperate yet cowardly, they send a child soldier to carry out their affairs in their stead? Pathetic."
"Didn't ask for ya opinion," You shoot back. "What are you offering me?"
"Your life. We are not murderers, however forsaken your species may be—lay down your arms and call off your Shadowed, and you may live yet."
You scoff, waving off the Sword with a hand. "Oh! Are we making demands now, then? You didn't forget about the Mighty Doomsbringer already, have we?"
She smiles triumphantly, like winning an easy game of chess. "Yes, yes I am. I needn't worry about your contraption. You've already given up the battle, human." Her eyes flick behind you, and you whip around rapidly just in time to watch a Garchomp's tail slam into your stomach, knocking the wind out of you. Not hard enough to break ribs, but with enough force that suggests maybe Guinevere hasn't forgiven you yet for earlier. You keel over dramatically, rolling around on the floor with loud groaning. "Ugh... curse you, horrible pokemon...!" She picks you up with relative ease, slinging you over her shoulder and facing you back to Shifting Leaves.
It nods curtly. "Excellent, Guinevere. I trust you know what to do with his kind?"
Her growl rumbles through your entire body; she stiffly turns, then carries you away with thundering steps.
That is, until the Sword spoke once more, her keen voice cutting through the air. "Halt. Perhaps there is hope for the Octillery?"
With a small huff, the Garchomp separates Octillery from you—or tries too. The persistent octopus holds tight, until you hiss a "leggo!" to him. It obliges with a disgruntled(?) gurgle. Guinevere places him down on the ground, then wipes her scythe clean of moisture. On your clothing. (You kick her discreetly in the side. She slaps you again with her tail in response.)
Sauntering forwards, Shifting Leaves speaks in a high, sweet voice: "Surely you've seen the error in your trainer's ways? Pah—if he could even be called that. For years, no, generations humans have oppressed you and I: and for what purpose? We hold the power: what do they have, aside from their ambitious, conniving minds and deft hands? Nothing. Join us, and you can be the one to bring the change. Join us, and you can live freely, unafraid of being considered a means to an end for Flare, Rocket, or any of the idiots who rule this world from the shadows! Join us, and—"
"—Hey, that is a pretty cool rock! Lemme see!" You say with a start. Octillery lifts the sparkling stone up to you, and you nod approvingly in response. "That's a keeper."
Shifting Leaves stamps a foot, like a toddler trying to focus attention back to themself. "Were you even listening?!" It huffs.
Octillery looks at you, then at it with his usual curious expression. He shakes his head. Shifting Leaves' smile cracks.
"Insolent child. I see now it was mere folly leading me to believe there was still saving you. Guinevere? Get this scum out of my sight."
Youch. Harsh, even by her standards. As in, uh—you assume she's normally like this. Not me. Just don't dwell on it alright?! You've got things to do.
Taking that as his cue, Octillery hoists himself back onto you with a squeak. The Garchomp huffs subserviently, and begins to walk off. She carries you roughly through the camp, past rows of anxiously onlooking pokemon: Rattatas, Pidoves, Beedrill, and countless more you couldn't possibly put a name to. All focused on you raptly. "Rah!" You roar, snickering when a Spoink springs into a Politoed's side. It nearly stops its stupid bouncing but manages to correct itself at the last moment, wiping moisture off of itself with a small blush on its face. What they lack in fierceness they make up in numbers; if you didn't know better, you'd think a whole forest's worth of pokemon were staring at you. You were more surpised there was an end to all of them when the crowd finally fades out, tapering to a relatively modern looking building at the end. Now, you wonder how they got this here? Octillery points urgently at it, and you nod in agreement—yeah, it beats me too...
The floor rises—more accurately, you were falling towards it. You barely manage to stop your head cracking like an egg (nice save by the way!), and shoot a glare at Guinevere. She looks... strangely conflicted. Torn between entering the building and whatever it holds (hopefully a Dratini or two, but you couldn't be picky) and staying out here. "Guess this is my stop then?" You joke. She doesn't respond; her glassy eyes stare forward, her mouth slightly agape. Whatever she was doing, it was creepy. You were gonna go into that more welcoming-looking building, and just assume she was fine. But Octillery rubberbands you comically quickly to her side with a tentacle. He drops into your view, just to give a stern headshake. Jeez: you wave in front of her face to get her attention- zilch. It takes a firm tap on the shoulder for the Garchomp to finally come back to with a snarl.
"I was just checking you're alright!" You cry, throwing up your hands defensively against her glare. After a moment of judgement, she relaxes, panting. "Are you alright though?" You ask tentatively, hopefully not invoking her ire while your at it. To your relief, she nods, waving you off with one of her dangerously sharp scythes. Shrugging, you assess the building ahead once more: how bad could it be?
"Was that what you wanted?" You grumble to Octillery, who doesn't respond. Both of you were heading inside the towering building, whether he wanted to or not. In, grab the Dratini, out, meet your Typhlosion. How hard could it possibly be?
"What has four legs in the morning, 2 in the day—"
"—Man."
"Alright. What starts with E and ends with E, but only has—"
"Envelope."
With each and every generic riddle you answered, it just got angrier and angrier. Its glowing eyes shone so bright at this point, the entire room was bathed in an ominous glow as it bellows in frustration. You just shrug at it, smiling smugly as it asks another question.
"What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen sparrow?"
Heh, another easy— wait, what? "Spearow?" You ask cautiously.
"Sparrow."
"What the hell's a sparrow?"
"I don't know! The book says sparrow!" It replies. Its eyes gleam with malice. "It's got the answer too~ no answer, no passage! Time's a-ticking, human!"
Octillery snaps to attention. It propels off your shoulder, and retrieves the pen from that Sceptile earlier today, and begins to scribble down furiously on the walls. After an awkward moment of waiting, it looks at the Cofagrigus. The phantom's eyes narrow. " 'African or European...' are those types of cake, or something? I don't know!"
It scans its book of riddles quickly. "Says European here. What's your point?"
Octillery makes a certain, low noise. The Cofagrigus' eye twitches, and it slams the book down on the floor. "You can't possibly have figured that out from those...those... scribbles! ONE. LAST. RIDDLE! A father and a son are in a car accident; the father dies, but the son lives and is in critical condition! The son is rushed to the hospital for immediate operation. However, the surgeon available, crying their little ,pathetic, human eyes out, says 'I can't operate on him, he's my son!' how is this possible?"
Picking Octillery back up and briefly looking at the indecipherable scribbles littering the floor, you answer cautiously, "...is the surgeon his mother?"
It shrieks horribly, forcing you and Octillery (somehow) to cover your ears. For a moment, you're afraid you've gotten it wrong.
"HOW?!" It screams. You guffaw.
"Dude, it wasn't that hard—when's the last time that worked?"
Its eyes narrow in response, the razor sharp smile glued to its face wavering slightly. Two shadowy hands materialise, each with innumerable fingers. "90... 100 years ago?"
"Update your riddles then; women can be surgeons now."
"Huh?" It stammers in response. Groaning, you make yourself comfortable on the floor—this was gonna be a long one. "Last time I checked, they were still fighting for the vote! How'd that go?"
"They got it." You answer. It looks unsettlingly invested in the conversation with the way its pupils drill into yours. You only get increasingly creeped-out when its smile returns.
"Really?! When?! And—why didn't anyone tell me about this? I knew you humans would see sense eventually," it chortles. "Believe it or not, I used to be a sorta mascot for them. Thinka... Pikachu to a Kanto!"
So that's what that coffin symbol was in History! You remember seeing the banners online for it. You wonder...?
"You don't happen to have any of the flags, do you?" You find yourself asking, out of curiosity. "The original ones. They're pretty rare nowadays."
"You don't say..." it hums. Suddenly, shadowy hands hoist you and Octillery towards it. "Come, come! Whenever the girls sewed one of them, they'd do another one, just for me! Of course, it quickly got to be impractical but I just couldn't say no to 'em... it's one of the only possessions I still bother keeping, actually. Lots to spare though! One for you," it says, and a hand throws a flag over you, "and one for you!"
Octillery gets one too, and he seems happy to get it. Chirping to himself, the water-type wraps the flag around its midsection, deftly using its limbs to tie a small knot. With a trumpet of jubilation, Octillery's made it into a cape! He holds out his limbs towards you, seemingly offering to do the same, but you deny politely. (Octillery for women's rights, I guess.)
"Thanks?" you say, folding the flag as respectfully as you can and shoving it into your pocket—the Cofagrigus was positively beaming now. "If you're so interested in this stuff, why don't you just go outside more? There can't always be someone to bother with riddles."
"Hey, my riddles are perfectly enjoyable and challenging! Not my fault the first one who comes along is a nerd at 'em. And I can't leave here, what if there's a prison break or something?"
"Yeah, that'd be terrible," you lie through your teeth. "Who'd think of doing that to poor you?"
It nods. "Exactly!"
This conversation is weird enough, so why not make it a little weirder? "Have you tried asking for a rota for guard duty?" You suggest. The Cofragigus moves to respond, but makes no sound.
"Huh. I didn't think of that. But Shifting Leaves is scary, I don't wanna ask her..."
It seems deep enough in thought that you're able to pick up Octillery and shimmy towards the stairs. Once you're confident you'll get away, you shout a quick 'sorry!' before darting up the stairs labelled 'to 1F." The Cofragrigus takes a split second to realise what had happened, but reacts grotesquely; it's coffin splits over, revealing the abysmal maw gaping inside. Tentacles, eyes, and more nightmares lurch at you at once, so you hightail it faster up the stairs—you swear something was breathing down your neck too...
Sorting Dungeon, 1F
...Luckily, you're well into the second floor before its shadowy tendrils can reach you. Take that! Yet again, you're convinced the Swords were nothing but a bunch of pushovers: their menacing guard iseasily dismantled with a quick conversation.
Although, it is kinda a shame you met like this; the conversation was just starting to get interesting, too. The guard seemed like not too bad of a monster. You can't dwell on it now, however. You continue walking through the corridor ahead.
"No, Pinaps are better!"
"Uh, helloooo? Like, Rawsts any day!"
"Are yer stupid?!"
Seems like a kinda tense situation: a Jynx and Abra bicker energetically over their preferred food choice. Strange that they could both speak English, though—didn't that take years to accomplish, even if Abra are mad smart? They look like they're about to fight, until the Abra catches your eye. A grin adorns its yellow face.
"Look mate: this guy looks like he has taste! Would you rather be pelted with a thousand Pinaps—"
"—Or a thousand Rawsts?" The Jynx butts in. "Obviously he's gonna pick the Rawst! Have you seen how spiky Pinaps are?!"
"Mate! Those spike's are nuthin: haven't yer felt how cold Rawst berries can be?! Man, I'd freeze to death before gettin' hurt by them!"
"Nu-uh!"
"Yuh-huh!"
You pick randomly. What was it the Jynx said again? "Uh, Rawsts. Sure. They look less hurty."
The Jynx nods passionately, whilst the Abra huffs. "Told ya so!"
Hopefully that was your opportunity; you hurry past the duo. Octillery's cloak billows behind him.
"Huh, nice cloak by the way," the Jynx comments. Octillery burbles appreciatively. You walk faster.
"Say Bernie..."
"-what? I'm done with this conversation."
"Aren't we like, meant to be looking out for intruders?"
(Uh oh.)
"Pshh, yeah? But who's actually coming here? Everyone rearin' for a fight takes offensive duty."
"But like, isn't a human kiinda suspicious? When's the last time that Cofagrigus let one through?"
The Abra talks on. "But you know what it's like. That human's fine if they got through it."
"GET BACK HERE!" A voice bellows from below, making you all jump. The Jynx looks at the Abra with a smug grin.
"Yeah, you were right again, shut up," it mutters, gathering psychic energy in its hands.
It was a fight!
The tight corridor doesn't lead much room for evasion; throwing yourself against the cold wall, you barely manage to avoid sharp shards of ice sent at you—a more experienced pokemon wouldn't have missed. Next time, she wouldn't either; you would have to act fast.
A wondrous wall of light is put up to suppress damage from special attacks for five turns.
Octillery jets out a wide stream of water at the guarding duo; it easily floors the Jynx but not the Abra, who throws up a screen of light in defense. The Abra looks at the felled and drenched form of the Jynx with a snicker. The Jynx glares venomously back. "They really do bicker like siblings, huh?" You mutter, fondly remembering you and Paprika.
"Watch it!" The Jynx expands ice into the air, nearly freezing the Abra solid. "Maybe I might think you look better as a block of ice!"
You didn't even know Abra could growl. "Try it! I'll take down this human, then I'll whoop your butt!"
Wow. No chemistry whatsoever. But maybe you could exploit that?
"I mean, I wouldn't be having that from someone who thinks Pinap berries would hurt more, just sayin'!" You comment, loud enough for both pokemon to focus on you once again. The Abra's brow furrows.
"What do you know human?!" It waves its hands forward, sending Swift Stars hurtling towards you. Octillery blocks them with a Protect easily, letting you continue your taunt. Boldly stepping forward, you continue:
"Nothing, nothing. Except that maybe you might be a lil' stupid. And that Jynx knows more. But who knows?"
From experience, you knew how sensitive psychic types get about intelligence; as soon as the words left your mouth, it was only a matter of time before the two of them began trading blows.
"I knew it!" Ice shrapnels towards the Abra, encasing an arm in bitter coldness. "Everyone says it, only you're in denial at this point!"
"We're believing humans at this point? Don't make me laugh!" It retaliates with more stars with its other arm. They continue bickering loudly as they put dent after dent in each other (and the walls). With a award-winning slide tackle, you bash past the Abra and Jynx, snickering and waving goodbye to their still dazed faces.
Sorting Dungeon, 2F
"You reckon they have a single serious pokemon in here?" You joke to Octillery, who shrugs in response. Any comedy quickly fade into the somber mood of 2F however; the room is empty, depressingly barren and cold, with nothing but cold marble floor, a single lamp illuminating barely anything into the darkness, and a pokemon in the centre, tethered by chains. You can barely make out the dull pink scales covering its serpentine form, hunched over on the floor.
"Uh, hello?" You say. No response. The air feels tense. In a surprising burst of courage, you manage to force a foot forward—the temperature drops, enough for Octillery to begin shivering against you. The cold doesn't spare you either, sharp pangs of pain making you regret not bringing a coat, despite it being just after summer. It's cold. Why is it so cold? Cold water lands on your nose—no, not water. You hold your hand out, confirming it in the white specks collecting between your fingers.
"S-snow? B-but how?" You mutter, rubbing your hands together to keep warm. What you would do for Paprika right now...
"Are you doing this?" you ask the pokemon fettered once more. This time, it's head lurches forward, wide eyes focusing in on yours. The snow intensifies. It's cold enough that the chains binding it freeze over and snap like twigs. The pokemon, easily towering over you, rises to full height.
"Don't suppose you'll turn the temperature back up," you comment. It coils in on itself, rises, then roars. White fills your vision; you can't even see your hands anymore. The only sign Octillery hasn't fallen off is the cold sensation of his tentacles against your clothes. Then, a bright light emits from a horn on the monster's head, bright enough to make your head hurt. The light intensifies—no, moves towards you!
It was a fight!
(You can't see anything through the cold. Your party's evasion was direly lowered.)
The serpentine monster darts in and out of the whiteness—a whip of the tail against your leg, a torrent of wind blowing you around, or even the occasional condeming slash of light. Whatever it was trying to achieve, it wasn't exactly thrashing you: if it could conjure this up, no doubt it could put you in a whole world of pain if it really tried. "So what do you want from me?!" You call out. The only response is a low growl, and the whipping winds against your ears. Poor Octillery just wasn't having the greatest time—he was feeling closer to an icicle than an octopus right now... Octocicle. Yeah.
"WARNING! WARNING! POWERFUL POKEMON IN AREA! EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!"
You jump: you didn't even know ROTOM was still on you. Admittedly, you'd assumed he was just left with the rest of your stuff wherever it was after you woke up in that kooky Oranguru's house. ROTOM nearly flies away in the gusts, but you manage to catch him with hands sluggish from the cold.
"Got any actually helpful tips?" You hiss through chattering teeth. Its robotic face blinks widely at you.
"Uhm, maybe try getting somewhere warmer? You don't seem adequately dressed for this weather, friend!"
"I didn't know a mini-blizzard was gonna be summoned in here!" You grimace. "What pokemon can do that, anyway?"
ROTOM loads. "S3arching..." Looks like he was gonna do something useful for once! First time for everything, you guess. "Still searching...!" It crackles out.
Cursing silently, you focus on the overwhelming white in front of you yet again—how could it see you in this thickening snow? At least with that Mienshao you could see what was beating the daylight out of you. And he responded hilariously to your taunts; the look on his face after being captured would be priceless. But now, up against a mysterious pokemon who couldn't or wouldn't reply? A bit scary, not that you'd admit it to anyone.
Octillery draws his makeshift cape around his shivering form. Is this what people usually felt against a wild pokemon? It feels weird.
"Found!" ROTOM announces triumphantly, after a whip of a tail barely misses your head. "Here is a comprehensive list of ice-types it could be!"
You squint furiously as you swipe through the list: Vanilluxe, Beartic, no, no! "None of these are right!" You scream over the whipping wind in the air. "Are you sure it's an ice type? It looked kinda pink and spindly to me. Like a snake."
ROTOM buffers. "Can you confirm?" It asks. You nod quickly. It's face switches back to a loading screen, spinning around infuriatingly slow. It takes every ounce of your patience not to shriek at it to hurry up. Holding ROTOM as tightly as you can, you walk carefully backwards until your hand meets the cold surface. Good thinking—at least you know you can't be attacked from behind.
Not that it'd help much. But hey, it's the thought that counts! Buying time for ROTOM, you call out again. "What do you want?!"
It growls in response, its voice somehow cutting through the white noise. The guttural, raspy sound reminds you of the way Garlath spoke... and Guinevere. An idea strikes your panic-stricken mind:
"ROTOM! What Dragon type pokemon do you have?!"
It emits a high-pitched whine in response. "B-but I was nearly done..." You shake the rebellious phone vigorously.
"Just do it!"
"Alright, alright! Anything for you, friend!"
You weren't sure how it was gonna get you through this, but anything seemed like a whole world of help at this point: you rub your arms in a flimsy attempt to heat them up.
Slithering. Closer! You shimmy across the wall, whipping your head to catch the familiar gleam of icicles embedded in the wall.
"About 25% done..." ROTOM buzzes.
A shimmy turns into hasty sidesteppings. Icicles rake through the air like knives; you move even faster still, eager not to be stabbed. ROTOM buzzes once more, your only refuge amidst the blizzard.
"75% done!"
Air displaces rapidly; you act quicker, darting away from the wall to avoid a more energetic slam that collides menacingly with the surface.
"No, 50% done."
"What?!" You scream. The phone's face flashes red.
"You try getting a connection in here! A good friend would be grateful they're getting anything at all!"
It had a point, but surely it could sense the urgency in the situation; grumbling to yourself, you check on Octillery to make sure he's still kicking (he is, thankfully) and tense once more. Overwhelming white ciricles around you in all directions once more, buffeting your eyes and dulling your ears. You hope ROTOM would finish soon; sooner or later, that monster was find its mark eventually, and you weren't sure you'd get away with just a black eye this time.
Its serpentine tail flickers in the white, and you react savagely: you stomp as hard as you can with your foot, ripping a pained yowl out of its throat. It thrashes, but you drive you foot down and keep it there. White-hot defiance sits in its wide black eyes. You stare back unyieldingly.
"100% done! Here's a list of most well-known dragon type pokemon! Oh, and by the way, you probably shouldn't get within grabbing rage of any snake pokemon! They reaaally do love wrappin' around things!"
Wouldn't he give you these tips before you made the mistake? Before you can insult the phone, the monster's tails shifts underneath you—at first, you thought it was another attempt to get away, but quickly realise your mistake as it begins to reel you in. You thrash wildly at the creature and manage to land a solid punch on its jaw, but eventually end up ensnared in coils of freezing scales. They burn your exposed skin and greedily sap the heat out of you. The pokemon looks at you once, its delicate head bowed towards you, then opens its maw, charging a beam of pure ice in front of your face.
"ROTOM!!" You scream, and the phone gives its usual cheery ring in response.
"Oh! You probably can't see my screen from there, canya? That's fine friend, I can convert it to audio for you. DrampaGoodraGarchompGabiteCharizardTurtonatorDratiniApplin-"
The temperature plummets even further as energy collects in its mouth. How was any of this helpful?! Wait—
"—What was that one before Applin?!" You cry. Rotom rewinds.
"Uhhh, Dratini, my friend?" It responds. Could that be it? No, the hope instantly dies in your cold chest—Dratinis were small, and relatively harmless, and blue—this beast was a striking pink. But that could be the only explanation! You would just have to ignore the glaring inconsistencies: this gamble is increasingly seeming like your only option. You screw you courage down and raise your voice once more. Your ribs feel like they'll crack under the pressure; still, your words come out, strangled and wheezing:
"You know Lyra!" You wheeze, "You know Lyra."
Instantly, your icy chains loosen, allowing air to finally return to your lungs. You take in reckless, voluminous breaths, hoping weakly your legs won't give out beneath you. Soon after, the storm dissipates, leaving only the diminished form of the 'Dratini', looking horrified at you.
"No," it says, in perfect English (why hadn't it just done that before?! This whole lot would've over with little fuss. ) "No no, we had an agreement! You said as long as I stayed here, a-and played nice, you'd leave her alone! That she'd be fine!"
"I—"
"Look, I'll join your stupid Swords if you want, just please don't get her involved in this, she's been through enough already," its coils pulsed with distilled fear, from its glowing tail to its distraught face. "We can't lose her too!"
It looks scared. Why is it scared? You're the one who could finally see more than a few inches in front of their own face. "Bud, just—"
"—don't call me that," it spits coldly, but quickly flutters back to begging. "I-I mean, that's what she calls me. I didn't mean to come off rude, I jus—"
"—Can you let me talk?" You interrupt in a low, scathing voice.
Octillery jolts awake. The Dratini squeaks. Rightfully uncaring, you stand up to your full height on quivering feet. Your hands hurt. Your eye hurts. Your chest hurts. Steading your nerves and throbbing head with a deep sigh, you try once more. "I'm not here to hurt you, or whatever. Hopefully, you're the one I'm here to find." It relaxes slightly, but Bud's voice is still laced with suspicion.
"S-so why didn't she come here herself?" It asked with trepidation.
"I'm the one with the Octillery, I guess. Ife's gone... elsewhere with Paprika: I dunno either, alright? Let's just use the stupid orb—hopefully Lyra wasn't taking the piss with it working—and get outta here." You bring out the small orb from your pocket, which Bud watches with wide eyes. "She gave you one of those?" She says finally, and you carelessly nod in response. You raise your aching arm up, ready to shatter the orb, when Bud interrupts yet again.
"Wait! How's Lyra meant to know you found me?" She asks. After a moment of thought, you shrug.
"Uh, I just thought she knew what she was doing: it beats me."
It slithers—well paces- around the room, brow furrowed in thought as it mutters to itself. "She's probably got her own to activate after seeing the light from this one... it could work, but we're better off getting somewhere higher...more visible...!"
It rockets towards you, drawing a flinch back from your body. "I've got it! I overhear the guards talking about the skyfloor being 4F. What floor are we on?"
"Uh... 2F?"
"Good. All we gotta do is make it to the top of the building, smash the orb, and everything'll work out just fine, I'm sure of it!"
You groan. It hums inquisitively; you wave her off. "It's just that my only other pokemon currently is freezing his socks off after your little indoor snow show." She recoils bashfully, but you check her. "Eh, he'll be fine—anymore guards though, you're taking care of them."
It nods. "Y-yeah, I think I can do that?" Unsuredly, it shoves forward a tail with a blush on its scales, avoiding your gaze. Oh- it's probably a hand shake .You grab the tail tip, hesitant to seem too rough or weak with your grip—you had no idea how sensitive that thing was. Luckily, it ignored the discomfort if there was any and bowed vigorously towards you.
"I-I'm Grella! And you are..?"
Chuckling, you respond, "Demi. And this is Octillery." Octillery lazily taps her tail with a tentacle, then returns back to slumping against you. "He's usually more enthusiastic than this. I promise."
"And I'm ROTOM, new friend!"
ROTOM scares the souls out of both of you; a reflexive shard of ice nearly scratches its new screen. "E-eep! No need to be so cold!"
Grella snorts a laugh: you shake your head in dissappointment. "Let's just get up to 4F, and get this over with." You grumble, already walking towards the stairs to the next floor. The ice and snow have mostly melted into water, filling the entire room with a damp scent: you would feel bad to see it ruined, but considering how empty this room was you'd been justified in feeling otherwise. Just what is the point of this room except apparently kidnapping and imprisoning random pokemon?
You couldn't figure it out for the life of you; but with no more than a quick look back at the tattered, iced chains on the floor, you ascend to 3F.
Sorting Dungeon, 3F
No way. Grella makes her confusion known as you begin to run down the corridor, but you couldn't care less; a familiar voice is calmly engaged in conversation from across the room. What were the chances?!
"Why the hell is there a whole forest in here?" You ask, looking up at the trees straining against the ceiling, and even pushing against the iron bars. Inside the mini forest, a dishevelled Typhlosion—why was he missing so much fur?—and a calm Meganium blink back at you. You wonder why Paprika seems proud of only the lily in the room. You congratulate him anyway. To answer your question, Ife just gestures to Paprika. "No way, did you do all of this?" You ask. Smiling smugly, he nods back. Although, you can't let him have too much thunder.
"Did you get in a fight with a pack of Poochyena? What happened?" You ask, pointing at the missing/burnt patches of fuzz on him.
He shakes his head with a puff. The Typhlosion leans forward to rattle the bars vigorously, but falls back in defeat, panting. You smirk at him. "C'mon, they can't be that tough. But I gueeess we'll help- Grella, could you come and... freeze these off or something? I dunno. Work your ice magic.
Instantly, that gets Ife's attention: you didn't even realise she had stood up, towering to her full height in front of you . It was hard to think these flimsy bars had stopped her hulking figure. Grella finally catches up, slithering into view. "I can't move that fast..." she grumbles, though her frown quickly turns into a grin at the Meganium behind the bars. She growls something to her, and the Meganium laughs in response.
And then, with no less effort than you open a fridge door, or crack open an egg, Ife launches a single heavy foot into the bars, leaving a gaping crater. She cranes her neck as she walks out, gesturing for the gobsmacked Typhlosion to follow. Safe to say, you'd be flummoxed too:
"Hey, just how long have you been here for anyway?" You ask the Meganium. Paprika holds up four fingers in response, and you severely hope for his sake he means minutes, not hours. But at least he seems proud of his work done behind bars.
The user slams the target with the roots of an enormous tree. The user can't move on the next turn.
You watch in awe as he slams his paws against the ground, and the tiled floor rips open with massive roots that thrashed wildly in the air. Octillery claps, and Paprika takes a bow with swagger. However, he looks sheepishly down at the ripped tiles, and shifts them back into place with his foot.
Grella is still excitedly chattering away to Ife, who nods slowly in response periodically. You feel awkward interrupting with a clear of your throat, but you want to have dinner already. Although, first things first, you should probably take care of Octillery. You pry the sluggish water type off of you with a concerning amount of ease, then hand him to the confuddled Typhlosion. "We got caught in a blizzard. I'll explain later, just keep him warm, okay?" He obliges with a nod. Octillery settles comfortably in his arms, and dozes off to sleep. Now that that was sorted, you're sure it was time to go; you've done more than enough 'sightseeing' for today. Just how were you going to explain this to Ma? That scared you more than anything else.
It's a problem you would have to ignore for now, however—it's weird to have no guards on the floor with actual prisoners, but you wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth. "We should probably be going now, shouldn't we?" You say, looking at Ife, Grella, Octillery and finally Paprika in turn. It was strange to consider you've only met Ife today, with how familiar you feel already—you even are beginning to warm to Grella, despite the nervous iciness surrounding her. Ife nods, and you assume that's everyone's verdict: you just pray nothing else screw you over as you walk up the stairs to 4F.
Sorting Dungeon's End, 4F
Shifting Leaves would never live this one down.
Here you are, standing on top of your 'prison', your ticket home right nestled nicely in your left hand. "We really should go out more, huh Paprika?"
Paprika grumbles a tired response; you wonder what happened to him. Ife and Grella seem similarly transfixed with the sight, both gazing out over the expansive settlement of the Swords in the late afternoon Sun. It's beautiful, in a way. You could get lost in the intricacies of the various buildings and pokemon, but you force your gaze away from it: Lyra is probably getting antsy by this point, not to mention how Ife is feeling. You're sure that the Meganium means well, but man... she is still scary.
You sniff. "I guess that's it. I dunno how this stupid orb-thingy works, but I'll just trust Lyra that it'll sort itself out." Paprika nods absently in response; Ife and Grella seem happy for you to go ahead. Alright. Deep breath—you follow Lyra's words, and smash the blue sphere with all your might on the floor. Immediately, a feeling of nausea overwhelms your body in sickening waves. The pieces of the sphere splinter out in all directions, growing brighter and brighter until it outshines your vision. The last thing you see before the landscape shifts is Shifting Leaves itself, her tiny form beneath you looking up with a cold glare.
When your senses finally return to you, it's hard to believe anything eventful happened today. Here you are, standing in front of the familiar oak door, as if you never left. How easy would it be now to just flop back into bed, and pretended like none of this ever happened?
You might've done just that, if it wasn't for the familiar snort of a Meganium behind you. Followed by the jarringly frantic chatters of the Dragonair accompanying her.
"This isn't what's meant to happen," she squeaked. The air drops numerous degrees. "H-he said Escape Orbs are meant to return everyone 'home!" Helpfully, you chime in:
"Home's pretty vague. You sure it isn't just for the person who threw it?" She reacts swiftly and coldly.
"So it's your fault! Who the hell even knows where I am now... I-I thought I was finally going home!" She accuses.
Unflappable as always, you reply snarkily. "Honestly, I just did what I was told. Blame Lyra for anything that's gone wrong." Before the Dragonair can freeze you on the spot, you quickly add, "but just because you dunno where this is, I do—we can link up with Lyra tomorrow at school, okay?" You swing open the door: you and Paprika take in the familiar sights of home, (Octillery acquaints himself with it, with probing appendages prodding and misplacing that you couldn't even bring yourself to stop at this point), and you introduce your two guests in. They both have to bend pretty significantly down to fit inside, but once they're in they fit snugly.
Delicate but certain steps pitter-patter down the staircase; you and Paprika share a nervous glance, and you give your favourite sister a lazy wave as she reaches the bottom. Her notebook is still glued to her hand. She looks at you, Paprika, Octillery, Ife and Grella with a blank expression. For once in her life she's at a lsoss for words, but she eventually manages to spit out, "What the hell, Demi?" quietly.
You blink innocently at her. "What? I went to a pokemon school, and I brought back pokemon. I thought that was the goal."
"It is meant to be one at a time! Maybe two if you are feeling ambitious. Not three!" She sputters. "And do not give me that bull—there is not a possibility you just found a Meganium and Dragonair in some shallow area of Green Space. What actually happened?"
With a sigh, you quickly relay the days events, introducing each of them in turn. "This is Ife, my friend's Meganium, that's Octillery, my new pokemon, and that's Grella."
Her ears prick up at the mention of Grella. "Grella? As in, the Dratini from the diner?" The Hypno sighs massively, opening her notebook and ripping out a solid couple of pages. She throws them carelessly onto the nearby sofa. "Can't believe you found her before me. Congratulations on your evolution, by the way." Grella yelps, realising someone's talking to her and not about her. She nods politely in response.
"How'd you find out her name?" You ask. The psychic-type waves you off.
"I have my ways."
"Thank you," Grella interrupts awkwardly. However Heather either didn't not or didn't care for her discomfort. She pulls out a pen from her tuft of fur, and scribbles something down on her notebook all professional-like.
"I hear Dragonair have exceptional weather control. I assume that is the reason it feels like someone's turned the AC on?" She asks. When Grella nods she hums in response, jotting something down in the book. Grella leans over to you.
"I-is she always like this?" She asks, eyes still glued onto Heather. You nod sympathetically.
"Yeah, you just learn to get used to it. I did."
"And what's up with the eye, then?" The Hypno asks, pointing at your face: you had nearly forgotten! Heather has one of those rare, precious smirks on her face. "Are you being bullied at school? I am here to talk if you want to."
You react passionately. "No! Just got sucker punched by a Mienshao, that's all." She squints at you.
"...I do not even feel like unpacking that one."
"Then don't!"
"Heather? Is that your brother down there?!" A shouting voice demands. Heather looks at you softly, breathing in deeply.
"Yes," she responds after a pause. Crap. Rustling from upstairs, then footsteps come thundering down. You shy away from your mother's glare, but her sharp words immediately force your attention back.
"Démilọ́lá," she hisses between gritted teeth, "I have been worried sick about you and your Typhlosion, and you come back home in this—"—she growls, waving at both of your battered forms—"—this state! We are going to have a long conversation about what not to do just because I don't have my eyes on you! Take a seat."
"Can I take a shower first, or—"
"—Do not test me, child," she spits. "Take a damn seat." Grella seems positively terrified; even Ife seems slightly disgruntled with the way her petals shifted. Gulping, you slump down on the sofa. You're only comfort is Paprika pressed against you, with his soothing (but waning) warmth.
With a saccharine smile, your mother speaks after looking at each of you in turn. "Now, tell me about your day."
Notes:
x^2 - 1204x + 349779 = 0
Chapter 20: How to Make Curry
Summary:
Watch a pink dragon noodle, giant sleepy lizard, nosy octopus, fluffy big badger thing and mouthy human eat curry. And get 8 hours of sleep.
And one overworked, absolutely fed up mother tend to them all. And a mildly amused Hypno, too. Wonder what she's been up to?
Chapter Text
"I don't even know where to start with you," your mother spits, shaking her head disapprovingly. Heather pipes up helpfully.
"How about the black eye? I want to know who's bullying my brother," she says. Your mother instantly latches onto the notion, and doesn't let go ferociously.
"Yes, yes—why not? Tell me Demi, why have I sent my child for school and he comes back battered?"
You huff: you couldn't lie to her, but you could at least ease her in gently. "I got in a fight," You say. She leans forward.
"Over what? Surely no-one's found out how annoying you are on day one?"
Ouch. "I-it was, uh, a conflict in interests," you say vaguely. The Dominus Ball rests heavy in your pocket, pulsing occassionally; you're sure the Mienshao can't overcome it, but that thought does nothing to quell your unease. "Words didn't work, so they thought fists would be better."
She crosses her arms. "Did you win?" She asks. Heather stares wide-eyed at her.
You splutter out, "did I win?" She affirms with a hum and a raised eyebrow. "I mean, I guess."
She nods in approval. "Good. The only thing worse than a fighter is being a bad one. Heather, be a dear and get your brother some frozen peas." When your mother relaxing, everyone else does in turn—they hadn't permission to do so before. That seems to be the end of the Mienshao inquiry, for now. She then sets her sights on Octillery, still being held by Paprika.
"I wasn't expecting you to mesh well with an Octillery," she comments, though not too unkindly; she holds out an arm, wich Octillery inspects the various golden bracelets adorning the length on. Your mother smiles warmly—she's always had a soft spot for pokemon. "But I can see it now. It shares that incessant curiosity of yours—to a fault." You cringe back into the sofa.
Your mother's gaze falls on Ife next. She looks her up and down, as if appraising the Meganium. After a moment, she nods, impressed. "I can't remember the last time I've seen a Titan pokemon in person. It is a pleasure to meet you." The grass-type nods cooly, but the slight flush of her face isn't lost on you. What was lost however, is how she could tell that just from a glance.
"There's no way you can tell that easily," you scoff. She furrows her brow at you with a tilt of her head.
"Demi, the average Meganium is under 2 metres. Tall ones reach 2 and a half at most."
You whip around to face Ife, and stand up. You were teetering on 1.8 metres tall. Even sitting, she was still a solid head taller than you. You sit back down, feeling even more frazzled than usual.
"Not to mention the sheer power around her," she continues. Paprika nods an affirmative, but you just scoff. "What, like in an anime? That stuff doesn't happen in real life. Gargantuan or not, Ife's just a normal, kinda beefy Meganium."
She waves you off with a hand. " You've never been good at sensing it. Pah! As interesting as your Meganium friend is, I can't help but notice the new furstyle, Paprika." The Typhlosion jolts to attention, pointing an innocent claw at himself. "Yes, you. I didn't raise an idiot. Why has you fur grown so much since I've seen you this morning?"
To be fair, she has a point: you just chalked it up to being messiness, but the Typhlosion did seem a lot fluffier than usual. Heck, someone could practically lose a limb in all that softness.
"And I've only heard stories about Dragonair as proficient with weather as you," she addresses Grella. The Dragonair tries to hide behind Ife, but she has none of it, merely shoving her back forward with vines. Your mother's face quickly sours though. "But I must wonder why you evolved so prematurely."
Grella straightens up. "H-how can you tell?" She asks, but seems to be fearing the answer. Easily slipping back into her professional tone, she gestures vaguely at the Dragonair.
"More unaware of your larger size than usual. Still haven't molted your juvenile scales. It's the usual symptoms of premature evolution in reptiles. Just what happened, Grella?" She leans forward, determined to find the answer. Her intense glare melts holes through Dragonair.
"I-I..." She trails off, coiling in on herself once again. She does that a lot, doesn't she?
"Not to mention the dullened scales. Especially visible, considering your striking-pink colouring. Have you been eating well enough?"
"I-I don't know—"
"—your trainer has been treating you correctly, no?"
"Stop it!"
Ice nearly impales all of you, fracturing outwards from the Dragonair's distressed form. Snow begins to gather and fall in the household. Heather finally walks back into the room, not holding the peas. "Your friend has sorted you out, then? Thank you." She remarks dryly. The Hypno awkwardly bends over icicles to find a relatively unharmed spot on the other sofa.
Surprisingly, Paprika is the first to take action for once. He reaches into his fanny pack, which I'm pretty sure he didn't have before, and throws up a few spicy-smelling leaves into the air. They sway and fall in intangible winds before binding to the icicles, and glowing. Comforting heat radiates off of them, melting the ice into water—which, promptly soaks you all. Him the most, ironically. The drenched Typhlosion seems surprisingly used to this, grumbling quietly in his seat.
You're the second to act, breaking the silence. "Uh, what was that Paps?" You ask. He blinks at you, like you just asked who he was.
"Volcano-mint," he rasps. You smile awkwardly.
"Dude, you've just made that up," you say, but you can't deny the results. Just where had he gotten those... leaf-mint things?
Your mother distastefully wipes water off of her suit. She stares daggers into the Dragonair, who tenses visibly.
"You sound hungry," she finally says, standing up quickly. "I get cranky when I'm hungry too. What do you eat, Dragonair?" Grella's eyes flick fearfully up at her, but her want eventually wins against her fright.
"I'm not picky, Ma'am," she mutters, head hung low. "A-anything you've got, please."
She smiles and nods kindly in response. "It cannot be a lot. The body must accustom after a long period without food. And what about you, Meganium?"
Ife laughs heartily in response. Paprika lets out a confused growl. Grella quickly explains. "S-she, uh, eats a lot. She doesn't want to put a hole in your pocket."
Your mother doesn't so much as flinch, her face looking more offended than anything else."I specialise in catering for all sorts of pokemon. Try me. "
It was a nice moment, until she snaps at you. "Demi, Octillery. You'll be helping me." You know better than to protest at this point; but you can't help but vocalise your doubts with Octillery.
"I don't think he knows how to cook," you say. You relieve Paprika of his octopus-handling duties to bear him yourself; your mother merely kisses her teeth at you, shaking her head.
"He could be blind for all I care, eight appendages is still eight appendages!" With nothing more than a sigh of defeat, you follow her into the kitchen. She opens a cupboard high up, revealling a behemoth pot looming nestled uncomfortably inside. "Get me that pot, and then we'll begin."
You gulp: it was way too high up and heavy for you to consider getting it down safely. Still, you aren't one to throw in the towel, and give it your best shot: hopping explosively off the ground, you manage to loop one of your fingers around the handle and dislodge the object. Unfortunately, that's where your luck ends; the whole thing comes cannonballing down on you with a fury. You crumple under its weight, only barely managing to lift the pot onto the counter top with a sigh. If that's how hard just getting the equipment was, you're sure prepping this would be a path wrought with pain.
"Ah—have I raised a fool?!" She hisses, turning on you furiously. You instinctively step back.
"You asked me to get the pot!" You retort, arms still stinging. She exasperatedly points to Octillery.
"The octopus, Demi! The octopus!"
Oh. Okay, yeah, that probably made more sense. But to be fair to you, Octillery didn't think of it either! He was just as unconcerned as ever. Your mother, clearly on a similar train of thought, tuts.
"Pococurate little monster, not even bothering to help..." she grumbles. Octillery hangs his head in repentance; you'd tell him not to worry, that her truely colourful vocabulary only comes out as a joke, but that word... cmon, it'd be so funny! See, we can play around with it a bit. Pococurate...poko.... Pokokyu!
Yeah, do it, do it—you finally give a name for the Octillery. "Pokokyu!" You decree, holding him up in the air like Simba. Pokokyu only blinks blankly back at you with his wide pupils, but the slight squeeze he applies onto your wrist says he's pleased. Grinning, you turn to your mother. "Watcha think?"
She squints at you, the molten gears turning in her head. After that, annoyed realisation dawns on her. "You are not pulling another ridiculous name out of that defective head of yours—Paprika was bad enough!" You gasp loudly. Paprika loved his name.
"I have the pokeball, so he's Pokokyu!" You counter. She scowls at you, knowing there's little else she could do about it: a trainer held final say, after all. That doesn't deter from giving Pokokyu a 'proper name', however. She stares intensely at him, hard enough that you swear the Octillery started to sweat a little. She mutters under her breath, but you manage to pick up what she's saying. "Irin ajo... hmph, it'll do. I'll call this one Irin-ajo."
Pokokyu (Irin-ajo, who even cares?) only nods. I'd feel like a very lucky Octopus indeed to go from no name to two in less than a day.
"Damn head's felt weird since the camp..." You mutter to yourself. Why did you say that? Because—uh, just because. Wait—no, no, you would feel like a lucky octopus, I meant to say. Not me. Sorry. Well, I'm not sorry because being sorry to yourself is kinda weird! But you're sorry. I think. No, you think. Let's just g-get that meal ready, shouldn't we? I-you-think you're tired.
Ignoring the unimportant things that don't really matter right now, you help your mother prepare the meal, although you have your doubts with her technique. Nobly, you manage to keep your mouth shut until she starts throwing raw meat and whole onions into the pot. What sorta joke is this? You tap her urgently on the shoulder, asking, "You sure about this?"
She shakes her head, incredibly disappointed for being asked such a 'ridiculous question' as she put it. "How many years of cooking for your ignorant butts, and you have the gall to question my cooking techniques?!" She did have a point, but you can't help but worry anyway. Humming harshly, she doesn't even look as she cranks the flame up to the highest. The orange flames intensify into a striking blue, lickng the sides of the gargantuan pot in long, sharp strokes. Steam shoots out of the top, and your mother throws spices, herbs and other assorted ingredients as if to appease an angry deity inside. Eventually, the pot stops trembling and begins to sweat condensation down the sides. "Now Demi," she says, shoving a giant spoon into your hands. "This is the most important part. Stir it at a leisurely pace. You hear that? Leisurely. Too fast, and you'll end up with hot curry in your face, but too slow, and the whole thing will burn."
You nod, gripping the wooden implement resolutely. She smiles. "Good; I'll get the rice ready. Perhaps getting a new pokemon finally unclogged your ears? Haven't listened this well to me since you were ten."
"Yeah, yeah," You mutter. You have to strain your arms uncomfortably up to reach the stove; nevertheless, you don't let the ache in your arm show on your face and begin to stir. How long would this take? You stir in silence and consistently, until a thought pushes to the front of your mind. Conversationally, you ask, "Mum? Did you ever go on a pokemon journey?"
She grunts a positive; you know you should leave it that, but you were already curious enough. You've started it now, and there's nothing much else to do while stirring this titanic curry. "How far did you get?"
"Hmph. I was wondering if you just didn't care about your mum before she was your little caretaker. I got to the Elite Four, if you must know."
You crane your neck to look at her. You couldn't see your face, but you could hear the slight hitch in her voice. "What happened, then? You're not exactly the one to give up on what you want, even if it goes wrong. A lot. "
She kisses her teeth. "When will you get over that bout with those Rattata?" She asks bitterly. The answer was never, but you'd spare her that fact—it was a valiant effort trying to get rid of them by herself in the week you stayed with family in Alola. Once you returned, the whole house was in a state: upturned cushions, raided cupboards, and nameless more. She fought tooth and nail to keep them bay, yet it only took a couple of Embers from your Quilava to send them packing. Reminscience aside, her tone quickly drops again. "But you are right. I do not give up if I see my goal fit."
That was it: her practised tone allowed no further enquiry into the topic.
"So... what pokemon did you have?" You ask. What you really want to know is where they went, but you held your tongue. Already pushing your luck as it is.
The long silence she allows to fester suggests it's a time long gone she's recalling; or, she's considering how best to warp the story. Eventually, she sighs. "An Ampharos. Machamp. Bombirdier. Walrein. Scolipede."
"That's only five," you protest with a pout; a part of you had been expecting that, considering there were only five in the shed's polaroid.
"In time, Demi. I'll tell you there was a sixth though. Do not let our meal burn, though." You whip back around, praying thankfully that you didn't smell any burning. You hadn't even noticed Pokokyu had taken the spoon from you, stirring the pot tirelessly to his own rhythm. You pat his head in thanks, and he leans into the touch. "Not even a day using a spoon, and he's already better than you. No matter! Bring the pot onto the counter, and we'll begin dishing it."
This time, you wisely get Pokokyu to lift the giant pot onto the counter. He does so with relative ease, but you have to make sure he puts it down lightly. The smell is mouth watering, and the sight is downright irresistible. You get out a spoon to try some, but your mother swiftly slaps you on the wrist. "Hosts eat last; It's common courtesy."
"Oi!" Now, why can't everyone just eat together? Keeping your complaints to yourself, you get out seven plates: three medium for Paprika, Grella and you; one small plate for your mother, another small plate Pokokyu grabbed himself and Heather floats a third with psychic force. (Could've just asked, next time, but sure.) Although when you tried to grab a plate for Ife, your mother merely said that she'll have the rest. You can't deny how interested you are: just how much do these Titan pokemon eat? Thoughts aside, you dish a generous helping of the red, steaming curry onto each plate and your mother adds the rice.
There's something deeply satisfying about seeing a meal prepared, that nearly beat the satisfaction of eating it. 'Nearly' being the keyword here; you have half a mind of just gobbling it up, there and now. Luckily, you restrain yourself enough to ask Pokokyu to carry the plates into the living room; it's a precarious balancing test with him on your shoulders, but the Octillery manages to pass it with flying colours. Spoons, forks, and whatever cutlery anyone feels like using follows suit. Curiously enough, Paprika scampers into the kitchen with his food to switch on the kettle. You watch raptly as he lays out a variety of herbs reverently from his bag that I would swear you swear he didn't have before.
"Watcha doin'?" You ask, as more of a conversation starter than a genuine question; it isn't that hard to connect the kettle and the tea leaves. Still, Paprika enthusiastically identifies each of the different coloured leaves to you. He can't speak enough English to say what they do, but you suppose you'll find out.
"Is that enough food for you?" Your mother asks, and you can hear the smile in her voice. Ife looks more excited than you've ever seen before with the unholy amount of curry, and eagerly begins digging in with a comically large spoon. Grella eats more daintily, but is weird in her own ways; she blows on each spoonful before eating it, covering it with a sheen of cold ice. Maybe she prefers it cold? Weird for a dragon type, but who are you to judge? With a shrug, you watch Paprika prepare the tea as you lean against a counter.
Rap rap rap. You turn around, only to take a step back from the beady red eyes staring intently at you, then at your meal. At your meal, then back at you. The dark crow cocks its head, then taps the glass again. You chuckle.
"Dude, how often does this work?" You ask rhetorically, taking another spoonful of your food and savouring the warmth. You're distrustful of Murkrows, but the little guys do make you laugh: you can appreciate a monster with a love of pranks. Although, you wouldn't be caught dead as the butt of the joke.
"Maybe I think you're a pest, huh? What if I sic my Boltund on you, or something?!" You punctuate your words with a tap on the glass yourself. Rap rap rap. It taps, back, more insistently. "Yeah, I guess the risk is worth it for the curry. It is good."
Once you ensure everyone else is occupied with a quick look, you open the window a crack. Of course, you have a firm grip on the plate—you don't trust the Murkrow not to snatch the whole thing—but you leave it just exposed for the bird to nip at the edges. It stares at you as it savours the small taste. A small glow glints in its round eyes. Pushing its luck, it pecks your plate once again with the familiar rapping noise.
"So, you here to just take my food or do you have a name?" You ask. Out of all the pokemon that could learn human languages, Murkrows were one of the sure-fire ones; had the vocal structure and hangs around humans enough to pick it up. Sure enough, after a long pause it tilts its head and looks up at you.
"Bonesnapper!" It cawks, with a proud grin.
"...what did your parents call you, Bonesnapper?" You deadpan. Its little chest deflates.
"...Eberny." It says with less bombast. To be fair, Bonesnapper did sound more cool.
"Alright, that is lame. I'll call you Bonesnapper." It cawks in surprise, then in jubilance.
"Yes, yes! I told 'em it'd catch on eventually!" It whoops, throwing up a wing that sends molting feathers careening off. "Even if no one else calls me Bonesnapper. Heh, they don't really like me very much!"
Okay, you're not sure why you're getting the whole life story, but this is too interesting to stop right now.
"Everyone else in the murder doesn't need to sleep. Except me. Do you have any idea of how dangerous it is to be unconscious around Murkrow?! I enjoy a good prank as much as the next bird, but..." it preens its feathers nervously. It does sound infuriating, being the easiest target. "...it gets to a point, doesn't it? Doesn't it?"
You hum, more in thought than anything else. You assume Bonesnapper was talking about Insomnia, a pretty common ability in Murkrow: after all, it's much easier to break into houses and cause mischief while everyone else is sleeping. So, what other ability could this crow have? It takes a second for the rusty cogs to turn, but you eventually settle on either Super Luck and Prankster; and the test for Super Luck was simple enough. "Wait here for a sec," you ask. You walk briskly past Paprika and to your mum.
"Hey, do you have a coin by any chance?" You ask. She groans, long past asking the motivation for your antics; good thing too, you're not sure you could even manage an excuse for this one. You grab the coin and playfully shoo the Murkrow from nipping any more of your dinner.
"Flip this coin and get a heads for me," you say. With nothing more than its equivalent of a bird shrug—a little ruffle of its black feathersit grabs the coin in its talons through the window, and flips it. As you expected, the coin returns heads up. You ask it do it a couple more times, and it gets a heads every single time. Must be Super Luck, then.
"This is boring," Bonesnapper whines. "Can I have more of that sauce?" It asks. You mutter a reluctant positive. And then, there was half a plate of curry left. Whilst it feasts, you explain:
"I reckon you have Super Luck." Bonesnapper nods, eyes widening.
"Is that good? Is that good?" It caws eagerly. You nod.
"Try playing the lottery," you joke. Sadly, all pokemon were banned from lottery, and the tickets were exclusively made with Dark-type material to prevent soothsaying.
"Super Luck? Super Luck!" It echoes; wonder if it was secretly a Chatot underneath those ebony feathers? Cocking its head, Bonesnapper focuses one of its scarlet eyes on you. "Thank you, human, Human? What is your name?"
You open your mouth, then pause; names given freely could be dangerous. Although Bonesnapper had given you its, you still felt a little anxious giving yours. But I guess it didn't hurt to be nice: that's what Paprika would say, probably. "Uh, it's Demi," You say cautiously. Bonesnapper nods gleefully, but a sense of dread builds in your stomach. The bird repeats the name to itself, savouring the harsh 'D' tapering into the subtle 'e' sound.
"Yes, you'll do just fine," it says darkly. Suddenly, it pecks the back of your hand, hard enough that a small bead of blood builds at the broken skin. Before you can wipe it away, the blood evaporates, floating as red gas to circle the Murkrow. Then, the blood disappears into the air. You gulp, swearing silently to yourself. "Not gonna kill me in my sleep, right?"
It blinks. Then laughs a dry, cawing wheeze. "Kill you? Never? Never! No Murkrow can do that much with such a small scrap of your name and a meagre drop of blood! Besides: you fed me. Listened to me. I just need something to remember you with. Consider it nothing more than... insurance! Yeah, that's a nice human way to put it. What I can do though, is tell you a lot about yourself: you've got a Typhlosion, Octillery. And that Meganium and Dragonair... not yours, are they? Pretty neat trick, amirite! Am I right?"
You nod stiffly, caught between being impressed and feeling slightly violated. "And how do I know you won't abuse my name in the future?" You ask boldly. Bonesnapper cocks its head, staring you up at as if you're speaking a foreign language.
"Same way I knew you'd give me some of your curry!" It chortles, then takes flight. "See you tomorrow, Demi! Demi?" It coos.
You speak in a steady voice that only falters once. "See you tomorrow, uh—Bonesnapper." The name did ring a little more menacingly now. With bated breath, you watch the little Murkrow fly off, until the night and black feathers are indistinguishable. Wouldn't hurt to lock the window, this time.
"Are you alright, Demi?" Your mother asks. You whip around, picking up your plate of curry and fork.
"Yeah, this is really good! I was just texting Lyra: she's the girl in my Trinity," you explain, making sure to slip a compliment in there to soften her up. Regardless, she snorts, pointing to your plate.
"Enjoying it so much, you didn't even realise it was done? Let me wash your plate, Demi. I suppose you've had a long day."
To your horror, your plate has been licked clean of any curry. Silently, you curse the blasted crow as you hand your mother the plate with a smile. Paprika tugs onto your sleeve, leading you to the living room where Grella, Ife, Pokokyu and Heather were watching a sitcom idly on tv. Paprika hands out tea to everyone, then sits you next to Grella. She looks conflicted, but Ife forces her into a conversation with you with a shove of a vine.
"Uh, D-Demi! I wanted to ask you if it isn't too much of a bother, could you text Lyra please? Maybe? I don't want her worrying about me. Or Dad."
You blink stupidly. Grella backtracks swiftly.
"O-or not! I understand if you j-just wanna watch some tv, or something, but—"
"—no, it's fine," you assure her, bringing out ROTOM from your pocket. You just wondered why she hasn't called you yet.
Fifteen missed messages. "Holy crap! ROTOM?! Why didn't you tell me Lyra was trying to reach me!" You ask it. ROTOM blinks to life.
"Oh, is that who 'DragonWhisperingTrashbag is?' I just thought I'd save my friend some trouble from talking to someone like that! Pardon me," It huffs. You hold your head in your palm, but it is kinda your fault.
"I mean it endearingly Ife, I promise." The leering Meganium relents with a small growl. You fumble with the menu of your phone, then pull up her contact.
Lyra pulled open Demi's DM one final time. It had been nearly an hour without reply, and even she was starting to lose hope. In retrospect, a whole multitude of things could've gone wrong: what if the orb went kaputt, and pulled them who knows where? What if that wasn't even them on the rooftop, and Demi never made it out of there? She had just naively smashed her orb when she saw the telltale sign of theirs go off. It could've just been a trick of the light, or, or, wishful thinking! What had she done?!
Her phone buzzed. She nearly dropped the Rotom-enhanced device trying to open the message waiting for her.
we got the icy noodle btw
She had no idea what that meant, but her hands still shook and sunk with relief: then reinvigorated with rage. Her fingers danced firey patterns around the digital keyboard.
where have you been?? It's been hours! I thought u didn't make it :(
Demi was typing for an agonisingly long amount of time. She spent every second alone on the empty sofa, willing the phone to return with a response.
rotom thought u were some rando, sry
we can switch to video tho? Grella wants to talk to u
She accepted the video request without hesitation. It had been way too long since she had seen her sister's face.
"GRELLA!"
Grella practically pushes you aside, as if she could push through the phone to get to her.
"You're not hurt, are you?" She asked.
Grella pauses, then shakes her head slowly. "It doesn't matter. I'm just so happy to see you! How's dad? Can I speak to him too?" She asked hopefully.
Lyra shook her head. "He's still at work. I'll call him as soon as he gets back, I promise! But you've grown so much, haven't you? It couldn't have been that long!"
Grella tenses. "I evolved," she said dully, with none of the joy a freshly involved pokemon has. Lyra doesn't seem to have it either.
"A-and we all missed it, because of them..." she seethed. "Congrats anyway, even if it doesn't mean much." Lyra sighed, quickly trying to change the topic to something lighter. "How's Ife doing?"
You slide ROTOM over to Ife. The Meganium smiles tiredly into the camera.
"Hey girl! I-I'm sorry if you had to go without, again—first thing after school we'll get something for you. I promise."
Ife looks appreciatively over at you, then shakes her head to the camera.
"You've eaten then? Who the hell did you bankrupt?"
The camera is tilted into the now empty pot of curry; you tensen, but trust Ife not to drop it.
"Haha, looks good!" Lyra replies. When she continues, her voice is laced with suspicion. "...Demi didn't cook it though, right? I wouldn't trust anything that boy prepares."
"Slag me off when I'm gone," You grumble.
"O-oh, right!" She doesn't sound that apologetic.
Her voice echoes into the pot. Ife raises it out of the giant metal vat, and hands it back to you. The sheer amount of gratitude on Lyra's face is unbearable.
Thankyouthankyoutha—"
"—Lyra, it's fine, I promise. I'd do it for anyone," you reply.
"What did your mum say about your eye?" She asks, sounding guilty.
"Nothin' once I told her we won," you reply with mirth. She has interesting priorities, you're just thankful they aligned with yours most of the time. Paprika sniffs the camera curiously, making Lyra laugh.
"Paprika, stand back a little," she snickers. "All I can see is that goofy nose of yours."
He obliges with a grunt, moving back to stare intensely into the camera.
"Do you have contact lenses in? Pretty sure your blue peepers were hazel before," she comments.
Wait, what? "Blue?" You splutter out. Paprika squints at you, but all you can see is the familiar warm hazel.
Lyra frowns. "Must've just been my imagination, then. Octillery's still... just being himself, I guess?" She asks.
You flip the camera to Octillery. For some strange reason, he stops eating rigidly, turning himself upright to wave enthusiastically, sending curry flying in all directions. "Hey, someone's gotta clean that up!" You admonish. "But Pokokyu's doing fine."
Her eyebrow raises. "You finally named him?"
Feeling a bit embarassed but knowing the name's stuck, you answer. "Yeah, it felt right in the moment. It suits him, though."
She hums in agreement. "Who's the Hypno?" she asks, "to the left of Pokokyu."
You smirk: you've never seen Heather so engrossed with her phone before, texting furiously away with one leg swung onto the other. "That's my sister! Say hello, Heather!" You point the camera to her just faster than she could react; it was a joy to see her hurriedly assume her usual, stoic demeanour. She nods her head at the camera. "She isn't always so cool, apparently. Wonder who she was texting?"
"Your sister, huh...?" She repeats, surprisingly thoughtful. "That's great, Demi."
"Uh, thanks?" You chuckle.
Without missing a beat, she treacherously replies, "I will have nothing from the one who beggeed his Mum for a pet Wooloo, for months. Why did you want one again? Because they were 'unbearably fluffy'? You're not so tough either."
Grella giggles. "Awh, did you know he was like that?" She asks Ife. The equally amused Meganium only shrugs in response.
You're equally impressed and embarassed. "W-when did you learn how to be so sly, huh?!" You accuse her with mock-hurt. She gives a small smile back, her eyes flicking towards her phone.
"People change, Demi." She replies.
"Now, now, as much as I hate interrupting your fun, you all still have school tomorrow. I'd recommend you'd make plans to go to bed soon," your mother swoops in and warns. "Especially you three! Typhlosion, you're a mess, Demi, who the hell threw you around in the dirt, and Grella—" she pauses. Dragons weren't the types to neglect their appearance.
"—I've got some scale conditioner somewhere around here. If you sit tight, I can get it out for you." Grella's face contorts with relief.
"I've been waiting weeks, for some. Thank you, ma'am." She responds. Your mother nods casually, but you don't miss the sharp glint in her eyes. Even Heather stops texting to write something down. Grella slouches slightly. "I-I didn't say something wrong, did I?" She asks. You'd comfort her, tell her that they were both just annoyingly...attentive, but it would only make her situation worse.
If she doesn''t wanna talk about what happened at the base, she doesn't have to. Despite your curiosity, that was just how it is. You'll focus on other, lighter things."
Like who gets into the bathroom first. "I call dibs!" You shout, throwing yourself off the sofa and ahead of Paprika. The Typhlosion yowls in protest, already breaking into a run around the sofa; you think bigger than that. Focusing all you've got into your legs, you manage to jump completely clear of the sofa—with Heather looking indignantly at you—and your arms catch the bottom of the railings with a jolt. With a raspberry blown at Paprika, you climb over the railings and make the final lap into the bathroom with enough time to hold an 'L' up to the racing fire-type. He makes a sound similar to a kettle, cut off by the conclusive slam of the door. You'd feel bad, but only the fittest make it in this household: and enjoy the reward of a nice, rejuvenating shower first.
You walk out of the bathroom with a sigh; you pat Paprika on the head, narrowly avoiding his snapping jaws. " 'Ello there, Paps. Water's nice and hot; it's all yours, now. " With nothing more than a bout of smoke your way, he trots in and closes the door behind him.
While he was doing that, you should probably sort out everyone else. Screw the stairs, you hop over the railings and land with a roll and a flourish, beholding four confused pokemon and your mother. "Since when did we jump over railings? You think I installed those for no reason? What if you hurt yourself?!" She frets. You wave her off, recalling what you had done just hours before.
"I've jumped off worse," you say, but immediately regret it. She swoops in on your words like a vulture.
"Like what, Demi?" You don't respond, but Grella pipes up.
"Ooh, ooh, weren't you saying how you jumped off that roof when Shifting Leaves shot that—mph!?" Ife manages to gag with her a vine.
However, the damage is already done. "...Demi, when you said you got into a fight, I thought you meant a Lucario, o-or a Machamp- both absolutely ridiculous pokemon for fistfights, but I already know you're stupid." She spat. But what little anger was in her eyes is replaced with smouldering concern. "But I didn't think you were suicidal! Shifting Leaves in Wind herself?! How the hell did you 'win'?!"
You scowl at Grella, forced to finally explain. "That was another pokemon. I got the pokeball somewhere here," You mutter. That Dragonair might've just done you in.
"You caught it? How?"
"My friend had a Dominus ball," you say. She splutters out her response.
"They're giving kids those weapons? What has this world come to?" She shakes her head, and for a moment, you think that was it. "Give me that!" She snaps. Reluctantly, you allow her to take the shaking Dominus ball from you and shove it into her pocket.
Any hopes quietly die when she finally connects the rest of the dots.
"Demi. Why were you interacting with Shifting Leaves in Wind?" She starts lowly. You hold your tongue—she already knew the answer. "What were you doing at the freaking Swords camp?!"
You meet her glare. "Helping out a friend, like I said."
"A friend you haven't known for more than a day?! What if you were hurt?"
"I know my limits."
"Do you, child?!"
"Yes." You reply sharply, ensuring your voice wasn't loud, but undeniably steady. Yes, and you're tired of hearing otherwise! Sure, you're a bit battered and undoubtedly bruised, but everyone's so much better for your actions! We both know the police were never gonna find Grella herself.
Seeing the resolve in your eyes, your mother sighs; not in submission, no, out of wisdom. You could both go hours like this. "...I am just worried, Demi. You are infamous for your recklessness."
You nod, begrudgingly compromising. "I know, I know. I'm not stupid though, promise."
Paprika yaps a greeting from the top of the staircase, instantly resetting the mood—he gallops, nearly falls, but sticks the landing at the bottom. Seeing how he looks, you can't help but laugh. He cocks a head in response, so you explain. "It's just that you fur's gone all fuzzy, I-I'll get a mirror," You wheeze. 'Fuzzy' was too generous; he looks like he was struck by Dark himself, haha!
Or an Ampharos. Or Pikachu. Dark's just the first that came to your mind, that's all. Not that Dark's related to electricity, you wouldn't know that.
Paprika gasps loudly upon seeing his reflection. He turns pleadingly to you, and you sigh dramatically: in all truth, you quite enjoyed this part of having him around. "Yes Paps, I'll wrangle it for you. Wait 'till everyone's settled to sleep, alright?" His face picks right back up. Your mother puts the scale conditioner on the table, not before saying one final thing to you:
"This conversation isn't over, Demi." She says grimly. You meet her eyes with a nod. That was all she had to say, before climbing the stairs to retire for the night.
"So Grella, y'wanna freshen up next—"
"—Is it my fault?" She asks, eyes downtrodden. Paprika immediately croons out soft comfort, but you just nod, watching her tense.
"Yeah, kinda. But if we consider, I dunno, everything else that happened before you ended up at the Swords' base, I'd reckon the answer is no. Don't ask stupid questions, Grella. Nobody can blame this on you."
You take pleasure in her face conflicting between insult and gratitude: that meant a job well done from you. Eventually, her face settles on a small smile.
"Heather is right, you aren't tough. You and Paprika are kind, in jarringly different ways but still! Although I do wonder, did Paprika rub off on you, or did you rub off on Paprika?"
You both share a look, and shrug; it wasn't a question you knew how to answer. A chill follows the Dragonair as she slips past you with the scale condition in her coils. You shiver. "Dunno how you just weather her temperature, Ife." You comment. The Meganium only smiles slyly in response. You sit down on the sofa with Paprika and Pokokyu, idly explaining to him whatever object caught his fancy until Grella returns. To your surprise, she slithers down a completely changed 'mon: her scales finally sparkle with the signature shiny sheen. She does a twirl, enjoying the feeling like a starving man does food. "I feel amazing!" She sighs in relief, slithering back to Ife's side.
Now, only she remained. "That isn't working out, you mutter. Moreover, you're not even sure your stairs could hold her weight. She is 'titanic', after all. Ife whispers something to Grella, who nods reluctantly.
"She's uh, fine to stay downstairs. By herself." She says.
You scoff at even bringing it up. What was the point of that? "Well- no, that's just not fun, innit?" You justify. Paprika and Pokokyu rally behind you, and an idea is already brewing in your head. "We'll just... all sleep downstairs! Yeah, this could work. I'll get some extra beddings, and—"
"I'll let mine go for Ife, she's cold." Grella admits bashfully. "I'll be fine, the cold never bothered me anyway." Nice to know she 'let it go' so easily, eh?
Eh?
Sigh... you wouldn't get it, Demi...
"So that's what, one... two... four... five blankets?" You say. Paprika quickly corrects that number to four; the stubborn Typhlosion insisted on sleeping with you. Heather would sleep in her room, so that just left your Octillery. To be honest, you have no idea where an octopus would sleep. Would you need a water tank, you wonder? Deciding to consult the internet, you whisper your question to ROTOM.
"Ah, just anywhere enclosed is their comfort, friend!" It chirps. You quickly thank ROTOM, then turn back to Pokokyu. He turns slowly to you.
"Anywhere in particular you wanna sleep, or...?" You trail off, waiting for him to finish the thought—you hadn't really prepped for him, so anywhere would have to work for tonight. After a bit of decision making with his probing tentacles, he eventually settles on the cool and darkness of under the sofa. Unwilling to let him sleep on the floor, you supply a thin bedsheet for him to lie on top. He sleeps into the tight space with a happy gurgle; man, pokemon could be weird. (H-hey, not all of them- I'm sure there's some really cool pokemon out there you'll meet one day!)
Right, you still have to deal with Paprika's unruly fur. You browse through the channels with mild interest, until you find something of interest to watch. Various snippets of conversation pepper your ears, most of the words lost to your ears over the static.
'How to keep y-' (Boring.)
'-Percy and me-' (Bleh!)
'-Harmonia Gropius-" (Skip past that.)
'-No! D-don't leave me, -snrk- Pablo!'
You settle on a movie you've watched many times when you were littler: it's sappy and poorly filmed, but the true charm was how ridiculous it was. Immediately, Grella seems engrossed with the tv. "What's that?" She asks. Paprika lays next to you on the sofa, allowing you to start wrangling his fur back into order with a brush.
"It's an amateur 'drama' film about a girl, who grows up alone with a buncha pokemon in a cottage. Nobody takes it seriously—heck, you can even hear that Gardevoir laughing—but it's so bad it's good." As you explain, a Granbull with boots on way too big for its feet faints dramatically onto the floor on screen, its curled little tail bouncing in the air. "I think it was for a school project. Some people hate how much it's shown, but I think this is true cinema here!"
Grella frowns. "I understand why some people would see it as... improper." She sounds like she's walking (slithering) on eggshells. You give up on trying to retrieve the brush from a knot of navy fur for a second, just to shoot her a look.
"Improper?"
"W-well, it portrays humans and pokemon very closely, wouldn't you say? They even dress the Grumpig and Gardevoir in such silly garments."
Snorting, you joke, "Yeah, that's part of the fun though innit?" But her face still seems grave. Her next words come out with difficulty.
"Seeing pokemon where humans would be? It doesn't bother you in the slightest, seeing the natural order disrupted?"
"You hurt mah wife. You hurt mah son! You hurt mah daughter!" The Grumpig on screen booms in an over the top, cowboyish accent. The intimidating act would work, if only the psychic-type was a bit taller than the girl's waist.
"No, why would it?" Her frown spreads to your face, despite the hilarious moment playing out on the flatscreen tv. "What am I meant to do, call that Grumpig up and tell it to stop speakin' English?"
"Some would," she says vaguely.
"Well, I'm not!" You deny incredulously—the idea pissed you off. "It's not fun in the slightest to just keep these stupid boundaries up. If you want me to treat all pokemon like dogs or something, what's even the point anymore?"
She rears up, taken aback, then comments in a small, sly voice how you currently petting Paprika like one.
"That's different and you know it!" You shout, pointing an excited finger at her. Although your voice is quickly muted when Ife stirs from her sleep, and glares at you. "That's my fault," you mutter, quickly relinquishing.
"Y-you, y-you, n-no g-g-good...—ohmygod, I can't do this script—dogooder!" The Gardevoir croaks out, then doubles over in laughter. The Grumpig's frown wobbles with mirth. "Who the hell wrote this script?!"
The Dragonair chuckles softly, her eyes locked on the screen. "You are an interesting human, Demi."
Deciding not to comment, you continue brushing Paprika. Every stroke is a tug of war, but you eventually manage to get his navy blue fur on his back in order. "Flip round, big guy," You say, nudging him until he lazily lies on his back. You begin to comb, but curse quietly as you drop the brush. Sighing, you reach into the mess to get it out—but it... wasn't there? You shake the lazing form of your starter.
"Paprika, where's the comb?" You ask him. Groggily, his eyes blink back open. You tell him how it just fell in, and poof! Gone! You watch with the tired detachness that only a day of insanity leads to, as he rifles in his own fur, managing to get a whole arm in. With a relieved huff, he pulls out the brush and hands it back to you. You thank him quietly before continuing to brush, unwilling to ask complex questions this late into the night. Eventually, the movie wraps up and the screen fades to black. Careful not to wake up the slumbering Typhlosion, you lean over the sofa and place the brush on the counter.
" 'Night," You whisper, not expecting a response. You switch off the lights, throwing the entire room into total darkness. Although, try and try as you can to sleep, your stubborn body refuses to settle; thoughts of the day keep you awake: that Mienshao you had just handed to your mother, whatever the Swords were planning. Big problems as they were, when you manage to push them aside, the smaller ones sprout in their place: like how the hell you were gonna catch the bus tomorrow, all your stuff you left behind 'cuz of that pesky pink hammer-wielding goblin. Your tennis racket.
Man, that hurt the most. You really did like that racket.
Paprika shifts slightly on the sofa, throwing a leg over you. You grumble to him, "what, can't you sleep either?"
He clicks his claws together, until a single star is conjured between in his upturned paw. It doesn't immediately bomb something, like Swift Stars usually do, instead rotating slowly and steadily in his grip, illuminating his face with white light. You didn't even know that was possible. He points discreetly at the other sofa; Ife was out cold with constant, deep snores, ever-eager to take any chance to sleep. You could just about make out Grella's body from the sparkle it emitted, shifting unsteadily in the dark.
Come to think of it, that room of hers—3F,2F, whatever it was called- didn't exactly have any light bulbs. She probably spent a lot of time, alone in the dark, huh?
Bright stars bless the air, rejuvenating the user's team.
Paprika seems to share your thought. With a flick of his wrists, stars fly into and stop in the air, bathing the entire room in a comforting white glow. They almost perfectly mimic the night sky. Grella looks wondrously up at then, and relaxes. Nobody says anything, but her gratitude is palpable in the air.
With that done, Paprika returns to sleeping once more; believe it or not, you sleep perfectly fine after that too.
Chapter 21: Change of Pace
Summary:
All this Hypno wants is to read books, solve a mystery or two, and maybe find somehting good to eat along the way.
Did you hear anyone else included in that? She didn't either; yet the World continues to play horrible tricks on her, and people swarm her anyway.
All just a big bother, if you ask her...
Chapter takes place elsewhere, before the first day of school.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Today, I awoke like most days.
"Why have you burnt your brother, Paprika?" Demi's mother says, with her signature hissy stomp along with it. I turn on my bed, all in vain to escape the noise; could it not wait five more minutes? Alas, my underprepared pillow cannot block out all the screams. Eventually I relent, and begin my day.
630. Not too early, not too late. Believe it or not, I have woken up just on time.
I get out of bed, and slip on my sandals. Ugh, I may have to get these replaced soon; they're starting too look worn at the edges, and even I have a shred of public decency. Although, it is quite the pain to get—not every manufacturer caters to my unique, 3-toed situation.
Ah well, not much I can do about it now. Reluctantly, I tredge out of my room to see how much chaos has unfolded without me. Demi and his mother are engaged in their usual, passionate bickering. From the rapidly fading scar on his hand, I assume it's a burn wound with a heal hastily applied onto it; for all my criticisms of that woman, I cannot deny her preparedness. I envy it, even. Nevertheless, it is rather unsual, considering the last time he's actually needed to use one is when Paprika was a wee Quilava.
It is unlikely he merely lost his temper; there are only a few, precious constants in this world, and one of them is that truly angering Paprika now is impossible. As a more rash Quilava, one could get a rise out of him, but now? Merely a waste of time to concern.
So, would it truly be folly to consider that this is a physiological problem, and not an emotional spike? It is worth considering in my opinion.
-- > I added 'Waning Fire Control' to my notebook.
While I'm here, I might as well refresh my memory. Even if it is near-impeccable, it just helps to organise one's thoughts.
Current Inquiries:
Missing Mascot:
-- The bubbly young dragon, whose name is currently not known, wasn't seen at the diner today. Perhaps for a human this wouldn't be unusual, but considering the consecutive attendance over the last 5 years, 4 months, and 33 days, it isn't just paranoia to be concerned.
Joy's Indifference:
-- For a profession where consistency and face is paramount, Flamionis' Joy showcases a significant lack of the... bubbliness that Joys are required. Even more interesingly, she is apathetic at worse towards psychic loiterers. Could she be a sympathiser? More info is needed, but this is relatively low priority.
Dusty Oddity:
--Perhaps it was just late night frustrations. Maybe nothing more than a lapse in judgement. Yet still, something about that change in terrain felt off. Extremely low priority. Not expected to be finished anytime soon.
"What, do you sleep with that notebook as a teddybear?" Demi scoffs.
My ears flick in annoyance. "Just because you are illiterate, doesn't mean you should lash out at those who can read and write, Demi. Don't you have a school to get to?" He plays my comment off with a eye roll, but the miniscule hurry in his step says more than enough to tell I've won this one.
"Good Morning, Heather," his mother says, with a pleasant tone that's reserved for the mornings. Later in the day, I notice she loses the patience—or energy—for pleasantries. Savouring it while they last, I respond with a bow of my head.
"Good Morning."
And that was our exchange, short but sweet. Once Paprika is out of the bathroom, I take my turn. I put my notebook aside, not wanting to risk jeapardising the notes inside, and step inside the shower.
645: I had no time to splurge. My shower is cold, brief, and purposeful. Everything is going well, until I reach for the shampoo... and, there's no shampoo. That Typhlosion must've finished the last bottle on his unfair volume of fur, and his mother still hasn't accustomed to buying more for his increased size.
Silently, I accept the situation. I gingerly rinse out my chest tuft with water, and dry myself with a towel. At least the only way for this day to go is up, no?
655. I tell Demi's mother that I'm going to the library, as usual, before grabbing my notebook, my black hoodie, a working pen and my phone before leaving the house. I spare a thought for Paprika and Demi—knowing Demi's consistently misplaced confidence and Paprika's willingness to agree, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't make it to school at all.
700. In all honesty, going to the library was only my first stop—unfortunately, the human librarian on duty tends to react icily to pokemon. Legally, we are entitled to use the public facility, but humans have an interesting habit of bending rules to their own whims. Disappointing, but expected: instead, I refocus my attention to Dratini's Diner. The 'DD' sign still shines in cheery, neon colours despite the almost solmen tone in there. I can tell the blonde lady with the thick glasses inside tries to pick up the slack, but it just isn't the same without the young dragon itself.
Nevertheless, at 730 I take my usual sole seat in the corner. Considering the less than usual number of customers, it isn't long before Glasses Girl takes my order.
"Just a small coffee, please." Should I say thank you too? I might come off as impolite if I don't. But then, what do I say once she brings me the coffee? I ruminate, and ruminate. By the time I just decide to say 'thank you' anyway, the young woman has already shuffled back behind the counter. The half-formed words die an undignified death on my tongue. Thankfully, the embarassment only seems to be mine to bear, judging by how engrossed everyone else seems. Notably enough, I'm the only pokemon in here; it is not like I am complaining, but it is just interesting to note.
"No! WE are getting boba, not mocha!"
"Dude, do you know how weird it is to be sucking some black balls down a straw?! I ain't choking on that, either!"
"With that bulky-ass neck? You ain't choking on anything!"
"Why, you...!"
That is, until these two walked in. The deeper, gravelly voice belongs to a towering Obstagoon, arms permenantly crossed in a typical 'cool guy' facade. The leather jacket shines just a bit too much, and I can guarantee those tattoos are fake. It's engaged in a furious discussion with a Amped Toxtricity with a matching jacket, gesticulating nearly as quickly as the sparks flying off of its enraged mane. The sole employee yelps as a spark nearly hits her, then turns to the two of them with a sheepish expression.
"U-uh, please be respectful of the other customers by keeping your voices down?" She asks from ducked behind the counter. The two are woefully oblivious. She shoots me a begging look that sets the tone for the rest of the day: bother and more bother, just pure grief. I should just get up and leave, pretend as if nothing is awry, but my stubborn conscious instead exerts influence to scrunch up a ball, and flick into the head of the Obstagoon. It whips around with a snarl.
"Oi, what gives?!" It growls: with a bit of focus, I can tell they're speaking in The World rather than English—to any human onlookers, it just seems like a pair of tackily dressed rabid pokemon are considering a rampage in here. "Well, you gonna explain or you just gonna stare at me, ya creep? Huh? Huh?!"
I grimace at its volume. "Quiet. You're making all of us look bad." It doesn't appreciate the command, but from the wary faces of spectators tell it all it needs. With only a huff of resignation, it elbows the Toxtricity in the side. It scowls back.
"Yeah, Long-Nose is right," it mutters. (Long nose?!) Clearing its throat awkwardly, it speaks in a tone jarringly calm compared to before in perfect, natural english:
"One Mocha and one Boba please," it says. The cashier finally musters the courage to stand back up.
"What flavour will they be?" She asks, years of repetition masking her unease. The Obstagoon scratches its furry head, sharing a look with the Toxtricty who shrugs in response.
"Uh, vanilla?" It finally says. "Is that a thing?"
Glasses-girl nods, almost in relief. "Y-yes, coming right up..!" She says. The woman runs into stock, perhaps to fetch the little pearls in the boba? For a moment, I foolishly think that was going to be the end of my troubles.
"D'you reckon that Hypno could be our ride? It's worth askin'," the Toxtricity whispers loudly in The World.
"I dunno, seems a little spineless to me. Even more timid than her!" the Obstagoon cackles, illicting a laugh from the poison-type. My patience thins to a needle.
"I can hear you perfectly clear, you know." I deadpan: a surprising majority of people think these oversized ears are for nothing. The two at least have the decency to look embarassed about it. Sadly, the cashier cuts my moment short with their drinks sloshing on the counter. The Obstagoon smiles: a rooky mistake for any canine pokemon. The razor sharp fangs only end up scaring the poor woman.
"That'll be £5.99, " she splutters out, her composure giving way. The Obstagoon fumbles in a jacket pocket to pull out a crumpled £5 note and two 50 pence coins. The cashier smiles and waves them off, more from relief than anything else.
What happened next both irked me off and impressed me: the two had the utter gall to pull chairs up, and sit themselves around the solitary table in the corner. I don't meet their eyes as I finally get my coffee. To fill the silence, I take a swig of the hot drink; immediately regretting it, as it's positively boiling. Still, I steel my nerves and swallow it down- I cannot afford to seem like a fool now. Setting the coffee down slowly and methodically, I finally meet the eyes of the Toxtricity evenly. And those beady little pupils squirm a little, under my gaze. Good: maybe they'll take the memo and leave me to my peace.
Finally, the Obstagoon speaks up in the World. "No need to give 'im the stink-eye mate. We just got an offer for you, yeah?" It elbows the Toxtricity in the side again, snapping it out of whatever stupor it was in.
"Yeah, what he said." He adds, taking a chaste sip of the mocha. I can see it's less out of thirst, and more from his nerves. "But bro, I don't need you fighting my battles. I can deal with some sassy Hypno if I need'ta." The Obstagoon crosses its arms with a snarl.
"I ain't sayin' you can't. I just care, thas' all."
"I know, I know."
I feel rather brash cutting in, but they are wasting my time. "You were saying something about a proposition." I reiterate. The Obstagoon continues.
"We need a psychic who can teleport us all around for our music gigs. Ever heard of us? The Black-White Bandits?"
I frown: the name rings bells, but it isn't one I'm especially familiar with. Still, I answer with a nod. The Obstagoon's smile turns devilish. "See mate, we can't be doin' so badly if even a Hypno knows 'bout it!"
"You talk as if I'm not here." I observe. The Obstagoon stiffens, and clears its throat.
"Right, like I was saying... you'll get fame, recognition, fans, get to hang up with the stars themselves-" —it pulls the Toxtricity into a suffocating looking headlock. My sympathies. "So, ya in, or are ya in?"
I scoff. Standing up, I wave them off with a hand.
"Wait, wait! There's money in it, too," The Toxtricity calls. I stop, and turn slowly: perhaps the Toxtricity should do more of the talking. It pulls the Obstagoon aside, hissing underneath its breath like I couldn't hear it.
"Dude! We've been through this, start with the money first! Why do you think that Abra, or that Alakazam, or even that Xatu turned tail?!"
The Obstagoon's ears droop. "Yeah, yeah, I know—but mate, that jittery Xatu wasn't my fault. Lil' dude clearly has his own demons to kill, even if he is mad talented at whatever mumbo jumbo psychics got going on. Look, I'm sure we can reel them back in, this one's it!"
The Toxtricity concedes with a sigh. "Just... don't mess it up, aight? We don't got a lotta time left to secure this." Nodding, the Obstagoon turns to me with the determined expression of a stubborn puppy. It stands up with such vigour that a baby in a stroller begins to cry.
"Alright, we might'a gotten off on the wrong foot, Hypno-ma'am-or-sir. The name's Ralph. This idiot's Rex. Nice to meet ya!" He holds out a hand, and I shake it cautiously. The thick fur is still cold from the boba tea. He looks expectantly at me—right, it is customary for me to reciprocate with my name. It is rude, and downright dangerous for name exchange to not be mutual with pokemon.
"I'm Heather," I say, nodding my head in acknowledgement. "Would you like to offer me your... preposition again?" The Obstagoon instantly shatters his professionalism with an eager grin at the Toxtricity. Shaking his head, the Toxtricity holds a peace sign up with webbed fingers.
"For 20%—"
—Rex coughs with bulging eyes—
"erm, 10% of Black-White Bandits income, I propose you get us to the gigs with whatever teleportation you psychics got going on," he says. Any doubts on scams, predatory contracts are instantly dissipated with Ralph's sheer blunder: I allow my shoulders to relax, just minutely. My face remains entirely neutral, however.
"Depends. How much is 10%?" I ask, cocking a brow. Ralph looks helpessly back at Rex, who thinks for a moment and says, "well, we earn like 5000 quid on small gigs, but our largest's been 20,000 quid so far!" He says. "So 10% of that is..."
I put him out of his misery. "500 to 2000." I don't let the interest show on my face: it would do wisely to keep this on my own terms. "Satisfactory. How often are we talking?"
Ralph's paw wobbles in a so-so gesture. "Thrice, four times a month?" He says. It doesn't quite matter to me at this point, I can already see the money rolling into my bank account... just imagine the high quality fountain pens I could buy, perhaps one with my name engraved...
"Er, you feelin' alright Heather?" He asks. I quickly assure him.
"You have a deal, Ralph and Rex. If all goes well on your next gig, then I'm sure we'll be good partners for the forseeable future." That puts the most unsettlingly wide grin I've seen on his face. So unsettling, I nearly miss supressing the smirk appearing on mine.
"Told ya the victory drinks in advance were a good idea!" He taunts the Toxtricity, who rolls his lidded eyes in response.
"Yeah mate, if you gamble constantly then you're bound to win eventually," he retorts, but doesn't pulls away when the Obstagoon puts an arm around him. I finish my coffee, and flick it effortlessly into the bin. Their eyes flick to mine, but I merely pull out my notepad.
"Do not worry about me. Enjoy your victory drinks."
With a barely supressed whoop, the Obstagoon slurps down his boba. Rex looks hungrily at his drink. "Yo, can I try some?" He asks, sickly-sweet. The Obstagoon lets the beginnings of a growl build in his throat.
"You didn't want anything to do with it before!" It protests, but doesn't resist as he leans over his shoulder, and takes a sip of it. He shrugs, returning to drink the rest, but I pull the cup away with mild psychic force. "What?"
"Do you wish for once of us to carry you to the nearest pokemon centre? His saliva is literally dissolving the straw as we speak." I say, gesturing to the cup. The straw had already turned a sickly brown. Rex feigns surprise.
"Oops, my bad," he says, helping himself to the rest of it.
"You little—" Ralph begins again, but I throw up my hand: Glasses looks like she's at her wit's end, ready to throw us out even. I will not suffer such embarassment, even if it costs me my new sources of income. Ralph slumps back into his chair, muttering bitterly to himself.
'They seem to have a strong relationship,' I note down in my notebook, underneath the newly dubbed 'Ralph and Rex' section. I fail to understand how he'd even considered drinking it, after the Toxtricity so much as touched it.
My pen pauses. "Just how many times has your friend sent you to the hospital, Ralph?" I ask insistently. Ralph and Rex both freeze, sharing a look simultaneously.
"Less than ten?" Rex rasps quietly. Ralph nods discreetly.
"Less than ten!" He says, his volume overcompensating for his doubt.
I nod, making sure my face is steady as I write how 'these two are idiots.' "Teleporting you to hospitals will be extra, for your information."
"Y-you're joking, right?" Ralph says. I don't respond, letting my words ripen in the air. The only reason I say anything else is to prevent him from crying like a baby.
"I'm joking. You would do well to not think of me as so cruel. Are you done with your drinks?"
Ralph shoots Rex a stink-eye. Rex finishes his second beverage, and tosses it into the bin. I merely redirect it, saving him the embarassment of missing. "Yeah, we are. That boba stuff actually ain't that bad, y'know."
"That's why I bought it!" Ralph whines. "You owe me a new goddamn boba."
"Nah, nah. Consider that sandwich you stole from me your debt paid."
"You said I could have it, plus that was ages ago!"
Rex turns viciously, hurt flashing on his face. "You were doin' that Baby-Dolls Eyes bullcrap! You know I can't say no to your face! Even worse, she made that sandwich—dude, you know how good her sandwiches are!"
Ralph steels his face. "You're still paying me back for that...but I guess I'll let you have half of my sandwich." The Toxtricity's pout turns into a excited smile.
"Thanks," He says, putting an arm on his shoulder. The Obstagoon merely nods.
"Half, though! But you're welcome, I guess."
I'm starting to think all boys are this argumentative, yet... agreeable? These two certainly remind me of Demi and Paprika, so maybe they aren't as much as nut-cases as I thought. As entertaining as this whole interaction has been, it is clear I'm finding nothing new about the Dratini in here—and I doubt the frazzled cashier is willing to talk after the ruckus; a shame, a real bother. If all else has failed, however, I may as well secure this. "And when is your next concert?" I ask, tapping my pen on the table to convey urgency.
Ralph smiles sheepishly. "Uh, this afternoon?"
...okay. I quickly underline my previouss verdict of them in my notebook. "So out of interest, what was the plan if you didn't get a ride?"
The Obstagoon grins boisterously, puffing out his chest. "I'm a pretty good runner—fast, and got a lotta stamina?"
I hope the disbelief is clear on my face. "And what about him? I do not suppose you're much of a runner yourself, Rex?"
The Toxtricity in question just blinks at me stupendously. "He'd just carry me." They break off into various sounds of agreement. I just hold my face in my hands, hoping fruitlessly they get slightly smarter by the time I look back. "...Forget I've said anything. Just be grateful I'm here now."
"'Course, 'course. By the way..." Rex starts. What was it now?
Ralph finishes his sentence. "Y'got a phone number? Gotta get some way of contacting you."
Sigh. I suppose this was inevitable. The number of people given my phone number has just doubled. Reluctantly, I recite my phone number quickly. Ralph looks overwhelmed by my speed, but Rex looks like he's got it. A few seconds later, my phone buzzes in my tuft. I pull it out, and look at the screen.
Tyrantsaurus Rex has added you to the Black-White Bandits Groupchat. Y or N?
I tap the 'Y' on the digital interface.
Success!
It only then occurs to me that this is in fact, the first groupchat I've been on. Hopefully it isn't too active- it would be a bother if I had to mute it in the future.
Ralphy Boy: yoo! @Pink Menace, we got the psychic type :)
Heather: It is nice to meet you.
Tyrantsaurus Rex (OWNER): ur names boring. imma give you a nickname
Long Nose: I do not recall consenting for this.
Ralphy Boy: lmao i dont remember asking womp womp
I scrunch up another sheet of my notebook, and lob it at the Obstagoon's head. It hits the mark with a satisfying thwack.
Ralphy Boy: that didnt even hurt btw
Pink Menace: It's nice to meet you 2, @LongNose! ur a hypno, right? ^=^
Long Nose: How could you tell?
Pink Menace: Not that many psychic types with oversized noses tbh
Ralphy Boy: LMAOOOO
Long Nose: I will throw the next one harder, Ralph.
Pink Menace: Kids, kids, no fighting in the gc >:(
Long Nose: Sure.
Pink Menace: Thx! Kisses ^3^
I put my phone back in my fur.
"This 'Pink Menace' is a Fairy type, is she not?" Ralph and Rex share a bewildered look.
"How could'ya tell?"
"No other type speaks so... erratically," I explain with a slight grimace. I would delete those kisses, if I could. The Obstagoon guffaws, giving Rex a hearty slap on the back.
"Ah, but she's a treasure... she might be a freak, but she's our freak!" He declares. I roll my eyes, tutting quietly to myself. It is 730 now; my schedule tends not be as strict on off-days, but I know better than to discard structure altogether. Speaking of structure...
"...say you two, when exactly this afternoon are we talking?" 'Afternoon' could be a vague, horrible word—I would strictly consider it 1200 to 1700, but some unfaithful folks would stretch it to 1800, or even 1900. Just another cruelty one can get away with in summer.
"Uh, when was it, quarter past 12 o'clock?"
"Yeah. Or was it 1300?"
"I dunno, wuzzit? I'm feeling 12 o'clock."
I take a deep breath. "I can do... 1200 to 1500." I respond, although I was really stretching myself there. Such sacrifices had to be made for new... links. "Although I would appreciate getting a concrete time."
I stress that last word, just enough to convey I was serious yet not enough to come off as pushy. The reaction is ideal: the Obstagoon scratches his head bashfully, and the Toxtricity 's mane crackles like static. "'Course, I guess that's reasonable, we can find out, just give us a second to consult our..."
"...Contractors!" Rex finishes. "We'll be done before y'can say Sudowoodo, yeah?"
Ralphy Boy: @Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace@Pink Menace
Pink Menace: what.
Ralphy Boy: wen's our gig 2nite?? Long Nose is bugging us for a time.
Pink Menace: (¬‿¬) so now we're worried about timings? usually u just show up whenever the 'wind calls the black-white bandits' or whatever crap u call it
Ralphy Boy: THAT DOESNT MATTER NOW GIMME A TIME PLS
Pink Menace: (╥﹏╥) rude.... its probably 12:30
Ralphy Boy: cheers, that hypno kinda scares me
Long Nose: Noted.
Ralphy Boy: ?!?! bro i swear im in dms rn
Pink Menace: :<
Pink Menace: ur lucky ur my fav Obstagooner even if u r stupid
Ralphy Boy: ive asked you to stop calling me that u overgrown pink marshmallow
Pink Menace: ye well f u too
Tyrantsaurus Rex (OWNER) has muted @Pink Menace for 30 minutes.
Ralphy Boy: @Pink Menace say nothing if ur more stupider than me
Long Nose: *stupider
Obstagooner: shaddap ur names LongNose
Obstagooner: WAIT NO WHY
Tyrantsaurus Rex (OWNER): sorry bro
After his gasp of betrayal, Ralph silences Rex's snickers with an impressively fast haymaker to the jaw, hard enough to knock the Toxtricity off his chair with a splat. The poison-type's face darkens direly. "My jacket! Man, the jacket's off-limit and you know it man!" He dusts off the jacket, fretting over it like a human mother dotes over an infant. "Peruvian leather, bro..."
"Yeah, well maybe you'll change my nickname back!" He roars, prodding him in the chest.
"Psh, no- and hands off the jacket!" Ralph grins widly as he masks a show of wiping his hands on it. Worried noise builds up around us yet again. But this time, a different, kindly-looking young woman walks out to man the counter. Yet the softness in her blue eyes belies her true intentions: she means business.
"Or what?" Ralph snarls. Rex crackles threateningly.
Regretfully, I act first. "We must stop this now," I mutter between gritted teeth; this was going to be an especially large bother. My pocket watch swings heavily in my hands, the unwavering metronome a constant presence in my daily life. As any other sane Hypno polishes and cares for their pendulum, the upkeep of my trinket was of utmost importance to me; I dedicate a precious hour on Saturdays to cleaning, tinkering and maintaining the gold clock. And in return, the pocket watch ticked exactly once per second, the cold clockwork constantly turning the hands in its cycle.
However, with more effort I would like to admit, I painstakingly use my PSI to slow the seconds hand, then grind it to a screeching halt.
The effective is immediate: Ralph is suspended mid-swing, and a irritated expression is etched onto Rex's face. With some more exertion, I levitate the two with PSI, clean our table, and bid Dratini's Diner's owner adieu. She returns my wave with a sigh, and I walk out the cafe shop with the two in tow. I ignore the voices and stares focused on me, as I always do.
4.83 minutes later, the clock continues ticking; not a nanosecond more, not a milisecond less. The two ruffians are released and land with thuds on the ground. Their pants fill the air, but eventually they pull themselves together and stand respectfully on the sidewalk.
"Please do not make me do that again."
"How about you just don't do that full stop?!" Ralph hisses. "You're taking the piss with that bullcrap! What the hell was that?!"
"It was me," I merely reply. Ralph stares daggers into me.
"You know what I mean," he growls. Rex pipes up thoughtfully:
"Couldn't have been PSI, could it?" he says, surprisingly calmly. "Considerin' you nailed Obstagooner with that too."
"Don't call me that!" He spits.
Rex quips back, "You apologise for getting my jacket roughed-up, first!"
"And for the umpteenth time, no! Cry about it!" He barks. Did they learn nothing from that frankly embarassing experience?
Sighing, I respond, "Can we not just throw it in the washing machine, like the rest of the dirty clothes?"
"Have you lost your marbles?! Handwashed gently at body temperature, only!
"Are you insane?! Bro, handwash it gently at 37.5°C only!"
I shirk back. "I, uh, understand?" They share a suspicious look. Finally, Ralph mutters:
"Nah, don't worry 'bout it mate. They're just kinda needy jackets we got comissioned. They're matching, though," and they both turn around simultaneously. On the back of their jackets, a pair of fierce dragons are locked in a never-ending fight. The white one commanded legions of blue flames, and the black dragon manipulated equally striking bolts of electricity. Overall, it was quite a striking image.
...but strangely incomplete, I would say. "Was there not a third dragon?" I find myself asking. Ralph scratches his head.
"You'd hafta to ask the maker, I guess. Dunno though, looks pretty complete to me." Makes sense, I suppose. I cannot quite justify my train of thought, nor can I completely believe that conclusion.
Rex stays religiously silent; Ralph sticks out his tongue at him. He doesn't react.
"Goddamn baby is what you are, y'know that?" Ralph spits. He swipes the jacket off of Rex, takes off his with a grumble, then roughly throws it around the Toxtricity. The sight is comical: the smaller monster is woefully too small for the jacket, and resigns to tying it around himself and flaunting it like a cape. "I ain't sorry that I pushed you though. Jus' can't stand hearing you yap about 'how cold you get without it'."
"And you'll be fine?" Rex asks. Ralph snorts.
"Yeah mate, I'm like, the local fuzzy guy. I'll hold the other one for ya." He snatches the dirty jacket, and slings it over his shoulder. "You gotta wash it yourself, though."
...
"Bro..." His usually lidded eyes swell up wide with glistening tears. His bottom jaw quivers slightly. Pulling the jacket tight over himself, he gazes up at Ralph.
"Mate! Wassup with the waterworks, we've got a rep to uphold on these streets!" He hisses, eyes darting around as if somebody's waiting to take a picutre of the surprisingly vulnerable sight. Thankfully- or sadly, however you put it: the only one here is me. Rex opens his arms, and reluctantly Ralph obliges with a hug. The Obstagoon pats his back firmly. "There, there," He grumbles, trying to appear uncaring. It does not work. His ruse is easily discernable; for his sake, I do not comment.
Eventually, Rex lets go with sniffles; Ralph pats himself down stiffly- I wonder if his tears are poisonous too?
"You still haven't paid me back for the drink," the Obstagoon gently reminds- as gently as he can muster, I deduce. His voice was still a scratchy, deep racket. The Toxtricity waves him off with a hand.
"snrf—not now, bro, we having a moment still." He says. I for one, am starting to doubt he's getting the money back. Clearing his throat loudly, Ralph jabs Rex in the side.
"So, Heather..." he drawls, until Rex is aware that I am still here: they seem to be quite accustomed to being a duo. "...Wanna chill out our place until the gig? We got games."
"and snacks!" Rex adds.
Now, this was a dilemma. My original plan was just to go back home and enjoy the latest 'Modern day Paradoxes' book I had borrowed, but I could see the potential gain from developing this friendship: Demi's mother would finally stop pestering me about 'making more friends' and 'getting your nose out of a damn book.'
Plus, connections were always useful. With that conclusion, I manage to mentally discard my schedule with only a mote of sadness.
(See, woman? I can be spontaneous too, when I feel like it.)
"Lead the way," I say, trying and failing to ignore the thick, purple tears streaming down Rex's face. "But do you not need some tissue for that?" I suggest kindly. With a sound only akin to a squeak, he begins rifling around in Ralph's jacket around him.
"O-oh, yeah, Ralph always has some tissues in 'ere for me," he says, nodding as he pulls out a small packet from the inside pocket. He rips several out of the object, scrunches them, and blows. Any uneducated onlooker would most likely duck, fearing an enraged Donphan trumpeting through the streets. I, still shaken by the frankly clamorous sound, sought comfort in my better knowledge.
"Bless you," I say after the trumpeting stops. He throws the now sickly, withered tissue over his shoulder with a snort.
"Thanks."
"You ain't welcome!" Ralph cuts in with a huff. Out of habit, he reaches to straighten his jacket, only to realise he doesn't have it any more; he attempts to play it off cooly, shuffling on the spot, so I decide to put him out of his misery.
"So, your place, right?" I prompt. His nose wrinkles, then his eyes widen.
"Yeah, right! It's not too far from 'ere...I'd ask you to teleport us there, but Cleffy gets a bit jumpy." He gestures for me to follow, and we begin walking-no, sauntering- down the street. Like we have all the time in the world. I hope the impatience isn't too obvious on my face.
"Cleffy? The 'Pink Menace' on the groupchat?" I ask, anything to fill the time.
Rex lets out a raspy laugh. "Yeah, believe it or not, she thought of that one herself! It isn't that far from the truth either." Ralph doesn't comment, but Rex elbows him in the side. "Hey, didn't you eat a Moonblast to the face that one time cuz you tapped her on tail once?" The Obstagoon harrumphs over him, but I have a nagging suspcion that was the truth. "Actin' like you can silence me. God, I'll never forget seeing you fly across the room like that... maybe you need to shake off your battling rust?"
Ralph turns on him savagely. "You're takin' the piss now, mate—Fairy-type moves are unfair."
"Womp, womp bro, shouldn't have been born dark type," he shoots back with a smug grin. Snarling, Ralph tugs on his ear.
"Y'know she knows Earth Power, right? I'd like to see your scrawny ass tank that!"
Rex pushes away from him with a cool grin, but I don't miss his slight shudder- and it seems that Ralph doesn't either, judging from the predatory grin on his face. "Maybe I'll load the TM for Earthquake myself, hmm?"
"Anyway!" The fretting Toxtricity cuts him off, ignoring his devilish snickers. "What's your story, Long Nose?"
I stop. "What do you mean?"
"Uh— 'course, if you don't wanna talk about your folks, don't worry about it—"
"—oh, nono, I misunderstood," I quickly amend, starting to walk again. He seemed somehwat uncomfortable, now. "I was merely unsure how interesting of a story I have to tell."
That spurs a hearty guffaw from Ralph, complete with a obnoxious blow to the back from him. "Aw, c'mon, don't sell yerself short like that mate! Everyone's got something interesting to say- 'specially the loners!"
"I was going to begin, before you rudely interrupted to assault me," I retort, giving my shoulders an exprimental roll. Good, he hadn't clobbered them to smithereens. "As I was saying, I live in a modest cottage with my... family, for lack of a better term."
He raises a brow. "'For lack of a better term'? That's cold, Long Nose."
"I do hope you two mature out of this nickname," I respond curtly. With the same level of maturity I would expect, Ralph sticks out his tongue at me and pulls a face.
"Eh, maybe next time you shouldn't of been born with such a goofy ass nose then! Suck it!" He replies quite humorously. So humorously, it is only a bigger shame when the wind sweeps up a rock and hits him between the eyes. I give him my condolences, and then we continue walking.
"But seriously Heather," the Obstagoon says. His arms are tightly crossed, like a pair of bulky intertwined ropes. "They ain't too bad are they?"
"They are not. The Typhlosion is perfectly pleasant—jarringly so sometimes. I suppose the mother of my 'trainer' is polite too."
"And? What's wrong with your trainer?" Rex picks up. That dopey face of his was deceptively perceptive. They stop at a zebra crossing, standing closely side by side.
Truth be told, was there anything truly wrong with Demi? Any uneducated man or monster would most likely answer no, with his upbeat demeanour and showboaty personality, but it has always been my burden to pay more attention than that. "He is interesting to say the least. Well-meaning. Bold. Foolhardy. Sly. He isn't a bad person, per se."
The light flashes apple-green. We walk hastily across the street, ignoring the curious stares of the humans around us.
"Just complicated." I sigh. "Horrendously, uncomfortably, complicated."
Ralph breaks the silence with a cackle. "I dunno, he sounds fun to me! Makes me wonder what it's like having a human as an older brother."
"Older?" I parrot back sharply. He slows to look back at me.
"Only reason he'd be at meandering at home during the gym circuit is if it's over, innit?"
"Or maybe he just didn't feel like doin' it," Rex pipes up with a shrug. "Lotsa teens decide to take more rigid routes, like school. See?" He points to a lanky-looking human wearing ripped jeans.
"Peace," she grunts. He nods to the girl, who stalks off into an dark alleyway. What a meaningless interaction.
"I guess, I guess," the Obstagoon mutters. "Or are you gonna tell us what actually happened?"
"Demi was going to lose his trainer licence to own pokemon if he had another incident," I respond, hoping he'll take the hint. He does not.
"It wasn't Rare Candies, right?" He growls, with a bit more emphasis behind it than usual: the hair on my neck pinprick me.
"He isn't a bad person, Ralph," I remind him sharply. "Reckless, but not stupid. If anything, it was more Paprika's fault."
Rex snorts loudly, sharing a incredulous look with Ralph. "I tried to hint that it is a peculiar name for a Cyndaquil, but he was having none of it. He took quickly to the name too, and it's far too late to change it now."
"What I'd like to know is how some little Quilava turns vicious enough to really hurt someone," Ralph cuts in. "C'mon, just look at 'em! Meek as hell—real sweet too, once you get past the flames! The little dudes just wanna be left alone to roll in a ball if, anything..."
"And how do you know that?" I reply without missing a beat. Immediately he flinches, like just being caught in some elaborate lie.
"U-uh, nonya business!" Ralph fumes, baring his teeth. "I just... knew a guy whose brother's sister's Typhlosion had a daughter recently! Thas' all!"
The Toxtricity chuckles, patting the Obstagoon on the back. "You sure it's just that, bro—"
"—shaddap! You don't know nothing, mate—" he snarls desperately, then whips to face me. "Look, I dunno what this dude is talkin' about, we ain't even close like that, what does he know!"
Ralph and Rex's relationship ⟶ "I'd beg to differ," I counter. "I would severely doubt someone willing to share a drink with a Poison-type would not be close with them. You guys seem pretty close to me."
Ralph somehow turns beet-red underneath his thick fur, and I swear I see the fuzz on his head stand up. "But if you're not ready to talk about your interest in cute and cuddly pokemon, I shall drop the topic for now." I finish.
He tenses, then relaxes with a sigh. "I swear, thassall it is," he mumbles halfheartedly. Rex outstretches his fist towards me—oh, a fistbump. (How quaint. I take it graciously with mine—and, why is his fist moist? I'll write down not to do that again.)
"Long Nose, if you really wanna know, it's cuz—mmph! Mmph!"
"And that's enough from you!" He stumbles out. He wraps the second jacket over the Poison-type's head, then picks up the flailing Toxtricity, who eventually gives up on struggling in his grip. "Cheers. Got another jacket and arm here I ain't afraid to use too, by that way!"
I throw my arms up. "I'll keep my mouth shut." Ahead, a spiralling apartment complex is almost alien to my eyes- so uniform and sleek-looking, versus the well loved but often unique cottage I hail from. "We live on the third floor. Hope your legs can take that, I can't carry another idiot up some stairs." He says.
Confused to an extent, I reply, "If it's so much of a problem, why can't we take the stairs?"
Ralph sniffs. "I ain't a fan of them. Could fall on me, or summin'. I dunno, just come on!" While we talked, Rex manages to sneakily get the jacket off from his head.
Humming in agreement, I follow closely behind: but just far enough to discreetly update my 'Ralph and Rex' section of my notebook.
-->'Lift-phobia' was added to my notebook.
-->'Rex & stairs' was added to my notebook.
I quickly return my notebook when we reach floor 3. Ralph rifles around in one jacket pocket, then another, until he finally retrieves a small pair of keys comically small for his hands with a sigh. After some fumbling, the key clicks in the lock and he swings the door open, unceremoniously throwing Rex like a ragdoll onto a bed across the room—thankfully, he lands with minimal impact, throwing up his fists in celebration. "Yo! You didn't miss the bed this time!"
For the life of me, I cannot understand why he took that as a compliment, rather than a worrying sign to perhaps stop flinging people across rooms. He strikes a pose with a devilish grin. "I know, I know, I've been training. But that ain't important right now! Oh, Cleffy!" He calls. For lack of a better word, the air feels... pinker? This is irregular, not to say the least. It doesn't look, smell, nor taste any different, yet if I was asked to put a word to the emotion rushing through my mind currently, it would undoubtedly be pink.
"Shucks, really?!" A floaty voice sings shrilly. "Oh boy, oh boy—I wasn't ready for this so soon, I don't got any time to do up my face, make up my hair... you boys really have put a wrench in my plans today, huh?! (ᵕ—ᴗ—)"
How the hell is she doing that with her mouth?
"I'm still excited though!! Haven't had a guest at our humble abode since that one guy's brother's sister's Typhlosion's daughter came over! (ᵕ ´ ∇ ˋ ˶)"
Ralph elbows me, and I don't give him the satisfaction of being right. It wasn't the whole truth, I'm sure of it. Psychic force drives chairs—then drifts them with surprising skill, may I add—to pick us both up, then started to rapidly accelerate into another room. Rex looks at us with mild interest. "Uh, wow, she must really be hyped this time. I'll be over in a minute, dudes." He then flops back onto the bed with almost instantaneous snoring.
"Hola, Bonjour, Mienshao!" The voice bubbles.
"Do you mean Ni Hao?" I ask.
"Close enough! >:( " Cleffy replies. "Now, sit tight, and let me get a look at my new BESTIE!"
Notes:
You were back in this modest little library, again. It seemed like a good enough time to take another look. But before you can even start rifling for a book, the Clefable floats a surprisingly heavy one into your hands. With nothing more than a puff, you place it on the desk with an ominous-sounding thud.
Once again, the book opens of its own accord: you crouch down and squint, just close enough to make out the words on the page.
'The World', it was titled. What about it, you wonder?
'The World-- a title of unknown origin and importance. Whatever it is, pokemon interviewed surrounding the topic reacted with mild irritation at best, and rampaging at worst.'
(A poorly-taken image is stuck crudely into the book. It's blurry, but you just manage to make out a rampaging Tyranitar surrounding by nothing but ruin.)
'Information is scant. Dangerous to obtain. Any further investigation should only be done with personnel ranked GREAT and below. From what we currently understand, The World references the common pseudo-language pokemon share. Keyword being 'pseudo-language', here- understanding between biologically distinct pokemon from different dialects and backgrounds seems to happen on a more visceral level then language alone. It is how, for example, a tweeting Pidove is able to understand a barking Herdier as well as we understand each other. Humans are usually not born with the ability to understand this pseudo-language; the skill is either developed through a deep understanding of pokemon, or some latent Mach:ination awakened through experience. More information is needed.'You tell her this isn't what you were looking for. Once again, the description shifts impossibly before your eyes.
'The World-- a title shrouded in secrecy. It is known by many names, such as the 'Harmony', or 'Mew's Blessing'. Whatever its true name is, pokemon questioned on the topic turn agitated and violent.'
(The image, shifts, digitalises. If it wasn't for the abhorrent quality of the photo, you're sure you could make out more than the irate Hydreigon laying waste to the surroundings.)
'Information is meagre. Impossible to obtain. Any further attempts should be stopped immediately. From current understanding, The World is a universal, commonly-understood PSI pseudo-channel that pokemon unconsciously communicate. Take note of 'pseudo-channel': it cannot be classified as a true channel as it is neither severable nor interferable. The name is thus subject to change. This PSI pseudo-channel seemingly doesn't rely on a pokemon's affluency or resistance to psychic-type moves. A dark-type Houndoom is able to communicate with the same proficiency as a psychic-type Alakazam. The only common denominator is the difficulty humans go through to access it- true communication is likely impossible using The World, but a certain proficiency can be developed with practice and bonding. More research is needed.'You sigh, closing the book half-heartedly. What's the point of coming to a library, if the librarian won't let you pick what book you want? You try again, try telling her that you're ready, but she only shakes her head with a kind, irritating smile. You don't bother waiting for whatever cryptic note she has for you next when you walk out of the front door.
Chapter 22: In Which we Peer into the Future (And Glance back at The Past)
Summary:
THIS is what teenagers do instead of getting 8 hours of sleep smh.
aka, Typhlosion gets harassed by onion time fairy at 3am.
Chapter Text
Please wake up.
Mmhm, just... five more minutes. Paprika batted the thoughts away with a foot kicking at empty air. Could you really blame him? He did feel quite comfortable, despite the impromptu sleeping arrangements on the sofa. Plus, he didn't wanna wake up Demi just yet. He wasn't quite sure how humans healed, but he bet that some extra sleep could do wonders for a black eye.
Right- more assertive, I know—wake up!
And a force, like countless diverging streams converging to a singular, miniscule point of contact sent him flying onto the floor, and onto a poor tentacle straggling from under the sofa. With a grumble, he stood up off his now sore butt, and rubbed the tentacle in apology. With nothing more than a short gurgle, it retreats underneath the sofa. Now, why the hell was he up at such an ungodly hour? What time is it anyway?
3:53 am.
Oddly specific, but seemed right to his sleep-addled brain. He was thirsty, so might as well get him—and, his plant in his satchel—some water. Carefully, slowly enough not to disturb anyone else sleeping, he slinked through the darkness with the bag to the sink. And after checking no one was watching, he switched on the tap and lapped the water directly from the sink. It had always been a dream of his when he was smaller, and was only able to stare up at the running tap with wonder. Back then, he was confined to small bowls or cups. But now?
Now he could drink however he wanted, whenever he wanted.
The watery deed was done. After gently pouring what seemed like a reasonable amount of water over the plant, he decided to earn some well-deserved sleep.
No! He was right, this one is so unaware...
He chuffed quietly to himself. That was quite a rude thought! Didn't even feel like his.
Oh, yes—now I remember. Something about blending in naturally to their thoughts, is what is normally suggested for less disruptive interactions. With this new information, you decide to stay awake for a little longer and do some ruminating on events. The decision seems right, so you decide to...
...okay, up the stairs we go. I don't—well, you don't need to use the bathroom, right? Sigh. You ascend the stairs quietly, and push open the door, and lock it behind you. Then, you switch on the lights. For what reason, I wonder? Typhlosions can see perfectly well in the dark. You look quite ridiculous staring so intensely into the mirror, met with nothing but the blue, or brown, of your own irises.
Alright, this is getting a bit silly now. You should probably turn the lights back off, they're only hurting your freshly opened eyes. But you don't? Why? Instead, you stare accusingly at your own reflection, as if expecting it to jump out and attack. Eventually you relent, and turn to face a family photo hung in a forgotten corner. For little good reason, you decide to scrutinise the figures intensely. First, at the spunky little boy Demi, holding an apathetic Quilava in his eager grasp. Next to him, his ever-serious looking mother. And behind them all... her 'Slither Wing'?
You sigh in relief, for whatever reason.
...Oh. You never did know what that pokemon was, did you?
"If you have something to say to me, you can do it without the weird 'trying to sound like my train of thoughts thing' you got going on." You say.
Was it really that obvious? I never was quite as good at this part. You face the mirror once more, blinking rapidly at your reflection.
"I just chalked it up to me being tired at first," you begin, scratching behind your ear almost in embarassment. "But then I realised, 'hey, that's weird, I don't remember my thoughts being in second person.'"
..How would you mortals put it? Ah, 'Crap' would be the right word to express myself.
"I would've just listened to what you wanted to say," Paprika said, still reeling from the uncomfortable feeling of something—someone—vacating his mind. "Could I at least see who I'm talking to? Pretty please?"
I suppose I've already marred this conversation. What more does another liberty matter?
Leaning over his shoulder, a small green pixie looks bashfully up at him with light blue eyes that held a startling amount of depth. It looks like an onion.
"I do not!" It retorts in a high, distinct voice that echoed in his mind distinctly. It slapped him painlessly on the shoulder with a V-shaped frown. But no amount of hissy slapping could convince him otherwise.
"Will you tell me what your name is, then?" Paprika asked, already suspecting the answer. It shook its head sadly. That, unfortunately, is a privilege I cannot bestow yet. But I have been called Myriad of Converging Streams in Endlessly Flowing Rivers.
"That's... a mouthful," he said dubiously. Up until now, a part of him was convinced he was still dreaming: but now, even as he dabbed cold water on his face, feeling the chilling embrace of moisture against his nose, his mind was beginning to plead insanity.
You are not insane, Myriad of Converging Streams in Endlessly Flowing Rivers said—okay, no, he's calling it Myriad. That's stupidly long to remember; who the hell came up with those anyway?
Ata-ina, focus. Our time is short, and woefully premature. It said. The pixie dragged him with deceiving strength away from the mirror, gripping his cheeks and pulling him to meet its gaze. Listen closely, like your life depends on it.
He chuffed. "Does it?" To his relief, Myriad shook its head quickly. No, no. Although your existence does. I just find mortals tend to comprehend the urgency behind death better than oblivion. So, that was reassuring. If it could be different, it would, it reassured him weakly. It took flight, carving sparkling circles through the air. He watched the motes sprinkling from its razor-thin wings glisten, collect, form into familiar images: a familiar, younger pokemon looking back at him, held by the scrappy figure of a Youngster—Demi, he assumed; then a crowd in a frenzy over that Youngster, claiming the Toxic badge from the gym leader with only a single Cyndaquil to his name.
You're ignoring it, Myriad urged. It is either you comprehend it now, or you forget it forever.
He snarled: a deep, unholy racket, that he didn't even know his throat could still make until today. Against his will, the Typhlosion's head snapped to the final third echo drifting in the night.
The Cyndaquil didn't feel much about this.
The woman they had fought in that loud, rackety, place had gone easy on them. To get such a prestigious position to humans, they had to demonstrate a certain mettle: or be left behind in the dust. She must have had something stronger than that scuttling, pleading Whirlipede, that crackled and burst like fireworks under his power. Something stonger than that lazy Koffing, which barely puffed a plume of noxious smoke before falling before him too like paper.
He still remembered the rage he felt in that moment, not white-hot like he envisioned: it was low, impure, smouldering. Such weakness displayed did not even deserve pure flames. Instead, the fire-type left them with ugly, superficial scars that would persist their entire lives. A rare moment of kindness, he felt: such a reminder would force them to become stronger. They'd be better for it.
All in all, the loud women's pokemon rose and fell without him even breaaking a sweat. He still struggled to comprehend why the masses celebrated, then: what did the badge mean, if it was practically handed to you? To add insult to injury, he couldn't even learn Venoshock either. a useless endeavour, through and through.
But it made the Youngster happy; he supposed that was worth something small. But just big enough to spur another, spontaneous act of kindness.
Alone, leaving the human cook up something bland to eat once again, he stalked through the Off-Route. The world before him overflowed like a treasure chest—intoxicated, he took it all in greedily. The original plan was to challenge a powerful monster dwelling here in combat; there was something fufilling about leaving nothing but flames behind, and a thoroughly battered pokemon on the ground.
Instead, he had scented something... intriguing; something weak, but desirable was out here. He was confident he could disable the monster easily, perhaps bring it back to the Youngster as a sort of trophy: infinitely more valuable than the flimsy metal the woman handed to him. He followed the scent religously, until he spotted a monster more precious than gold itself:
A Woobat, its fur a shiny mint-green rather than the frankly dull blue he was used to. This, the Cyndaquil knew, was their true prize. Their eyes met—somehow. Its were obscured by thick, shaggy fur over its eyes, and his were shut. Regardless, the moment they saw each other was coiled, overflowing with unspoken tension: would it fly away? Fight? Or try to outsmart him? Some emotion prickled at his throat—now, he finally felt something.
It moved first, flapping its clearly inexperienced wings with desperation. Fruitless, hopelessly fruitless. He was already upon it, brutally slamming his weight into its side to send it crashing to the ground with a hoarse cry. (Of course, the Cyndaquil knew it was a risky, crude attack, imbued with no energy but his own mass—he merely took a faint sense of pleasure in finally feeling bigger than something.) It tried to move again, only for him to casually drive a foot into the wing—and, ripping through the delicate membrane. Oops. Those pink-haired woman in the centres could fix that, right? It would be fine.
"Y-you seem mad," it said, in a steady, cheerful voice that only faltered once under the pain. Speaking surprisingly boldly for one he could kill with nothing more than an afterthought."I know, maybe today was a bad day for y-you, b-but!—"
If anyone asked later, he would say he didn't mean to apply more pressure with his foot, just enough to rip a bigger hole in its wing. "p-please, reconsider. I d-d-don't want to..."
It trailed off. He felt a slight twinge of disappointment that it wasn't crying. That feeling died quickly, replaced with the disinterest he was accustomed with. Its smile wobbled, shrunk, then withered away.
"Y-you're just looking at me? Why? Y-you're definitely a-a trainer's pokemon, right? Your fur is beautifully glossy." It stumbled out. "But where's your human, then? Maybe you don't like them very much? Or, or..."
He found himself growling, despite himself. This Woobat didn't matter in the slightest to him: the only care he possessed for it was wiping that irritating, knowing grin off its face contorted with pain. So why did it keep talking? He'd fought pokemon many times his size that had gone mute with pain or fear by now.
"T-there we go," it sighed in relief. Despite everything, its smile returned stronger. "Anger isn't the best emotion to be feeling, but it is better than the apathy I sensed from you before. What's your name, Cyndaquil?"
The asinine thing seemed to have forgotten what he was doing to it. "My name is Olive! Or Olly for short, heh-heh." It continued in an upbeat tone. "So are you gonna just keep staring at me... can you even talk? M-maybe not, but I reckon you just d'wanna."
He was seriously considering just burning it to a crisp. But if he charred it too badly, would the Youngster be able to tell it was shiny? He would take his odds.
"B-but!" It said after a bout of silence, as if sensing his waning patience. "I h-hear that the silent ones are always great listeners... so I'll tell you my story, then! I've got a brother, a sister, an aunt, a momma... I-I'm the only green one, though! I hear it's special, eh?"
"..."
"Okay, you're probably right. Matters more what's on the inside, doesn't it?" It pats its fluffy body with its free wing. He looked behind him. This was becoming old. Where was that trainer when you needed him? "B-but recently, they were getting...what's the word, sick of me...? Decided I was old enough and needed to go."
His expression must've shifted, judging from the infuriatingly enthusiastic words spilling out of the creature's tightened mouth. "I know, right?! I'm the youngest too, and the rest were allowed to stay. M-maybe that just means I'm the strongest, amirite? Or they're mad their fur isn't such a pretty green. Kinda reminds me of olives. Hence the name! So, you guys gotta be pretty early in those human gyms, right? I ain't the strongest, but—"
—He had a curious feeling that it just winked at him—
"I can pull my own weight! Plus, Momma always told me how much those humans love flaunting pretty coloured pokemon~. So even if I ain't that strong, I-I can always just be your mascot, or 'summin..."
He released his foot, slightly, finally letting the bat cradle the broken bone and torn membrane. "Just... you don't gotta do this, pal. 'Promise this can just be a fun story between the two of us. You can just tell your trainer I fell. So, how 'bout we leave this behind us? I can sing pretty well too, if you're into that. Waddya say pal?"
The memory failed after that.
The Woobat was nowhere to be found.
He exhaled a weak strand of smoke. He swore he was going to take that offer. Why wouldn't he? Paprika remembered being cold, and frankly uncaring for a period in his life, but never outright cruel. So what happened to the mint-green, smooth-speaking Woobat who had tried to plead for his life?
Something else, Myriad said morosely. The pixie held guilt in its eyes, but also an unwavering dedication that only twisted the knife in his stomach further in. It was a worrying development. It has been an incomprehensibly lengthy amount amount of time since I have seen the streams divert so harshly from their expected course. You and that human, what you were meant to achieve?
He snapped out of his funk violently. "What?"
Suddenly, it went rigid. I-I have misspoken, forgive me. The knowledge would only upset you, child. You needn't know it.
"Then why did I have to see that again? I'm already sorry for what I did," he hissed. Sorry for what? You cannot remember what happened after that point.
Myriad stopped fluttering, slumping like a doll against the bathroom mirror. And I cannot remember either. And I do not forget, Paprika. I feared the only way to get your assistance. Will you help me, Paprika?
The pixie looked hopefully up at him. Paprika eyed it guiltily, then nodded. "But, may I have just one question?"
Sighing, Myriad offered its own nod. If I can answer. I shall.
"Alright," he began, letting his worries flow freely from his maw. "If you can look into the streams of time—tell which stream will grow, form waterfalls, which will be pollluted and tainted, and, and—"
—It was so late, and he was too tired for this—
"And, if you can tell which stream will dry up into nothingness: tell me, please... if I help you, how many more people will die?" He asked. He didn't remember what happened after that memory, but Paprika had his suspcions. Myriad floated up, to rest a hand lightly on his head.
Oh child, what a naive question... how should I answer that? Thousands of people die each day: just in the last hour, I could give you the life and deaths of each and every person and pokemon whose streams have been wizened away, in infinite detail. You take a narrow, selfish yet selfless perspective on the matter Paprika. None die by your hand, I can tell you that.
His relieved sigh made Myriad wince.
But three. Three is your answer. There is nothing you can do about it.
He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Myriad smiled despite the situation. And I know you have more questions, Paprika. Such cursed knowledge only leads to more and more insatiable questions. You are wise not to peer any further, child.
The Typhlosion had no response to that. He was tired. Today was just getting longer and longer. "Can whatever I have to do wait until tomorrow?" He grumbled. "It's 3am right now. I think I deserve some sleep."
4:20 am, but I see your point, Myriad responded bashfully: not even a single Noctowl could be heard hooting from outside. We have been talking for long. Too long—I am most likely needed elsewhere. I do apologise that I had to show you that, Typhlosion, but it was a necessary evil. If you remember nothing from this dreadful first impression, remember how you felt then, and how you feel now. You have changed drastically, child. What is the difference between now and then?
The onion-pixie looked over its shoulder, as if someone had just said its name. It smiled slightly at him. We will meet again. Care dearly for your plant, and keep making people tea, okay? Something different might happen.
He nodded uncertainly. Myriad seeemed to be fading away, now, becoming clear like water.
And Paprika?
"Yes?"
You must get stronger. If not for yourself, do it for your trainer; if the danger doesn't come to him, then he shall find it himself. That is all. It warned gently.
Then, it was gone. Leaving just a Typhlosion alone with his thoughts. He was surprisingly calm, considering the situation; either this was a pretty vivid dream, or he had finally lost his marbles. Grumbling to himself, Paprika trudged out of the bathroom, carefully shutting the door, painfully aware of how late it was, and made his way back downstairs. It was a heartwarming sight: Grella was piled on top of Ife, who was snoring quietly on the sofa that barely held her weight. Demi was on his back, arms crossed and his head propped up on a cushion. The only evidence that Octillery was still here was the single stray appendage poking out from under the sofa. and wiggling around lazily.
He thought naively how he did all of this.
Was this the difference Myriad was talking about? Its words still echoed around in his skull. Shrugging the thought away, Paprika flopped down onto the sofa, letting his snout rest on Demi's leg. The human stirred groggily.
"Paps, why are you waking me up at 3am to crush my leg?"
Snorting, he held up 4 fingers. "4am? I don't care, man, just... c'mere."
He sighed as Demi scratched his head; to be honest, he wasn't expecting to wake him up but didn't mind the outcome either way.
An uncertain future and a past he'd like to stay forgotten could wait; for now, the Typhlosion and human slept.
Chapter 23: There's Something About Demi (I) Enter Murkrow!
Summary:
I wonder. Is it just in my head, or is there something off about Demi?
...Nevermind, I'm sure it's nothing. At least there's a cool crow here, now. That's gotta be more important.
Chapter Text
It was a beautiful day outside: the sun was shining, and the flowers were blooming in a way that could convince anyone to wake up.
Well, almost anyone. The Typhlosion, dubbed Paprika by his human, was currently still fast asleep. So deeply asleep that he didn't notice the human beneath him desperately trying to get free. Luckily for the human, the Titan Meganium had roused, lazily scanning the room with lidded eyes. She looked onwards at the sight with mild interest. Craning his neck uncomfortably, the human signalled for help.
With a yawn, the Meganium closed her eyes once more. The human cursed silently.
Looks like he'd just do this himself, then. WIth a grunt, he dug his hands into the Typhlosion's side, and heaved him off like a massive boulder—just how much did he weigh?! Eventually, the human managed to flip the fluffy weight off of him, sending the Fire-type hurtling towards the floor with a thump. Even that wasn't enough to wake him up, however.
Only the Octillery, whose tentacle had been crushed for a second time, mind you, managed to wake him with an indignant slap to the face. The Typhlosion was jolted brutally to consciousness, looking around rapidly to orientate himself with small puffs of smoke—then, he realised he was on the Octillery. Again. With another apology, he promptly stood up. He ignored the chuckling Meganium, and decided to get ready to start his day.
"We might actually be on time today," Demi mused. Paprika nodded eagerly: he could get behind that. His human didn't care much, but it would be unbearably embarrassing to be late to school for a second day in a row. Who knows? Maybe they could even catch the bus this time. Demi and Paprika had gotten ready quickly, whilst Grella took a more indulgent shower. Thankfully, Demi made no comment; she deserved it, after all. Ife, who would probably splinter the stairs with a single step, assured everyone else she would be fine. Pokokyu?
Paprika snorted. He didn't really know, to be honest. The octopus had crawled in, and come out looking slightly wetter. Props to him for figuring out the shower, though.
The Typhlosion wondered what had his human so worked up as he dashed into his room, then felt a familiar warmth in his chest at the worn Love Ball that he was gripping with a smile. "It hasn't seen the light of day in a while, huh?" Paprika nodded; there wasn't ever much a reason for him to bring it. Demi would never say it out loud, but Paprika knew he appreciated his company too much.
His human was wearing a simple black tee, and was looking bare without his rucksack. He vocalised his worry; the human just grinned back. "Don't worry, I'm sure my racket'll show up. Eventually," he assured him.
He frowned. Paprika had long since learnt to look past his humans words. That tennis racket was his most precious possession; a gift from his father, wherever he was now. Although, the Typhlosion cherished his chipper attitude—it helped to keep thoughts of onion fairies and olive-green Woobat away. He could think about last night... later, he promised himself. Or perhaps lied.
Demi stopped mid-stride. "Seriously, it'll be fine man. You worry a lot, have I said that?"
Paprika realised he was still forwning. Puffing smoke into his face, the Typhlosion dismissed his human's concern with a modest smile. Surprisingly, Ife was standing sigil by the door. Pokokyu was still messing around with the television, eager to figure out how exactly it worked. He hadn't asked yet, but he wondered where the Octillery had gotten that cape from...
"Sorry, I got a little carried away," a voice apologised. The temperature dropped as Grella glided down the staircase: was she doing that on purpose? Maybe she just felt more comfortable, that way. With a quiet hello and nod to each of them, Grella stuck to Ife's side like glue. Paprika returned her tentative greetings with as much warmth as he could muster. Whilst grabbing his satchel (and checking on the precious plant inside.) Paprika watched his human ransack the cupboards, then triumphantly return with a medley of sweet treats. Pokokyu practically launched himself at them, whilst Ife wrinkled her nose at them.
"Too sweet," she complained, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Dunno how yer eat that processed stuff."
"More for us then!" Paprika replied cheerily, snarfing down his lion's share of the treats. Good thing Mother wasn't here, or she would have their heads for dinner—she left ridiculously early in the mornings, usually. Wonder what she actually worked as?
(Nothing to do with Slither Wing, he assured himself. He had checked the bathroom twice, thrice, and no such photo existed.)
"Welp, are we ready to go?" Demi asked, and everyone returned with nods of varying enthusiasm. He wouldn't usually be this eager to leave, but Lyra had been breathing down his neck since he had woken up. A couple of times, he had to stop the human from just muting ROTOM with a bit of tape over its speakers.
With his rucksack gone, Pokokyu had free reign of latching onto Demi—the human complained loudly, but Paprika could tell he didn't actually care.
Demi probably found it cute, not that he'd say it to his face.
"Th1s way, then a-that way, friend...!"
He patted the octopus once as he stared down at ROTOM, trying to make sense of the instructions as they walked out of the door. "So, it says we should make our way to Tyranmar Avenue's bus stop, which is that way!" He announced, luckily not pointing towards the path to Green Space this time. Paprika wasn't sure he could do that, again. But that Trevenant had been nice. He should visit it, at some point...
"At least this is straightforward," Grella whispered, echoing his adversion to the Green Space. They walked for a few minutes in comfortable silence, until the bus stop was ahead.
"And you thought we wouldn't make it," Demi commented, smirking as he sat down dramatically on the bench. Alas, he was right this time—despite his qualms, the human had managed to make it to the bus stop on time. But just as Ife sat down too, the double-decker bus screeched to a halt in front of them. Paprika glared at the human, who shrugged. "Technically, I'm right. The bus is here, isn't it?"
Surprisingly, the door was large enough to even let Ife pass through unimpeded. At least somebody was taking a pokemon-friendly Unova seriously. Demi strided past the seated driver, until he barked for his attention. "Oi! Kid! What're you doing with all of these?"
"Huh?" Demi said innocently, looking at each of them in turn. Grella was standing rigidly. Ife looked unbothered.
His mouth felt dry. It was sort of weird to have four pokemon on the second day of school, wasn't it?
"Well? I'm waiting!" The driver demanded harshly.
Demi replied cooly, "My mother works at a pokemon sanctuary, and wanted me to help with these pokemon. She wanted me them to have a sense of normalcy, so she asked me to bring them to school."
The driver frowned, but seemed mollified by the lie. "Couldya at least return them to their pokeballs? Takin' up a lotta space." he grumbled. That was a problem.
Somehow, Demi's next lie came out easier still:
"They're real sensitive things," he said, reaching out to pat Ife on the neck. She slapped him away with a vine without flinching. "See? They aren't ready for that sorta stuff yet."
"Well, if they can't go into their balls, then—"
"—But, a real specialist'll be taking them off my hands now. They won't even be here with me tomorrow, promise." Demi interrupted. The lie was sealed. Spitting a glob of saliva out the window, the older human gestured them through.
"That was...unsettling," Grella commented in a small voice. When Demi gave her the stink-eye, she practically shrank down to half her height. "B-but helpful! I-I nearly believed you were telling the truth, there."
It only took a kick in the shin from Paprika to get him to drop the look. Shrugging, he responded, "I just said what he would believe. Let's just find a seat before the bus starts moving."
The shiny Dragonair nodded. Courtesy of Ife, they couldn't go up the stairs, so Demi led them all to the back seats which were relatively spacious. They must be pretty early on in the route for the school bus—it was empty, save for an aloof looking boy, and his scarred Feraligatr. The humans locked eyes, and Paprika swore Andrew suppressed a sigh.
"You tormenting me is going to be a recurring theme, won't it?" The boy lamented bitterly. Demi just smirked, throwing himself into the seat opposite them. He watched with mirth as Andrew's facade briefly broke wide open in surprise, when a Meganium and Dragonair followed behind. "Where did you get a shiny Dragonair from? And—wait, is that Ife?"
Ife waved lazily with a vine, before dozing off on the two chairs she was lying across. Paprika wondered if she was ever not sleepy. "Morning, Ripple," the Fire-type said politely. The Feraligatr jumped at her mention, but waved back shyly before going back to looking like she wanted to kill someone. She was nice, in her own quirky way, he supposed. Demi briefly summarised yesterday's events like it was the latest tournament battle.
"So let me get this straight. You go with a girl you've known for a solid day, risk your life at the Swords camp in a stupid distraction, all in the hopes Grella would be there? Are you insane, or just idiotic, Demi?"
"Aw, so you do care about me!" he said with a smile. "But don't act like it didn't work, either. She's here, isn't she?"
Andrew leaned forward, bouncing a leg. "But now Shifting Leaves has you on her radar. Do you know how you're dealing with? I swear, there's gotta be something off about you..."
"Shifting Leaves? Psh, they're a pushover—besides, it's not like I'm going back there again," he said, looking out the window. The bus had finally started moving. Then, he turned back to Andrew with a spark in his eye. "Plus, not like you're normal either."
Ripple stared holes into him; Demi just smiled sweetly at her, playing with Pokokyu's tentacle. "I don't remember telling you who Shifting Leaves is."
"It's common knowledge," Andrew shot back. Demi leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head.
"Uh, yeah, the 'Shifting Leaves' part. The news says nothing about her full name, right? Safety and all that."
"Tch—don't pester me," he spat. Demi bowed his head in faux-submission.
"But say, Demi, if you don't mind me asking..."
He looked more interested than ever before as he pointed to Demi's eye. "What's the matter with your eye? It looks somewhat swollen."
"Aw come on—you said it was gone!" Demi turned to the Typhlosion with a dirty look. Paprika just smiled awkwardly: the black eye was already so faint, that you could only tell if you were freakishly staring. "But if I gotta tell you, basically, I got into a fight with a Mienshow or whatever they're called. Managed to beat it, but got punched in the eye kinda bad."
He snorted: 'beat it' was a kind way of putting what actually happened.
Andrew and Ripple stared at each other with wide eyes, then up to the heavens.
"Amen," Andrew sighed.
"God bless," Ripple added.
Demi sprang up, nearly knocking Pokokyu clean off his lap if he wasn't holding on so tightly. "Hey, what's that meant to mean?!"
Smiling to each other, the boy and the Feraligatr recomposed themselves. "Just a... coincidence," Andrew replied calmly. Occasionally, the bus chugged to a halt to let more kids pour into the bus. Paprika waved at the Emboar.
"A damn good one," Ripple added breathily, staring at her own claws.
"I've never actually been on a bus before," Ife muttered, interrupting the lull in the conversation. She had worked up the energy to gaze out of the window, at the quiet town slowly whirring to life. People and pokemon filled the streets, going about their day. She was barely audible over the hubbub of chatter in the bus, but Paprika hummed in acknolwedgement.
Nobody was sitting near them; Grella's natural chill repelled them. In stark contrast, Andrew and Ripple didn't seem to even notice it.
The bus cut quickly through the Heart: maybe the traffic could get pretty bad, when all the humans were going to work? It wasn't long before it stopped before the gates to the school itself.
"Alright, this is your stop! Get off my bus!" The driver bellowed: somebody must've woken up on the wrong side of bed today. Nevertheless, the students filtered off the bus relatively quickly, eager to rerelease their partner pokemon. He even saw a few non-starters in the crowd; tilting his head, he wondered why most of them waited so long to catch a second pokemon.
When he was a Cyndaquil, it seemed that most trainers were too impatient for a slower, more thorough approach to catching their partners; it seemed that everyone who deviated from the traditional trainer path seemed to have no problem taking the time to get to know their pokemon.
Eventually, they could get off the bus. Andrew and Ripple walked with them, just close enough to follow them but far enough that nobody else could tell they were associated. Paprika chuffed: just when would they just be normal around them? It's not like either of them could have that much to hide.
Grella was the most eager to get in; she forced the rest of them into a brisk a walk to keep up with how fast she slithered, ignoring the looks from the students around, in favour of scanning the crowds with wide eyes. Looking for Lyra, Paprika guessed. Ife even had to slap a pokeball out of someone's hand on the way with not the kindest expression on her face. Eventually, she came to a grinding halt in front of them, suddenly looking unsure of herself as she turned around. "What do I even say to her? It's been so long, I..."
Demi scoffed, crossing his arms. "Just long enough for you to learn English, apparently. I always thought that was stupid difficult for pokemon, and takes a long time too."
Grella turned to him. "It is difficult. But with certain... measures... it can be done faster."
Paprika shook his head, pulling his human back. At least he had the sense not to ask any more stupid questions.
"Demi really..." a voice started, trailing off. Paprika looked beyond his human, to the girl who had just rounded the corner.
"L-Lyra?"
"Grella!"
The Dragonair squeaked as the girl gripped her tightly, as if she would fade away again if she let go. Eventually, Lyra was forced to release her—it wasn't productive to strangle the Dragonair you've been looking for. Lyra stepped back, exhaling deeply as she took in the Dragonair's form. "You've grown so much...you're really cold now, too."
Grella looked aside. "Sorry," she muttered. Lyra laughed giddily, shaking her head with a fervour.
"No, no, it's amazing! Grella—you're amazing," she said. Ife looked onwards calmly. Lyra pouted at her. "And what are you doing just standing over there, you lazy lizard? C'mere!"
She didn't even wait for her to move, instead closing the distance to wrap her arms furiously around her neck. "Thank you, thank you Ife! . This couldn't have been easy for you either."
Ife awkwardly patted her back with a vine. Lyra finally remembered her reunion's audience. "Demi!"
Paprika snorted as Lyra shook his hand with a bone-crushing grip, then yelped as he got his own too. She managed to maintain the professional stature, until she started speaking.
"Thankyouthankyouthank—"
"—Hey, just stop shouting! You're making us all look weird." He grumbled. She backed off, but Paprika smiled knowingly at Demi; he laughed when the human told him to 'piss off'. He really wasn't a tough guy at all, was he?
"You know what? Bye! I'm going to class!" he said, already hightailing from the rest of them. "And yes, Pokokyu, you can come. You can always come."
Paprika snorted as the octopus' uncertainty turned to joy in real time. Lyra smiled and patted the Typhlosion gently on the head. "Thanks to you too, Paprika. I know it can't be easy babysitting Demi for a job. Has trouble always just followed him like this?"
He chuffed; 'trouble' was a light way of putting it. Lyra chuckled. "I thought so!"
She understood that surprisingly well.
"Yeah, people say I'm good at understanding pokemon real quick!" She added quickly, her chest puffed out slightly. "Not to brag, but it only took me a week to have full-on conversations with Ife."
Andrew scoffed. "Tch—only took me half a week."
Lyra glowered back. "Well you're a special case, aren't you?"
Whatever Lyra meant; it got Andrew's mouth clamped shut quickly. Paprika was only more confused; he didn't know if a human just talking at you with occasional nods and shakes was a conversation, but whatever.
"No, like, understanding understanding. What you're saying," Lyra explained, leaving Paprika only even more bewildered. "You can't be that annoying that Demi's just ignoring you most of the time, right? It should just come naturally after spending some time with a pokemon, right Andrew?"
The boy nodded, beginning to walk after Demi. "Depends on the pokemon. Couple of months for friendlier ones. Cautious ones can take well over a year. Now come on; we aren't going to be late for class again."
Lyra looked intensely at Ife, who just returned herself to her pokeball with no comment. Sighing, Lyra followed Andrew and Ripple with Grella close behind. Paprika had no time to think over their words, and followed the group to whatever lesson they had next.
"Morning, class!"
Paprika sat down next to his human, who greeted him with a cool nod. Pokokyu waved enthusiastically at him, making Demi shake his head disapprovingly. "We're gonna teach you how to be cool one day, Pokokyu..."
Looks like it was back to Mr Wirrywon, again. The man smiled warmly to the entire class, and Paprika couldn't help but return the gesture. Although his human seemed to be more resistant, judging by his wandering looks and slump in his seat.
"Hopefully, today's lesson will be more exciting for all of us—I'm sure Mr Peith is tired of marking tests."
The Alakzam sniffed, its eyes flickering with PSI. "It would barely take me a minute to mark tenfold. You underestimate me time and time again, beloved."
Mr Wirrywon laughed. "Of course, of course, Peithy, whatever you say; however, no matter how smart you are, we'll move on to Unovan notables as our first topic regardless."
"If we must. Class, Please open your notebooks and write the title 'Unovan Starters'."
A wave of sound flowed through the room as all the humans opened their books—all the humans, except one.
Demi was still waiting for something to happen, gratingly unaware of everyone around him. Chuffing, Paprika cuffed him lightly on the head. Scowling, the human asked, "What am I meant to doing?!"
Paprika just shook his head, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed; if he didn't want to pay attention to Mr Peith, it wasn't his job to fill him in either. Demi just clicked his tongue and whispered to Lyra.
"Lyra! Lyra!"
The girl glanced up at him. "Hm, what is it?"
Demi rolled his eyes. "'What is it?'—what are you doing? What is everyone doing?"
Lyra blinked. "Writing down the title. Like Mr Peith said," she responded. That only infuriated Demi more.
"It's the same damn thing as yesterday..." he muttered bitterly. "Mr Peith hasn't said anything! I just spent yesterday sitting and playing along,"
"Is he...?" Grella muttered in the World, probably scared of Demi glaring at her if she spoke in English.
"He's fine," Paprika hastily reassured her. What did Demi have against Mr Peith? He was slightly snobbish, but that was just the deafult trait for most Psychic-types. He knew how Heather could get, didn't he?
"He isn't physically talking, Demi." Andrew chastised, but had the patience to explain. "It's pseudo-telepathy. It's to get us used to dealing with Psychic-type pokemon."
Demi just frowned back at him. "Telepathy isn't real." He replied.
"Tch—not actual telepathy. Approximate intentions, converted to words and projected. That's what he's doing."
"What the hell are you on about..." he muttered. Instead of sucking it up and actually just asking what he clearly didn't hear, the human just sat there with a grimace. Eventually, Mr Wirrywon's smile dropped.
"I won't have you sitting idle in my class, Demier." He said sternly, dropping his whiteboard pen on the desk mid-stroke to stare down the boy. Demi stared back.
"Firstly, it's pronounced Demi. Not Dem-er, or De-may, or any other thing you can make up. Secondly, I've got no idea what I'm meant to be doing! Neither of you have said anything!"
Mr Peith looked coldly at Demi, who was woefully oblivious. "Hm. So these children can get dumber."
Chuckles bubbled around the room, and Demi glared until they died down. "If this is some sort of prank, it isn't working." he said. "I'm fine with doing nothing in this stupid class."
It was hard to believe it was the same Mr Wirrywon looking intensely at him."I won't tolerate such disrespect in my class."
"If he remarks like that once more, I will be sending him to the Headmaster's."
"Yeah, well I don't enjoy having my name butchered by some muppet." he shot back instantly with a frown. Mr Peith rose slowly to his feet.
"That human isn't alright," Ripple commented. Paprika agreed passionately, but his heart dropped when he looked at her; Ripple seemed to almost admire his cockiness. The Typhlosion didn't! He didn't wanna have to deal with that Metagross again, too...
"Enough. Ignore me all you want, but I am sending you to the principal's office regardless. Get out of my sight."
Demi didn't so much as blink at the Alakazam's words, drawing an disbelieving scoff from it. Mr Wirrywon stepped in.
"I'm going to have to send you to the Headmaster now," he said calmly. Demi looked around incredulously.
"What did I do?"
"I wasn't asking, sonny." He replied. Paprika just placed his hand firmly on the shoulder; he was just going to dig this hole deeper if he knew his trainer. Demi smiled scathingly.
"Sure, sure! I love that Metagross, anyway. In a bit Paprika, yeah?" He spat. The human got up, and walked out of the room with his hands in his pockets. Pokokyu watched him leave with a tilt of its head.
"He'll be back. Probably." Paprika said, placing the octopus in Demi's seat. His black pupils widened to pools, then he nodded. Paprika just chuffed when it picked up a pen, and began to write in the notebook on the desk with surprising dexterity.
"Oh," Grella squeaked, looking nervously at Lyra who just laughed. There was no joke. The Dragonair was draped over the seat where Ife normally was, even though it was awkwardly big for her. The wood was already beginning to freeze at the edges.
"Ah, Demi's a feisty one, isn't he Paprika?" She asked. Paprika nodded, not wanting to worry her. He wasn't normally like that.
"Real reassuring, aren't you..." she mumbled, picking up his intentions once more. It was kinda getting creepy.
"He'll learn not to be so stubborn." Andrew commented. "We've been waiting long enough for the lesson to start. And I personally want to do well, in this class." Lyra nodded half-heartedly.
Paprika sighed. Trouble followed that boy, wherever he walked—the Typhlosion just hoped he wouldn't be dragged into it, too...
"Paprika Typhlosion! Get your tush to the office!" A cackling voice announced in the room, revelling in everyone's startles. Mr Wirrywon composed himself quickly, and Mr Peith cleared his foggy glasses with a wave of its hand.
"Thank you, Peithy—deputy-head Gengar! G-good morning." he said, looking hopefully around for the ghost. It didn't materialise.
"Ehh, I was actually hoping it would be more of a bad morning," it replied. "And it's shaping up to be one! Alright, I'll grab the Typhlosion and you can keep teaching about all the boring pokemon that aren't Ghost-types! Toodles!"
Wait, what did it mean by grabbing—oh.
His vision swam, and the Typhlosion was now sitting in a comfortable leather chair instead of a hard wooden one. Octillery was still mid-pen stroke, but just dropped the pen on the floor with a surprisingly expressive look. But when Paprika looked back, Pokokyu's expression shifted to the usual, blank one.
"APOLOGIES, PAPRIKA." The Metagross boomed. The dark-oak desk it was behind was laughably too small for it. "GENGAR ISN'T THE MOST SUBTLE IN TRANSPORT. I SUSPECT HE FEEDS OFF OF OTHER'S MILD INCONVENIENCE."
"What's up," Demi said, sat comfortably in the chair next to him. Paprika waved, and Pokokyu nodded cooly. "Nice, Pokokyu's learning already."
"BACK TO THE MATTER, DEMI. YOU AND PAPRIKA AGREED TO PSYCHIC COMMUNICATION EXACTLY 45 DAYS AGO IN THE SCHOOL ADMISSION FORM. WHAT HAS CHANGED NOW?"
"Nothing, like I said before," he replied, playing with the button on his shirt idly. "I didn't know what it meant then, and I don't know what it means now."
"I SEE." it replied. Paprika could practically see the calculations raging behind those coldly intelligent eyes. It made him squirm in his seat. "YOU MAY ENTER, LUCARIO."
Curry sauntered in with a bow. [Please, just 'Curry' works.]
"NEGATIVE." Metagross replied instantly, Curry just chuckled in response. But seeing Demi and him in the seats, his its expression dropped.
[It is dissappointing to see you boys here. Why am I needed, Metagross?]
"I REQUEST YOU TO READ THE BOY'S AURA. I WAS NOT ABLE TO PENETRATE HIS MUFFLING BEFORE, BUT I CALCULATE A NEAR 100% CHANCE THAT YOU WOULD BE ABLE TO."
[You flatter me, don't you?]
"NEGATIVE ONCE MORE. WE MERELY STATE THE TRUTH."
[...I see. And Demi, you consent to this?]
"Sure. Dunno how it's gonna work, but sure." He replied with a shrug. With a minute nod, Curry closed his eyes. The aura feelers on its head vibrated like tuning forks as it focused. Slowly, a small frown formed on its face.
[...He must be more talented than we thought. His muffling rivals that Andrew boy. Surpasses him, even.]
"Oh cool," Demi whispered. From the look on his face, he still had no idea what they were talking about.
"AURA PROFIENCY AND POKEMON AFFINITY ARE PROPORTIONAL."
"...Yeah, whatever that means," Demi muttered, and Paprika had to admit that its jargon perplexed him too.
"IN SIMPLER TERMS, THE MORE CONTROL YOU HAVE OVER AURA, THE MORE LIKELY YOU ARE TO LIKE POKEMON. SO WHY DO YOU PRESENT YOURSELF AS AN ANOMALY?"
"Hm?" Paprika snatched ROTOM away from Demi's hands with a disbelieving scoff. He was midway through searching up 'what pokemon can I beat in a fight'. "What, you still talking to me?"
[Play dumb all you want, Demi. The truth only gets more painful the longer you deny it.]
Demi held up his hand, and bent over to tie his shoelaces, humming to itself. Curry's nose twitched. "Done, thanks for waiting. Now, what's that 'truth' you've been yapping about?"
[I do not 'yap'—really, the slang you kids pick up nowadays! The truth is, you must hate your pokemon!] It accused fervently.
"And you're a pink Incineroar," he replied instantly. Curry's brow furrowed, and Demi feigned surprise. "Oh, so we're not just saying random things then? Good to know, good to know."
[You—]
"—you haven't gotten into the booze again, have you?" He said in-between laughs. Paprika tried and failed to keep his face straight, despite the situation. "But alright, alright. I'll bite. Why exactly do you think I hate pokemon?"
[I felt it yesterday, but decided not to comment on it. The sacred connection between humans and pokemon, the precious tether that binds us together...it's completely absent between you and your pokemon. I practically had to sew my trainer's lips together, to prevent you being shamed in front of the whole class.]
"You're a saint." Demi deadpanned. "But seriously, wasn't that a metaphor for something? Just to convince kids not to forget about pokemon in their balls. Speaking of that, do you reckon we should get a tank for Pokokyu?"
Oh, he was talking to him. Paprika nodded; even if Pokokyu didn't complain, it probably wasn't fair to just have him sleeping under sofas.
[A sacriligeous response you have conjured from your mind, human. I ought to cut off that sharp tongue of yours with my blade.]
"Mhm, sure." He responded, not even bothering to look up at the Lucario. The human dug around in his pocket for a moment, before retrieving three bars of chocolate. "Pokokyu, you want one?"
Nodding, the Water-type gently took the chocolate bar from his hands, but just stared at it. He sure was weird. Paprika didn't bother unwrapping before biting into his. "Dude, unwrap it. The chocolate isn't going anywhere."
Paprika snorted; everyone knew the wrapper added excellent texture. Plus, if he wasn't meant to eat it, why did it look so bright and eatable? Case closed, if you asked him.
Demi took a generous bite into his chocolate bar, staring him down as he unwrapped it and put the wrapper aside. Paprika stuck out his tongue. "Firstly," he began, pointing it at the Lucario, "you're not going to talk to me like that."
[Or what?] it challenged, tapping its foot impatiently on the ground. Metagross just watched onwards silently, assessing the situation with eyes that never settled in one place for too long.
"Everybody knows how the board feels about this school. How many years did it take just to get permission to build it without a trainer?"
"SEVEN YEARS. ABOUT HALF OF YOUR CURRENT LIFE," Metagross said without emotion. Demi just nodded.
"Right. And how long would it take to get it shut down? Don't answer that, by the way."
The psychic-type creaked. "THEN DO NOT ASK THE QUESTION."
Demi finished his bar of chocolate, then threw it into the nearby bin without looking to see if it went in. "I reckon I could do it in thirty minutes, tops. A complaint here, whining to somebody influential that I'm being threatened by some unstable pokemon there. It really wouldn't take much, honest."
Curry's eyes narrowed. [Is that a threat, human?]
Demi shrugged. "Depends. Did you threaten me?"
[Naturally, the answer is no. I was merely cautioning you.]
"Ditto." he said, dismissing the Lucario with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, is there anything anyone actually wants to talk to me about, or can I go back to class now?"
[No!]
"NO."
"Jeez, inside voices?" Demi cringed.
[I will regulate my volume when you drop your farce. Admit that you refuse to form a bond with your pokemon!]
"How many times do I have to say this, blue dog? I've got not no idea what you're on about."
['Blue dog'?]
The sound of plastic crinkling cut through the conversation. Paprika looked down at Pokokyu. Once everyone's attention was on him, the Octillery offered the wrapper to the Typhlosion. Bewildered, Paprika muttered a thanks and took it from him. Waste not, want not, he guessed—as Pokokyu spoke, Paprika enjoyed the crunchiness of his snack.
"You go around in meaningless circles incessantly. There is no conclusion where both of you are right—therefore, I propose you assume the human is right first. Swallow your pride briefly, and it would be easier for everyone. A path that is potentially wrong is better than an inquiry that goes in circles." the Octillery said.
"What?" Demi sputtered. Pokokyu's pupils enlarged, and he only chortled in response. "What the hell did he say?"
[Brash, but reasonable,] Curry muttered to Pokokyu, then turned on his feet to look down at Demi. [I shall humour you then, human. If you truly wish to continue as if you are ignorant, then I shall explain.]
"Cool. Should I get some popcorn?" Demi cheered.
"POPCORN IS PROHIBITED IN THESE FACILITIES." Metagross said. A ginormous claw lifted to point at a list of rules on the wall, and sure enough, a popcorn ban was on there.
Gengar blipped into view with its signature grin, sitting on the Metagross and swinging its stubby legs with a bag of popcorn in hand. "Sorry, that's my fault!" It cackled.
[...May I ask how?]
"HE FILLED THE ENTIRE SCHOOL WITH SALTY POPCORN. NOT EVEN SWEET POPCORN, WHICH IS OBJECTIVELY THE BETTER FLAVOUR."
[That isn't a 'how'.]
"THERE. IS. NO. 'HOW'. IT ELUDES ME. I DEDICATE AN HOUR OF CONTINUOUS PROCESSING TRYING TO FIGURE IT OUT WEEKLY."
Curry shuddered. [Moving on swiftly. Human, a 'bond' is the informal name for the intertwining of auras that takes place as a relationship develops between human and pokemon. Symbiotic in nature, it allows humans to slightly boost their usually meager pools of aura by drawing on their pokemon's, whilst enabling power unobtainable by pokemon through the spark present in humans.]
"Cool. I've got no idea what that means, but sounds cool."
[I was not done,] Curry sighed, but Demi wasn't paying attention.
"Ooh, ooh? How generous are we being by 'boosting aura'? That always looked cool in movies. What, can people like... I dunno, breathe fire if they're close with a Fire-type pokemon? And—"
"SHUT UP." Metagross commanded. Gengar chortled, spilling popcorn on top of its metallic head.
"Haha, I didn't know you had that in you, big guy!" It congratulated. Metagross' eyes flashed.
"RESEARCH SHOWS THAT BEING RUDE HAS A GREATER EFFECT IN THE GOAL. IT WAS OUT OF NECESSARY, NOT A LAPSE OF TEMPER."
Gengar flopped onto its back, it's grin somehow widening. "C'mon, admit you were a bit curious, too!"
Metagross averted its eyes. "...PRIMARY DATA WAS REQUIRED TO BE COLLECTED. NOTHING MORE."
[The movies are unrealistic, human. The feats shown achieved in mere hours takes years of connection—and religious training—to achieve. That is one of the primary purposes of this school. So, surely you are starting to see the problem?]
Demi ran a hand through his hair. Curry slumped.
[Right?]
"Uh, without it, none of that cool stuff can happen?" He said after another pause. Sighing, Curry nodded.
[Correct. So you are starting to see the benefits of forming a bond with your pokemon?]
"Yeah, sounds cool enough! So what do I do?"
Curry took a step back. [Oh, that was easy enough—wait, what do you mean by 'what do I do?']
Demi scoffed. "I thought Lucario were meant to have super-hearing, or something—I mean what I said."
The Lucario crossed its arms. [Do you just enjoy being difficult? Stop muffling your aura, if you wish to form a bond.]
"I don't know how to do that." he replied. (He then quietly swore to Pokokyu he was going in the nearest bin if he poked him again.)
[I—may I have a seat, Headmaster?]
"PERMISSION GRANTED. SIT AT YOUR WILL," the Metagross decreed. Nodding, Curry brought the chair opposite to Demi and sat in it.
[So let me get this clear,] he began with a deep breath, [you have managed to utterly muffle your aura to the point of it seeming non-existent, and you have not the slightest clue how?]
Demi sucked in air between his teeth. "Hm, I wanna say yes?" He responded. "Maybe you're not as good at picking it up as you think. Happens to the best of us, man."
The Lucario stood up suddenly. [Aura permeates all living things, yes? From the largest Wailord to the smallest Skitty. It is present in each and every cell of your organic body: but we can go smaller still. You could pierce the cellular membrane, drain away all of the other organelles and only leave the nucleus behind. Aura still wells within. You could even tear the DNA free, break it into each and every gene, and take a single nitrogenous base from the double helix strand. Still, the aura from it would be as clear as night and day for me. You could—"
"—God, I get it. I dropped human biology for a reason," he groaned. Paprika snickered; according to the human, pokemon were a lot easier to understand biologically—which made sense considering that humans had blood, cells, and all that other stuff. Pokemon were mostly just energy given form, that minded its own business.
[As you wish. Forgive me if I come off as egotistical, but if I cannot detect your aura, then you are the problem.]
"HEARTRATE IS STABLE. BREATHING RATE IS STABLE. PUPIL DIAMETER DOES NOT VARY SIGNIFCANTLY."
"Eh?" Demi muttered. Metagross creaked.
"BY ALL BIOLOGICAL MEASURES, YOU DO NOT SEEM TO BE LYING—EITHER YOU'RE TELLING THE TRUTH,"
"Thank you," the human sighed with a nod,
"OR YOU ARE INSANE."
"Nevermind!"
"EITHER WAY, I WOULD RECOMMEND THE DEPUTY FOR FURTHER OBSERVATION OF DEMI—"
The Metagross paused, turning slowly to stare out of the window. Something was rapping at the glass insistently.
"Bad time? Bad time?" A raspy voice from outside cawed in perfect English. Paprika dared to lean forward to look out of the window himself. For some reason, there was a Murkrow pecking its beak at the window.
"I don't have any food," Demi said dryly, earning a rough, throaty laugh from the Murkrow. Paprika stared at his human, but Demi just patted him once on the head. Weirdo.
"Food? Food? No need! I bring gifts!" It said. Curry's snout wrinkled.
[Shoo, would you? I do not feel like whacking the feathers off of another harbringer.]
"Hey, I wanna see what she has," Demi protested, ignoring the hulking pseudo-legendary behind the headmaster's desk as he opened the window. Paprika found himself smiling as his eyes lit up. "Wha—no way! Where'd you find this?!"
The crow seemed to take that as its invitation into the room. It flew in boldly, somersaulting twice (and nearly crashing into a shelf once) before presenting Demi's tennis racket back to him clasped in sharp talons. "Aw, you're the best!" He said. The bird preened loudly at his words, before dropping it in his hands.
"Naturally! Naturally!"
Pokokyu gently took the racket from Demi. It wasn't like he had a bag to put it in, now.
Curry squinted suspiciously at the bird. [That belongs to you? Even so, how can we be sure this isn't some sort of subterfuge from the bird? We all know how tricky Murkrow can be.]
"Well, there's an easy way to tell." Demi said. The Murkrow paused its impressive mimicry of a fighter jet midair to land on the headmaster's desk. He stared into the birds eyes. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"
The Murkrow looked throughtful for a moment, then smirked. "Probably? Probably not!"
"Eh, good enough," his trainer said cheerily. Curry facepalmed. "So, what's the other gift?" He asked the bird. It smiled wider still, then did a spin on the table. Demi frowned.
"I don't see anything." he said. The Murkrow's wings sagged.
"Really! Really? I thought you just looked stupid!"
"Says the who looks like—oh wait, are you the gift?"
The Murkrow cawed. "Who's a smart human! Who's a smart human?"
"IF YOU WISH TO TAKE THE MURKROW AS YOUR THIRD, I HAVE PROVIDED A POKEBALL." the Metagross boomed.
"Hey, how do you not know I have one myself this time?" He challenged.
The Metagross did not blink. "HISTORICALLY, YOU HAVE PROVED THE OPPOSITE."
"I—Well—just give me the damn pokeball..." the human relinquished. With a cackle, the Gengar waved its hand and a pokeball settled in Demi's hand.
"Alright, do you wanna—"
"Shiny? Shiny!"
"Cool, works for me."
The pokeball clicked without argument. The Murkrow released itself, did a loop in the air, then chose to nest on Demi's head. Curry tried to redirect the conversation to Demi, but the mouthy bird wasn't having any of it.
"I actually brushed that today, too." he grumbled. The Murkrow cawed loudly.
"Don't care! Didn't ask!"
"Shut up, Bonesnapper."
Chapter 24: Rising Interest
Chapter Text
“Who the hell drinks tea with just two cubes of sugar?! Mate, are you trying to kill her?!”
“Oh, and three is the next option? At least take her for dinner first! >;( “
Ralph slammed his fist down on the counter; tea spilled out the teacup they had been preparing together, and onto the floor. “What does that even mean?!”
Chuckling, the Clefairy just shrugged. Rex whistled as he mopped and swept the tea and sugar off of the floor. “I’m surprised they’re this calm right before the gig. You should’ve seen ‘em a fortnight ago.”
I scoff. “ This is calm for you? Cleffy just threw boiling water at Ralph,” I remind Rex. Cleffy pouts.
“Oh c’mon, I cooled it down a little first! Plus, he’s a big strong Obstagoon, he’ll be fine.”
“Oh yeah? Well you,” Ralph growled, grabbing Cleffy in his hands, and lobbing her at the nearest wall. “Are just a squishy little Clefairy!” I watch with mild interest as Cleffy soars gracefully through the air, only stopped from a meeting with the ground with the same shining pink force around her as before. Ralph’s face dropped.
“Aw, you’ve gotta be taking the piss…” he lamented as Cleffy slammed him into the wall with a wave of her hand. I stand up.
“I’m fine with no sugar.” I announce. Rex pauses cleaning to stare at me like I’ve said something stupid.
“Hey, Long Nose wants the tea without the tea!” He shouts.
“ (o_O) Long Nose wants an empty cup?” Cleffy asks with a playful smirk. An empty teacup slid into my hands.
“My name is not—you know what? Thank you. Ralph, get up, and could somebody finally tell me when your whole ‘gig’ is?”
“Oh, me likey a girl who gets to business ;)” Cleffy purrs, floating up to lay in front of me on the table with a wink.
I get up, and begin to walk towards the door. Ralph wheezes.
“O-okay, okay, I was joking! It’s probably at quarter past one,” she quickly backtracks. I just sigh; it was 1245 now. How much time did they need to prepare for these things?
“Probably?” Ralph asks her.
“Yeah, most likely.” Cleffy replies to Rex.
“Mate, just say yes or no.”
“ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ “
“Have I ever told you I hate you, a lot?”
“Yees~”
Ralph groans, shaking his head and throwing himself into the seat next to me. I’m surprised the hardy thing doesn’t break. “And you willingly don’t do anything with that information. You’re a bad person, y’know that Cleffy?” He growls. “Rex, get over here.”
The Toxtricity grumbles in response, “Bro, I’m cleaning. Every antic you two have together needs a clean up crew.”
“And I ain’t asking! It’s team meeting time!”
"Fine." Sticking out his tongue, the Toxtricity sat in the seat opposite to me. He looks ridiculous with his tongue out like that.
“Soo, what’s the plan?” Cleffy asks sweetly. Ralph grins wildly, pounding his chest with a paw.
“We go for the gig, rock their socks off, get paid…”
“...then buy lotsa of chocolate, right?” Rex says hopefully. Ralph sighs, but nods. “Wicked.”
“Once a glutton, always a glutton…” Cleffy chastises, then pumps her stubby fist in the air. “...but you’re right for once, Obby—those Swords won’t know what hit ‘em!”
'Obby': not a single good nickname between all of us. But wait, what was that last part?
“What’s with the long face, Long Nose? You look like you’re gonna choke on your tea. ;)”
"Y'see, it's funny because there ain't any!" Ralph cackles.
Coughing, I bow my head and say, “Sorry. I was just taken aback by your audience.”
Cleffy giggles. “So that’s what’s got you interested? Hey, you can have some of the spotlight too~. That pokemon group is growing big, aren't they?”
That was a half-truth I wouldn’t bother to correct; in all honesty, the Swords are a massive mystery I’ve been itching to solve for as long as I remember. What is their actual goal? I don't believe the whole 'human-pokemon' equality schtick—many have tried, and even more have failed. And where do they operate from? Everyone knows who the Swords are, but nobody knows what they actually do; and these 'Black Bandits' could be my pipeline straight into the enigmatic group?
“Yes, yes you could say that,” I reply with a smile. I can’t believe my luck.
“Cool: team meeting’s over! Snack break!” Ralph announces, and Rex bounces to his feet.
“Mm, I could go for some chocolate right now…” he says, practically salivating.
“You can always go for some chocolate,” Ralph deadpans, walking to the nearest cupboard. I watch with mild interest as piles of brightly coloured confectionery spill from it to the floor. “Heather, you want some?” He asks between bites of toxic-looking gumdrops.
“Gracious offer. However, I’ll have to decline,” I answer cautiously. Shrugging, the Obstagoon throws a few handfuls of sweets at Cleffy and Rex. With a wave of a hand, Cleffy catches a clump in pink light and daintily eats them, one at a time. Rex opens his mouth like a snake unhinging his jaw, and catches the falling chocolates midair. When one out of a thousand actually ends up in his mouth, they all cheer.
“Ahem—we’re ready now. Beam us up, Scotty!” Cleffy announces, pointing at me.
“Your nicknames keep getting worse,” I comment, staring at her. Cleffy gasps dramatically, her face contorting dramatically in abject horror. “You haven’t watched Star Trek?! ⌒(,,๏ ⋏ ๏,,)⌒”
Ralph groans. “Cleffy, no, she doesn’t deserve—”
“—Hey, Rex, Long Nose hasn’t watched Star Trek!”
Why did Ralph give me that pitying look?
“Wha—bro, she hasn’t done what?” Rex demands, an intense looking coming over his normally lazy face. He storms over to me, then pounds his hand on the table. “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way—either way, we will all watch the entire-ass show again if needed. How could you even admit to that?!”
“It cannot be that good,” I reply, looking to Ralph for help. He just looks away, scratching the back of his head. Rex gasps, covering his mouth like I’ve said something offensive.
“‘Cannot be that good’— Cleffy, are you hearin’ this?” He fumes. That smile I’m starting to learn to despise only deepened.
“No Rex, I can’t… but I’m sure a couple of movie marathons can fix that, can’t it?”
“Exactly. Good to see you’re catching on. Ralph’ll see the truth eventually too, I just know it.”
“Shut up, I ain’t watching your damn show!” He snarled back. Rex remains steadfast.
“Ain’t any other way, bro. Your indoctrination is inevitable.” The Toxtricity says eerily. Should I be scared? “But I hope you’ll join us more willingly, Heather.”
“Of course.” I reply quickly, and he smiles. Suddenly, a phone with an image of a large hall is shoved into my face.
“Enough Star Trek culting, kids! We gotta start moving!” The Clefairy screeches.
I gently take the phone from her hands and inspect the image. Surely, I will not have to work with this vague photo? No specific details, not even a pokemon or two to anchor myself on for teleportation... Alas, Cleffy confirms all too gleefully this is what the destination looks like. I take a deep breath as Ralph and Rex scuttle around the apartment. Rex retrieves a purple and yellow guitar, whilst Ralph aggressively shovels an entire drum kit into a dimensional backpack. I’ve always wondered what kind of market the League is running, to be able to produce pocket dimensions for domestic use at such affordable prices.
"We'd get you a bag too Heather, but Flamionis is apparently too stubborn to set up actual Pokemarts," Ralph says. I brush off his concern.
"It isn't necessary. I do not carry much. Besides, the League not having a foothold here just makes operating without trainers easier for us."
Ralph shrugs. "Can't be that bad, innit? Every pound we spend on equipment is a lost bar of chocolate, mate." He snatches the guitar from Rex, and grins at me. “But enough of that. Whenever you’re ready, Long Nose!”
Nodding, I squint my eyes shut until they hurt, and focus PSI until I feel our surroundings begin to shift.
Use it to flee from any wild Pokémon. It can also warp to the last Pokémon Center visited.
Left swirled into right; right crackled wrong. But all things considered, the teleportation went pretty well. No missing body parts, Cleffy and Rex were safe and sound, and Ralph?
“If you didn’t want the nickname mate, just say it next time…” he groans, picking himself off of the floor. I just look down at him.
“Apologies. I am unused to teleporting multiple people at once.”
“But Cleffy and Rex end up perfectly hunky-dory?!”
“Happy accidents, Ralph. Happy accidents.” I respond. In front of us, a Watchog sentry. Its tail erects, and its eyes flash.
“Yous the music players, eh?” It barks. Cleffy (somehow) curtsies.
“Yupp-a-mundo! :D” She says. The Watchog adjusts its bandanna around its neck with a frown.
“...I’ll assume that’s a yes. Right, all of you, this way.” It commands. I follow closely behind the Black-White Bandits, but make sure to take the surroundings to memory: it was a rather big, well furnished hall; rows of chairs are arranged meticulously, and the tiled floor burst with colours. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me I was in a church.
Either way, this was revolutionary for my investigations into the Swords: to think I’ve gone through years of speculation and theorising over crumbs of knowledge, and now I’m in their base? I must be dreaming. It isn’t long before we reach the stage itself. With a snap of her fingers, Cleffy manifests a microphone which she places in the microphone stand. To their credit, the Watchog does not even flinch. “I assume all is in order, then?” It asks.
“Yeah, it’s absolutely rockin’, dude!” Rex responds eagerly. The Watchog just shakes its head silently. It turns to me, and crosses its arms.
“And you, Hypno? What… human instrument do you play?”
Bowing my head, I respond, “None. I am merely their humble escort.”
“I see, I see… and she won’t be needed until the concert is over?”
“Nah mate, you can keep her!” Ralph barks, but trails into silence when he catches the serious look on the Watchog’s face.
“Good. You’ll be coming with me, then. There’s a feast to be made, and we need all hands on deck.” It says curtly.
“Pardon me? Respectfully, my talents don’t lie in cuisine.”
Watchog barks a harsh laugh. “Nonsense, nonsense! You could be blind for all we care, a helping hand is still a helping hand. The Swords of Justice don’t do idling. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
I will not be much assistance in cooking, but I can’t squander this opportunity given to me to scope out their base. Shaking my head, I respond, “Naturally, it will not. Lead the way.”
It nods pleasedly, and sets a brisk walk I could respect away from the trio. “See ya, Long Nose!”
I do not bother turning around to see which one of them said that. The Watchog leads me through an inconspicuous door, and the heat billowing through hits me like a truck; even the Watchog flinches slightly, but presses on. Regrettably, my business here requires me to endure it too. A cloying scent wafts through the room, peppered with the occasional clanging of pots and pans against each other.
“Are ya cooks, or are ya a buncha blitherin’ idiots?!” A voice roars. A nearby Poliwhirl sweating buckets yelps, and the screaming Fire-type in front of me pounces on it like a predator. “What’re you jumpin’ at, you lilly-livered froggy boy?! Did you not hear me?! Turn up the heat!”
The poor Poliwhirl trembles. “B-but chef, if we turn up the heat any higher, the food’ll—”
“— did I ask for a peer review?!” It bellows, sending sparks of flame in all directions. A large wisp lands on a pan of simmering onions, and the previously pleasant aroma quickly sours into being burnt. I can’t tell if that’s sweat, water or tears pouring down the Poliwhirl. Probably all three.
“N-no, chef…”
“Then turn up that heat! Make it snappy! We got deadlines to meet!”
Its furious energy was boundless. It stomps across the room, looming over a Eelektross who was flipping burger patties. “And what’s this, you eel-faced idiot?!”
Confusion clear on its face, it turns to the fire gorilla whose eyebrows flared brighter every passing second. “You asked me to prepare burger patties, chef.”
“So why the hell are you not deep-frying it?! Idiot!”
Who deep-fries burgers?
“He deepfries burgers?” The Watchog mutters to himself, transfixed yet horrified at the culinary crimes ahead.
“C-chef Darmanitan, I don’t think you deep-fry burgers,” the Eelektross mumbles fearfully. Roaring, ‘Chef Darmanitan’ slams its blazing fists on the countertop. I watch in awe as the burger patties fly out of the sweating frying pan in an arc, and plop one by one into an open deep fryer. The Eelektross is grabbed with burly, rough hands, spun like a lasso, then tossed through the nearest window with naught but a squeak.
“Right riot, he is…” the Watchog mutters, shaking its head and crossing its arms tighter. “You think the windows would be open ‘cuz of the smell. Nah, it’s so he stops breaking windows when he throws us through them.”
“And you cannot convince him to just stop throwing monsters?”
It cocked a brow. “Do you want to try talkin’ him out of it?”
“Oi, Watch-rat!” Chef Darmanitan bellows in our general direction. The Watchog’s tail springs tall.
“Not my name,” it grumbles, and I can relate. The chef just cackles.
“Doesn’t matter, Watch-rat. Are you finally ready to tame this kitchen with us?!”
It looks at me with pity flashing in its red and yellow eyes. “Nope. This Hypno girl seemed pretty interested in it, though.”
“You’re condemning me with him?” I hiss; the Watchog slowly backs away, avoiding eye contact with me. Damn it, then it runs out of the room and slams the door.
“Well, who needs that stuck-up dogooder, amirite?” It booms, and I just let all the hope left in my body leave me with a sigh. “C’mon, chin up! It’s never that bad in the kitchen, right guys?”
Exhausted pokemon don’t even look up from their work to reply, “Yes chef…”
Darmanitan growls. “Don’t think I heard you all clearly there. Mind repeating it louder?!”
“Yes chef!”
“Better.” Its burly hands adjust its burnt chef’s hat. I notice it isn’t straight regardless. After that, it turns to me. “So, you ready to get to work?”
It seems like it’s either coerced cooking, or being lobbed out of the window. I really had a wealth of options in front of me today, did I not?
I hesitantly nod—serious conversations were going to be had with Rex and his friends about what they throw me into doing after this.
“Great!” It screams with a thumbs up. “Y’seem like a newbie, so you see that gruff-looking dragon over there?”
I look over its shoulder, to the somber Druddigon stirring a pot that glowed with heat. Its razor-sharp claws scored ragged lines into the handle. “The Druddigon?” I ask. Laughing, the chef shakes its head.
“Alright, that might be my fault—maybe I meant to say the dragon who looks like they’re this close to killing someone?” It amends, holding its fingers inches apart.
Ah. It seems like the world has condemned me to death today. The dragon in question is motionless, standing still like a statue despite the chaos raging throughout the kitchen. If there’s a deadline to meet, it’s clearly unbothered by it.
“You ain’t scared by little old Gwinny, are you Hypno?!” The Darmanitan roars over the background noise.
Of course not. I take a step towards her. “Not afraid, merely…assessing her,” I respond.
“Just…don’t poke the metaphorical bear, kid, and you’ll probably be fine!” He assures me with a less wide grin. Nodding, I resign myself to my fate. The constant wet thump of her scythe against the table is jarringly clear versus the racket in the background. She stomps, momentarily, to look at me.
“Greetings,” I say with a slight bow. Grunting, she continues chopping.
Interestingly, the Garchomp seems to have her own sink, kitchen, and even bin: there’s a pile of dirty plates there, so I suppose I can start on that. All the other cooks work as one, indistinguishable mass; a mess of rumbling plates, dishes, orchestrated clumsily by Chef Darmanitan itself. All in all, this isn’t too bad. It could certainly be worse. I get to work with what I can: when I plunge my hands into the sink, the water is bitterly cold.
“Apologies. That’s the work of our newest convert. Froze our entire system, she did.” the Garchomp says with a reminiscing smile.
It is truly a shame, she nearly got my hopes up for a moment about Bud—but I doubt any Dratini has that level of affinity with ice. Nevertheless, I take a deep breath and scrub the dishes with the sponge despite the cold. We work in silence, despite the chatter and hurry around us; the Garchomp’s scythe slices through various vegetables. With a grunt, she sets the pile of mauled tomatoes to the side, and takes the cucumbers as her next victim.
“Guinevere.”
I pause. “Pardon?”
“My name is Guinevere, Hypno. I’m surprised you do not know it.”
I do not respond. She isn’t expecting one, as she begins to enact grisly fate to the cucumbers. I idly watch Chef Darmanitan lob an entire Arbok out of the window. Raising my head slightly, I see a mattress overflowing with soft leaves out of the window that Watchog was talking about earlier. Glad to see the Swords are at least considerate about their lackeys.
“I’m bored. We’ll play a game.” Guinevere suddenly announces, turning to me. “If I guess who you are, I may ask you a question. Any question.”
I would deny, but an opportunity like this would be folly to refuse. I dry my hands on a nearby towel—with the signature yellow crossed blades of the Swords emblem engraved proudly on it—and nod. “As you wish. Guess away.”
She stalks forward like a predator, her blade dragging against the countertop and leaving an ugly scratch. “You, Hypno, are new here. You do not recognise the pokemon, and you certainly don’t recognise the kitchen.”
I make a non-comittal hum. “Perhaps. But I could be a new recruit, could I not?”
“Of course," she says, with an unsettlingly wide grin. “But yet again, you fail to recognise me, Hypno.”
I pause, taking my time to look at her fully, from her wickedly sharp teeth, to the knives that lined both of her feet that some drunkard labelled ‘claws.’.
“You would have to excuse me. Your appearance doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Then you find yourself playing a difficult game, Heather.”
“...I see,” I respond, with utmost caution that my surprise isn’t visible on my face. Suddenly, the cold water isn’t that disturbing anymore. “If it isn’t too much of a bother, would you mind telling me who exactly I need to ask to keep their mouth shut about my personal life?”
The Garchomp lets out a low, scratching laugh. “The trees,” she responds.
Of course. I love those overly-friendly Trevenant with all my heart, do not mistake me, but they really needed to learn how to keep their gossip to themselves. I have yet to decipher how they move around without uprooting themselves. The most egregious thing I’ve heard from their overworked mouths is some gossip about aliens in Alola. Ridiculous…
“Having such a mastery over Green Space takes them places,” I reply bitterly. “But that doesn’t exactly describe who I am, does it?”
Her scythe is brought down on the next victim, a cucumber. I quirk my brow, wondering what she plans to do with those unevenly thick slices of cucumber she’s piled to the side. Come to think of it, she does lack a certain finesse one would expect from a seasoned cook.
“And you would be right,” she continues after wiping her blade clean of cucumber remains. “But the Trevenant talk endlessly, to those who listen. Surprisingly fondly about you, too: they told me all about your routine, your food tastes, your—”
“—Mercy, mercy. You’ve proven your point,” I mutter. Nevertheless, she continues.
“They say interesting things about your family, too. Your human, his Typhlosion… surely, you can see where I’m going here? How is Demi faring with school today?”
“Ms Guinevere, is that a threat?” I ask, my tone level. Her response is sharp, cutting through the noise of the kitchen.
“Check yourself, worm: dragons don’t threaten. We promise. And all I promise is that your little human won’t even know I exist, as long as you don’t peep that this camp does.”
Now, I am not an uncaring pokemon: if it was true that Demi was in any danger, I would play my cards slightly different. But with all due respect, she's just one Garchomp, no matter how strong she is. To put it simply, some humans were blessed with being agreeable with all pokemon, and Demi wasn't one of them.
...No, that doesn't do it justice. If humans were a flavour, these 'blessed' ones would be vanilla; it may not be many's favourite, but nobody hates it. Demi on the other hand?
That human was Marmite to monsters. Pokemon either loved him, or hated him; I've yet to meet one in between. In the brief period we travelled together, I've seen the entire range; from managing to convince a nesting Hydreigon to leave a public route, to having to being followed and harassed for a solid month by a pack of Zoroark, all because Paprika kept ignoring them.
Strange, speaking of Paprika. I never was able to tell which side he fell on, up until recently.
Nevertheless, I allow myself a small chuckle at her words, just to see how easily her temper is flared. She doesn’t go for the bait, and instead tilts her head with a questioning frown. I’ll push her slightly further, then.
“I doubt you’re strong enough to lay a single finger on him,” I say. Hook, line, and sinker: if you want to annoy a dragon, just insinuate someone else is stronger then them.
“‘Strong?’ Any of his pokemon are nothing to me,” she growls. “I am one of the only one of hers approaching the hundred limit,”
I won't let her know its just one pokemon. And I shan’t let her intimidation tactics work on me; not visibly, anyway. ”It is quite a rigorous process to break past that point, hm?” I ask idly.
“Hours upon hours of toil,” she replies proudly. “Refining my aura and my body.”
“I see,” I respond, making sure my tone is entirely unimpressed. Although, it is interesting to know the difference between her and I. Out of curiosity, I convinced Demi to check me once at the pokemon centre a few years back—late 40s, early 50s, was I? Certainly not anything above level 55.
“You're one of her strongest, then,” I muse with a knowing smile. “Certainly, you must be highly ranked in the Swords.”
Her face drops, then is pieced together with a cocky smile. “You’re still trying to figure out who I am, then? I am nobody, Hypno, absolutely nobody. Nobody but a humble cook, helping to prepare for the annual tribute we hold.”
‘Uneven slices’ → “That can’t be correct,” I counter. “A poor argument, really. If you weren’t so clearly influential in the Swords, I’m sure Chef Darmanitan would have thrown you out tenfold by now, judging by your… questionable chopping skills.”
She spits into the open bin with a loud clank. “A little hiccup in cutting means nothing.”
“Beg my pardon, but it means everything. I’ve heard the Swords are relentless in their efficiency and goals—and only the strongest are allowed to call themselves ‘Swords’. In fact, I’ve heard your leader’s cruelty is the only thing that surpasses her justice, and she culls down the weak herself to make space for the strong.”
She slams her scythe into the counter with such force that, a tomato is sent hurtling towards the floor. Chef Darmanitan prepares himself to scream, but shrivels away upon realising who made the mess. “Liar! You’d do well to watch your tongue, before I cut it down to size myself.” She responds hotly.
“I claimed to know nothing. I’ve only recounted what I’ve heard,” I reply carefully.
“Then you would do well to not spread rumours, Hypno. You know nothing about our leader.”
“You’re right,” I admit. I place the last well-used plate I’ve washed into a nearby cupboard with a conclusive clank. “But I have reason to believe I know you, to an extent.”
I retrieve my notebook from my fur, and flip through it as I continue talking. “I was struggling to narrow it down, but I believe I’ve identified which part of justice’s panoply you are.” I quickly flick through the pages. She scoffs incredulously.
“Do you always keep that on you? And what does that cheap metaphor the Cofagrigus spread around to get more recruits? I’m surprised anyone still remembers it. The only monster who still talks about it is that arrogant Mienshao, and that Quilava following him like a lost duckling,” she responds, but I take note of the caution beginning to creep into her voice.
She’s right, of course; but whoever created the campaign knew what they were doing: I vividly remember being enamoured with message the Swords crafted, just when I was a Drowzee. Fortunately, my appetite for knowledge was tempered by my sense of caution: otherwise, who knows what could have happened if I decided to abandon my life to join their cause?
These pokemon, with the desire for something better shining in their eyes? They don’t know what they’re fighting for. Young, stupid or merely ignorant, they’re all in for the same nasty surprise when an end is reached.
But I digress. I flip through each item in the panoply:
‘The Chakram, named after a long-forgotten human weapon. Graceful in nature, yet lethal both close and afar.’ It represents the noble adaptability of the Swords.
‘The Shield: unyielding and powerful, not even the sharpest of blades can penetrate its advance.’ It represents the unwavering determination of the Swords.
‘The Pilum: overwhelmingly powerful and concentrated in might, yet woefully fragile and shatters at a moment’s notice.’ I believe it represents the sacrifice of the Swords.
And yes, this one suits her description. My eyes are trained down at my notebook as I read it out quietly but clearly. “You are the axe of the panoply, are you not? Your sheer force and keen edges are a pride to the Swords, held as a standard of strength ‘all who join can reach’. Yet more importantly, you represent the unyielding dedication to your cause—second only to the sacred Sword herself. You embody the passion of the Swords.”
I exhale, and slam my book shut.
“Forgive me for reaching here, Guinevere, but could you be her second in command?”
A choked sound. Then a slow, appraising clap—that sounds closer to the executioner’s axe being sharpened for a single, clean cut through the neck.
“Impressive. I am glad to see more Hypno focus on things other than luring human children to their doom,” she taunts. But what good is a taunt repeated through generations and generations? That child and Hypno are long gone now; and it would do best to let sleeping souls rest.
“How will the Swords obtain their goal?” I ask. That was the best question I could ask.
" ‘How’? Most of us are motivated by the goal itself, Hypno. What good is knowing how we plan to do it, to an outsider like you?”
I have my reasons. My response is deliberately vague. “Curiosity, if that answer satisfies. Nevertheless, I am entitled to an answer by your own words.”
Grinning, she begins to walk away, past the chef who tiptoed out of her way. “Depends. Are you willing to reach out and take it for yourself?”
Why, she—could I not just get a straight answer? I make to follow her, but the Darmanitan blocks the way with his usual ferocity. “Hey?! Where are you going, chump?! Nobody leaves the room ‘till the feast is done! And if you’re done with the dishes, the boys over there need help wranglin’ the prize bird!”
Wrangling the bird?
I look around, and eventually catch sight of several burly pokemon trying to hold down a brightly coloured bird pokemon down as it flails around. A Conkelldur was awkwardly fumbling with a large butcher’s knife, trying and failing to bring it down on its neck.
Suddenly, a plan forms in my mind. It’s half-baked, undoubtedly a bother, but it just might work. Focusing, I flick my wrist—not a strong or flashy show of PSI, but just enough to shift the air slightly. Just enough to twitch a finger and knock a knife out of the Fighting-type’s rough hands. It drops to the floor with a clank, and the ostrich pokemon manages to slip out of the grip of it’s captors.
Our eyes lock. It stares at me with cold, blue eyes. There is a sound, a sound like a knife gliding through silk.
Its head tilts minutely.
“tahnk Hnpyo pslaee I we meet aagin soon”
And when I look back again, it’s disappeared. The only thing left is the furious look of Chef Darmanitan. I know I planned for this, but still…
“...what’s the big idea, chump?! We just lost our dinner cuz of you!” He screams in my face. I wipe the spittle off of my nose before speaking.
“That is my mistake, chef. Though, is killing another pokemon really necessary—”
“Feh!” He interrupts, waving me off with a hand. “Who cares? Espathra, or whatever they’re called, are one of the dumb ones. Plus, big boss deserves only the best food, eh?”
“I would beg to differ, if you would allow it chef. Intelligence does not correlate to species as strongly as common misconceptions would lead one to believe. In fact, it’s quite an interesting case of the Mandela effect, or perhaps even a collective forgoing of responsibility in what we eat.”
He just stares at me, not even flinching as an errant slice of lettuce slaps against his fiery eyebrows from a chopping board. Who let a Magnemite hold a knife, anyway? “Are ya done yet? I see you're one of the brainy types, eh?”
Well, sometimes I can’t help but toot my own horn. “Some may say that, yes.”
“Ah, makes it easier for me then,” he growls. I’m only alarmed for a split second when a calloused hand grips me by my leg, and hoists me into the air. “I hate brainy pokemon. Get outta my damn kitchen!”
One moment, I was suffering in the kitchen heat, starting to sweat.
The next, I’m faceplanting on a surprisingly soft mattress. Despite the Sun shining brightly, the warm air feels like a relief compared to the sauna poorly disguised as a kitchen I was in before. I wonder where I am now? The only thing I recognise is the hall I was in before, with light pouring out of the windows. When I peek inside the window, I manage to make out a pink blur darting around the room along with two punkish blobs moving around in a panic.
No. Whatever they’re doing isn’t my problem now; if I want any sort of information on the Swords, I need to find that Garchomp, and do it quickly. Now, if I was a egotistical dragon, where would I be…
…probably in the only well-decorated building in this entire camp, now that I think of it. These pokemon need to hire a proper designer.
“Hmph. Good to know I ain’t the only idiot being lobbed outta windows. What’re you in from?” A voice comments. I turn around to face the source.
“If you looked around, you would note we are outside. You’re the Arbok from earlier, are you not?” I query. It nods with a grimace.
“Yeah. First day in the kitchen, too. Just when I thought my talents were being put to good use, too…”
Cautiously, I reply, “A shame indeed.” But the serpent furiously denies my sympathy.
“M-me?! Nah—I ain’t need that sappy crap! I ain’t care ‘bout working in the kitchen, or watchin’ a good meal warm up someone’s heart—’nun of that!”
Something told me that wasn’t the truth. I expect it to leave after that, but it just stares at me. Expectantly.
“Do you, uh, wish to talk about it?”
(...)
(...)
Our eyes lock.
“— ohmygosh, yes!” It screeches. And for the second time today, I find my rib cage squeezed into a precarious position. It moves fast, and its grip is strong: I don’t remember offering a hug.
Between loud sniffs, making me wonder if all Poison-types were this emotional, it pours out its entire life story to me. “My old trainer—ain’t appreciate me so, so I—fled real far, ‘dunno where she is now—all cuz I loved cooking, but she didn’t understand it—and now I’m here, deep in some %!**£ right now! And the worst part?”
Breathe in, and out. Just do it for the knowledge, Heather, do it for the knowledge…
“I AIN’T EVEN GET TO COOK ANYMORE!” It bawls, and when I think it can’t get any worse—it bows its head, and uses my fur as a handkerchief. It takes everything in me not to just stab out its eyes with my fingers.
Eventually, I feel my feet touch the ground once more, and I can finally breathe again. It blinks rapidly and looks down at me.
“Oh, erm, you got a bit of…snot on your fur. Let me get that for you,”
The user tidies up and removes the effects of Spikes, Stealth Rock, Sticky Web, Toxic Spikes, and Substitute. This also boosts the user’s Attack and Speed stats.
Huh. When I look down at myself, my fur is looking more pristine than ever. Who cares if Paprika stole all the soap? “Interesting move you have there.” I comment.
“E-eh?! It’s nothin’, just something I picked up from my…trainer’s…Minccino.”
Even my notebook is cleaner. “Must’ve been a great monster to be around, huh?” I comment as I enjoy the pristine white pages.
“Y-yhuh, he was, wasn’t he…?”
Its bottom lip was quivering.
“Please don’t start crying again,” I ask politely. It shakes its head, blinking tears out of its eyes.
“I ain’t, I ain’t… just… leave, alright?!”
Don’t need to tell me twice. I’m already backing away, towards that ornate building. “Sure. But if you’re unhappy here, just get a kitchen job somewhere else. Flamionis is better than most places for independent pokemon,” I suggest. It hums wetly, muted by the phlegmy sound of snot.
World, why do I have to attract the weirdest pokemon? On the bright side, at least I’m clean now. I shake my head as I walk away from the blubbering snake. It’s a better time than ever to find that Garchomp.
Chapter 25: There's Something About Demi (II)
Chapter Text
“ROTOM, can you scan Bonesnapper for me?” Demi asked the bubbly little phone, who obliged eagerly.
The orange phone beeped quickly, a digital grin lighting its interface. “Any time, slightly-less-new friend! Sc4nning…”
Paprika quickly learnt that she had trouble staying still. He had to hogtie her legs together with a vine so that ROTOM could get a clean scan, ignoring the colourful protests (and discarded feathers) directed towards him.
“Sc4nned! Level 34 Murkrow, Dark/Flying. Known moves are Thief, Foul Play, Sucker Punch, Torment, Feather Dance.” It droned. Demi said a quick thanks to ROTOM.
"By the way friend, how about I give you regular updates on your growing team? Gotta make sure the poke-party is in tippity-top condition!"
The human snorted, repeating 'tippity-top' underneath his breath as his fingers absent-mindedly pressed against the shining screen. His lazy look shifted into incredulity as he stared.
"No. Nope. You're not saving us all as the 'Pokeparty' in my phone. That's where I put my foot down, ROTOM."
Paprika grimaced at the high, feedback coming from the device. He covered his ears, but the sound pierced through like glowing iron rods. "Puh-please? It sounds so cool!" It whined.
"Nah. My phone, my rules." He shot back.
"But—friend, I hate to do this to you, but you're leaving me no choice!"
The phone faded to black with a clicking noise. Frowning, Demi tapped the screen to no avail. Eventually, he relented. "Alright, alright. We're the 'poke-party', if that's what you want today, can I just have my phone back?"
Instantly, the phone brightened up again. "Absolutely, friend! You'll get sporadic updates on the status of your team. Just leave it to me!"
"How often is 'sporadic'?"
"At convenient intervals my operating system tells me to. Whatever 'once per chapter means'—l-look, don't worry about that! See, I'll even give you a summary now:"
Paprika Typhlosion, LV 66, Swift, Fire Pledge, Last Resort, Eruption, Vine Whip, Frenzy Plant, Swift?: Thinking 'bout tea
Pokokyu Octillery, LV 45, Protect, Hyper Beam, Snipe Shot: Pondering life's meaning (it's probably theft related)
Bonesnapper Murkrow, LV 35: Winged Menace, your favourite motormouth
Demi squinted intensely at the screen, and read his section again. "I think you've got Swift down twice here."
ROTOM raged shrilly, "Nu-uh! It's in bold, and got an exclamation point at the end! Do my efforts me nothing to you?!"
"I get it, I get it! Just stop screaming..." Demi hissed, looking around suspiciously. He did look ridiculous talking to a phone, especially one that was shrieking. "Would you at least tell me what the difference is?"
The phone buffered, loading for a few seconds before continuing. "Erm...how best to put this...? From what my scanners can detect, it's a nearly perfect inversion of what the move Swift is—yet, it's perfectly distinct from the move at the same time! Oough, it makes my head hurt thinking about it."
"You don't have a head—nevermind. So what move is it?"
"I'm just as stumped as you, friend!"
Demi frowned, before smiling hopefully. "So did Paprika invent a new move, then?"
"Discovered, not created, but yes." It beamed back.
"Sounds like the same thing to me," Paprika said. ROTOM beeped in response rapidly, like a fire alarm set off. N-not that he'd recognise the sound, or anything! Leave him alone.
"Wow, uh, new friends know how to really be wrong sometimes, don't they? You can't just invent a new move by just smushing together aura however you like—unless you're lucky enough to discover a new move, it'll just blow up in your face! Kaboom! They're discreet things that have always existed, not made, silly. Why do you think we don't got a Electric-type Hyper Beam? Or a Dragon-type Extreme Speed?"
Paprika scratched his nose nervously. "Yeah, sorry."
ROTOM huffed. "Really friend, we gotta do better than this! Didya really think nobody knew how to use new moves before humans found them?"
"Paprika, I think your move's cool anyway. Can we name it after him?"
"No!"
Laughing, Demi focused his attention on other, less complicated topics. “Enough of that. You never bothered picking up any other type of move, Bonesnapper?” He asked. Paprika shook his head at the mischievous smirk growing on his face.
“And by the way, can you actually use Sucker Punch without hands, or…?”
Tilting her head, the bird matched his tone unsettlingly well. “Don't Worry? Don’t worry! Untie me, and I’ll show my Sucker Punch!”
Sure, it wasn’t like she needed to be wrangled like a prisoner anymore. With a click of his claws, the vine tying her talons together hurriedly retreated back into his satchel. Bonesnapper (Paprika really hoped it wasn’t Demi that came up with that name) flapped her wings, hovering at waist level with Demi.
“Stay still for me?” She asked sweetly.
This move enables the user to attack first. It fails if the target is not readying an attack, however.
A black blur tore through the air, slamming into Demi hard enough to send him tumbling down the corridor. Another student barely moved out of the way, but their Tranquil wasn't so lucky; it squawked once, before being knocked into a locker with a painful clank. "Ava!" The human shouted, quickly picking the ruffled bird up.
Bright stars bless the air, rejuvenating the user's team.
Barking a quick apology, he had already sent shimmering stars towards the struggling Tranquil before he realised it. The corridor shone a bright-white as the Swift? stars converged and rejuvenated it. The trainer shot him a confused look as she sprinted past, still holding the dazed bird. Paprika sighed.
He cringed sympathetically as the human landed and rolled across the wooden flooring, whilst Bonesnapper roared with laughter. Pokokyu’s eyes crinkled slightly with amusement.
Which sucked, because it meant now he had to act like the reasonable pokemon here—another pokemon had gotten hurt, and pretty seriously from what he saw. “What was that for?! You could’ve hurt him,” he chastised the Murkrow, who just cackled harder.
“C’mon? C’mon! If the human doesn’t kick the bucket from a giant metal hammer, a little tumble won’t be the end of him!”
“Giant metal what-now…?” He mumbled to himself. When the Fire-type looked down the corridor again, he saw a disgruntled Meganium helping Demi to his feet.
"I wasn't even trying attacking, why did that hurt so much...?" He groaned, still doubled-over. Now that he mentioned it, didn't Sucker Punch disappear harmlessly if there wasn't an attack being prepped?
...Or he could be remembering wrong. He could eke out a win in Move trivia over Demi, but not by much—that was the point of school, wasn't it?
Down the corridor, Demi reached into his bag. He could just about make out his tennis racket being taken out, shining black-white in the afternoon light, along with a small green tennis ball. The poor crow didn’t even know what was coming, did she?
“Think fast!”
Demi threw the ball into the air, and swung his entire body into smashing the ball at them with his racket. Pokokyu flinched in Paprika's arms, but his human’s aim held true; the Murkrow was knocked out of flight in an explosion of feathers and a shrill shriek.
He jogged over and picked the ball back up, then wiped it clean of feathers. The thoroughly frazzled Murkrow hopped over and shook a leg, sending even more feathers floating to the ground. The floor was a sea of black. Demi gave his own cackle.
“Alright, alright, that's enough beating each other stupid. Truce?” Demi proposed with a grin, holding out a hand. Nodding, Bonesnapper reached out a wing.
And Paprika thought that would be that, until the wing flexed slightly.
Half a dozen glinting feathers sliced through the air, and embedded into his outstretched arm. Demi recoiled with a hiss of pain and a pained smile. "Really?!” He hissed, cradling the arm.
“Truce!” Bonesnapper said with a nod, fluttering into the air with a hop and settling on his hair. “They soften. Eventually.” She added.
“When is ‘eventually’?” Demi mumbled. He poked one of the feathers with his face scrunched up, despite his best efforts to appear as if it didn't hurt.
“Dunno? Dunno!” She replied cheerfully; Demi swore under his breath.
“So, Demi! Is this what you normally do with new pokemon?” Lyra asked, pointing to the row of feathers currently snug inside his arm. Demi glowered back. Ife bowed her head to his level, and sighed. “I'm have a feelin' this sorta stuff is gonna be regular with this one. We’re goin’ to the nurse,” she rumbled, and began to walk off.
“Should’ve seen your face! Should’ve seen it!” Bonesnapper cackles.
“Shut up, you were knocked out of the air by a tennis ball. How slow do you react, anyway? I was an entire corridor away—ow, ow, ow, you know I’m right!”
Bonesnapper pecked away at his skull with a vengeance. Luckily, his thick, dumb skull would guard his sensitive parts. Paprika sighed, looking down at Pokokyu who stared up with an inquisitive stare.
“I’m starting to think that you and me are the only normal ones,” he confessed, getting a sympathetic nod from the Water-type.
“By the way, where did you get that book from?” The Typhlosion asked. Not breaking eye contact, Pokokyu slowly covered the leather book with tentacles. The Typhlosion blinked, resolving not to press any further. He wasn’t paid enough for this.
“And how did this happen again, Typhlosion?” The Audino standing patiently in front of them asked. Demi was slumped down in a nearby chair, his arm on the table.
“Why not bother asking Bonesnapper?” He muttered in response; the Audino had made it sound like it was his fault this happened.
Tapping its foot, the Audino replied, “Because I know what their species is like. Trust me, you see a lot working as a nurse. I was hoping you school kids were a bit smarter, but clearly, I was wrong.”
He chuffed, puffing out smoke. The nurse waved its paws frantically in the air as if that would do anything to dispel it. He was a lot off things, but his human wasn’t actually stupid—just overly carefree!
“Here’s what can happen. You could either keep the arm still—and I mean still when I say that, not runnin’ around, throwin’ pokeballs will nilly at whatever monster catches your fancy—and the Steel energy in the feathers will dissipate, and they’ll fall out harmlessly.”
“But judging by the luster of the feathers, that would take hours.” A voice mused.
Paprika looked down, to find Pokokyu deep in thought. He looked up at him, its pupils dilating like clockwork. “Shine tends to correlate with concentration of Steel-type energy present in an aura-based projection.”
Paprika still wasn’t used to his little bursts of…inspiration, he’ll call it for now. “I’m gonna regret asking, but what’s a projection?”
He waved a tentacle dismissively in the air. “Between real and not real. Aura controlled and expressed to emulate the physical.”
“What?” He sputtered, but Pokokyu’s moment was over. He returned to just surveying the room. “What does any of that mean?”
“ ‘Effing professor over here…but your octopus is right. You can't ever be sure from just a glance, but it's gonna be a while until they fall out by themselves.” the Audino said, playing with its ears like a stress toy. “I know you kids have the attention span of goldfish nowadays, but just try and sit still for a couple of hours. He’ll be right as rain after.”
“Basically, you’re screwed for a couple of hours!” Bonesnapper recounted with more than slight amusement in her voice. Demi groaned.
“Today of all days—nurse, there’s gotta be something faster,” he complained.
The pleasant smile on its face never disappeared when it spoke pure venom. “Oh, of course! Let me just, look into my back pocket for the faster, easier, magic solution I didn’t mention before, because I don’t actually want you to feel better. Thanks for $%^&ing reminding me! And while we’re at it, how about we solve all the other difficult problems in the world: how about we, I dunno, get the League to stop sending “£$%^ing letters to our ^&*(! house to get me stationed elsewhere in Unova, how about we, I dunno, &^£!()*ing ship all the Swords off to Alola to get rid of ‘em? How about we &£$%! finally catch Natural Harmonia Gropius him-^£”%-self?!”
Demi stared at the still smiling nurse. “You look like you’re about to punch a hole through the ceiling.” He pointed out. The Audino tilted its head innocently. Demi squinted hard, then turned away. “We’ll get out of your hair. Thanks,” he muttered, standing up. Paprika followed his human out of the room with a glare at the rude nurse, meeting Lyra and Ife outside.
“Thanks to your stupidity, we’ve both missed the first two proper lessons of the year, smart guy.” Lyra said. Bonesnapper mimicked her in a scratching tone. Ife stepped forward, gazing calmly through the Murkrow. The bird smirked harder, but eventually shirked from her unyielding gaze. “Hey,” She rumbled slowly, unblinking, “I think yer trainer’s got a winged rat stuck in his hair.”
But before it escalated any further—and he knew that bird would try—he stepped in.
“Shouldn’t we just…get to our next lesson, or something?” He suggested gently, giving Ife a deliberate look. The Meganium sighed, but relinquished with a chuckle.
“Yer lucky buttercup likes you,” she warned her, then began to trot off. Lyra giggled as she followed.
“Wha— ’Buttercup’?” He parroted incredulously. Ife nodded.
“Sorry, but it’s stuck now. I’ve got no reason to call yer by your actual name, Buttercup. Consider it my price for playing nice.”
Groaning, he followed behind her; all things considered, he supposed a stupid nickname wasn’t the worst thing to come out from this.
Demi tapped Lyra on the shoulder.
“Where are we going?” He asked. She stopped and stared at him.
“Dude. It’s lunch.”
Bonesnapper squawked, flapping her wings and sending feathers in all directions. Thankfully, none of them were sharp. “Food? Food! Where, where—mmph?!”
Demi clamped her beak shut with a hand. Lyra snickered.
“Demi!” She laughed, grabbing his arm and moving it away. Bonesnapper glowered down at him, but said nothing more. He sighed with relief.
“C’mon, let’s just go to the canteen already. You seem like the type to crow a lot when you’re hungry. Plus, I’m starving.”
At that, the bird smirked. “Hungry? Not hungry! That curry last night was amazing!”
“My god, you’re irritating,” He said bitterly, but the slight smirk on his face wasn’t lost on Paprika. He chuffed disbelievingly, shaking his head; the promise of food had put him in a good mood, regardless of snarky comments. And the literal knives stuck in his arm. The stupid human refused to keep it still; he continued as if everything was normal. Occassionally, he wiped blood dripping from the wounds onto his shirt sleeve. Paprika wished he would learn from this, but he had proved time and time again that pain wasn't his favourite teacher.
And to think, all of this had happened from the safety of a school!
What would happen outside of it?
Myriad's words haunted his mind, despite his attempts to keep them bay.
'The danger will come to him.'
Paprika exhaled a strand smoke.
He was starting to see that onion fairy's point.
“‘C-closed’...?”
The bright red sign stood mockingly in front of them. Pokokyu patted him sympathetically on the cheek. Paprika had to stifle a chuckle, and Bonesnapper didn’t even try. Without hesitating, Demi reached to his head to yank her off. The Typhlosion cringed as droplets of blood collected at his arm.
“You know,” Demi started, turning slowly towards it, “I could actually go for some barbecued bird right now,” he snarled. The bird chuckled nervously. Pokokyu was strangely entranced with his words.
“You don’t say! You don’t say…”
“He’s joking,” The Typhlosion interrupted, more to Pokokyu than anyone else. Bonesnapper didn’t look convinced. Demi wasn’t helping, either, so Paprika cuffed him around the head sharply.
“Ow! Jeez, I’m kidding…” He groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "Who taught you how to do that? Mum? Whatever. Let’s just go find Lyra and Andrew, I’m sure they’re doing something interesting.”
Paprika nodded. It seemed like a plan to him. They trudged out of the canteen, spirits slightly dampened. Paprika followed Demi through the corridors holding Pokokyu—remembered that he definitely had no idea where he was going, and began to lead the way himself. Demi grumbled, but didn’t contest it.
Walking uncomfortably fast, Alex and his Blaziken were walking in the opposite direction. Upon locking eyes, the Fire-type scoffed.
“Hey, it’s that loser from yesterday and his wimpy ‘mons. I hope they don’t think that win meant anything,” the Blaziken said. For effect, it spat onto the ground in front of them.
Strangely enough, Demi just kept walking. The Murkrow perched on his head stuck out her tongue at it. Pokokyu straightened his cape with a flourish.
…Why did he have a cape, again?
“Weirdos,” Alex replied, his eyes flitting over the garment in the wind.
“He’s the weirdest of them all,” Blaziken goaded, jabbing him in the chest with a talon, then quickly retracting it with a small squawk when it sank into his fur with a slight pull. Paprika stopped walking, and studied his face.
Angry. More embarrassed than anything else.
“If you want an apology, just say so,” the Typhlosion proposed with a courteous smile. It scoffed in response, looking around for an audience that wasn’t there.
“You’re serious?” It asked.
He was serious.
Smiling joylessly, it replied, “Go on. Apologise, then.”
“Sorry for burning you.” He said. It tapped its foot impatiently in response.
“And?”
Paprika looked to Demi, who looked at him. Bonesnapper smirked as it watched his human.
“Hmm? Hmm, I think he wants you to apologise for yesterday’s thrashing!” She cawed. (Paprika wouldn’t dwell on how she knew that.)
Demi stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked back. “You’re really making me do this…alright, I’m sorry for beating you up.”
The Blaziken crossed its arms tighter, avoiding his eyes. “...and?”
The human’s stone-faced glare wobbled slightly. His lips quivered. “And, uh, for kicking you d-down there,” he finally managed to wheeze out, his voice melting into tiny chuckles.
It somehow crossed its arms tighter. Its hands were beginning to rip out red feathers. But props to the Blaziken for putting up with him, it gets a flower for its efforts.
“Oh, cool trick,” Demi said, his face beaming. Meanwhile, the Blaziken’s face was contorted with confusion.
“What… is that?” It asked.
Paprika laughed. “A flower? It’s not rigged to explode, if that’s what you think. You can take it—if you want.” He added nervously. It reached out slowly, then snatched from his paw, then ran away after its trainer. “What kinda Typhlosion even uses Grass energy?” It shouted after him.
He did, after yesterday. Paprika thought it was much more agreeable than Fire. All in all, that went pretty well. They continued to walk down the corridor.
“What? You did what?! I couldn’t even figure out that part! ” Bonesnapper cackled. Demi cracked a smile, and Pokokyu took it personally.
He lashed out with a tentacle, aiming for a clean slap across the face. Flapping her wings frantically, Bonesnapper wrenched Demi’s head back just in time to avoid it.
“Haw haw! Aren’t you meant to be some sort of sharpshooter, hmm?”
“Turn around,” Pokokyu said simply. Bonesnapper relayed to Demi, with a bit more snark in the sentence.
On his back, was a large ink splotch beginning to dry.
Demi scoffed, straining his neck back to see. “You haven’t even moved from there!"
Everyone looked at him. Pokokyu however, found the texture of a nearby locker more exciting than the conversation.
“And I bet you completely ignored my question,” Demi guessed bitterly. “You know what? I don’t care. I don’t care! Let’s just get out of here.”
Bonesnapper snorted. Demi would be glaring at her, if she wasn’t on his head.
“Eberny, I swear you’re going in the bin if you keep this up.” He promised. Paprika chortled. Demi whipped around. “And do you think there isn’t a bin big enough for you too? We can look together if you want!”
The Typhlosion smirked. “Terrifying, isn’t he?”
‘Eberny’ cackled, sarcasm dripping from her rough tone. “Absolutely! Absolutely…”
Huffing, Demi stomped off. Paprika followed behind, occasionally stopping Pokokyu from touching the steely feathers lodged in his arm. They walked out of the main entrance, Eventually, they were in the field from yesterday, except it was significantly more empty than last time; there was only one cluster of people and pokemon who they walked towards.
Ripple spotted them first. She tensed, as if expecting an attack. The Typhlosion wasn’t deterred. “Ripple! How have you been?”
She snorted, claws running down the scar across her eye by habit. “Good.”
He cleared his throat. “Good, good,” he said, more to fill the silence than anything else. She really wasn’t much for conversation. Maybe he’d have better luck with Ife and Grella?
“Why do you torment yourself, Feraligatr? You crave and envy the warmth your fellow pokemon share among themselves, yet react coldly to the same opportunities given to you. You starve in a cage of your own skin. Perhaps the familiarity is easier than the possibility of rejection?”
He patted the Octillery on his head until he stopped talking. "Real talkative today, aren't we?"
Pokokyu went rigid, as if suddenly remembering where he was. "Right. Sorry." He replied quietly.
“Is regular meowing just normal Octillery activities?” Demi asked. Eberny tilted her head.
“No? No! He’s just telling the Feraligatr over there who looks like she lost a fight with a Zangoose and never got over it. Nice scar, though!”
The Feraligatr turned, and stared long and hard at the Murkrow, who just tilted her head response. Andrew patted her firmly on her flicking tail, until her attention was fully on him. After a deep breath, she relaxed again.
Paprika chuffed. That bird better keep its beak shut.
And somewhere, a monkey’s paw curled.
“J-jeez, you actually looked full-on killer croc there,” Demi chuckled. Paprika covered his eyes with a mess of tentacles and a groan. Seemed like he was worrying about the wrong motormouth! He knew Demi didn't mean anything by the comment, but his genuine smile overlapped hopelessly well with his I’m-pissing-you-off grin.
Memory crackled at his jaw. He felt as if similar situations have happened countless times before. Wild red fox-hair, illusions prickled at his vision...
But it settled. For a moment, Paprika thought that would be it.
“Boring. Aren’t crocs meant to be violent monsters? Show us some teeth! You gotta be more than the silent guard dog, right?”
Water splashed against Paprika’s face.
Eberny was cackling. She flapped into the air and swooped around, looking down at what she had wrought.
“Oh! You are kinda fast. Faster than Paprika, at least,” Demi commented. His tone was so casual, you wouldn’t even guess that he had a Feraligatr trying to crush his head between its jaws. “And hey Andrew, you were right,” He shouted, adjusting his grip to peer into her open mouth, “These teeth are pristine!”
Andrew didn’t say anything. He looked once at the two of them, and began rifling around in his bag frantically. Demi shrugged, and smiled cockily. “Paprika! This k-kinda reminds me—”
—he stepped back, adjusting his grip on her jaw until he was pushing down on her head, and not slowly being pushed down himself to the ground himself—
“—of that one time we nearly got mangled by that one Krookodile on the way to Roxie’s gym! Do you remember how I tried telling the rangers that we weren’t that deep in Green Space, but they didn’t buy it, and made me watch that boring safety video anyway? All about the dangers of getting lost too deep in Green Space?”
He nodded shakily in response. From what he could recall, it could be days, months before anyone could find you in the twisted, shifting terrain of Green Spaces. It didn't worry him at the time, but with Demi's horrible sense of direction, it seemed like an actual possiblity that it could happen one day.
Andrew was still searching, but his efforts slowed. His usually cool facade was blown wide open. Demi didn’t even react when her mouth clamped over his uninjured arm. He was deep in thought, like in that entrance exam he took yesterday.
“What was it again? Uh…yeah, that sounds right. It was something like put your free hand at the throat,”
He balled his fist, and tapped the Feraligatr gently,
“Trapped hand grabs the snout,”
His other hand strained upwards, and eventually got a hold of it,
“And twist!”
Paprika gasped when his human threw himself to the ground, using his weight to wrench his arm free. Streams of blood ran down his arm. He wiped on his shirt without a second thought, and threw a thumbs-up at him. “Easy as pie, right?” He cheered. Ripple loomed behind him, mouth still ajar, dizzy-eyed.
“Six o’clock! Six o’clock!” Eberny squawked. His expression morphed from smug to confusion to surprise—he whipped around, and barely caught the claws swinging wildly towards him. Growling, Ripple pushed forward, and Demi dug his heels into the ground in retaliation.
“Are you four enjoying the show?” He said dryly between gritted teeth. His foot slipped, and he twisted his torso back to avoid being gutted by her swinging claws. He grabbed it once more, returning back to their stalemate.
Eberny eventually settled on the ground next to Andrew, watching him search with slight amusement. A shiver ran up his spine—there was so much pleasure in her beady eyes. Just who had Demi decided to recruit? “Yup? Yup! This is pretty good stuff, you two!” She laughed. Pokokyu watched on steadily, either unable or unwilling to help.
Paprika sighed as he stamped a foot against the ground. School life wasn’t shaping up to be easy with this group.
The user slams the target with the roots of an enormous tree. The user can't move on the next turn.
Okay, he actually felt that move come out of him. It felt like heat rushing out of him and into the ground in front him, arcing towards the Feraligatr. He staggered back, barely catching himself from falling as massive roots erupted from between them, sending Demi stumbling, and coiling around Ripple’s limbs until she was suspended in a makeshift prison. Pokokyu patted him on the back.
“I’m fine,” he panted. “Just…a bit out of practice. I don’t do this a lot.”
“Perfect Frenzy Plant. Ya do learn fast, don’t ya, Buttercup?”
The Meganium sauntered at her chronically relaxed pace over to them. Lyra walked by her side, and Grella slinked silently behind the two. He only knew the Dragonair was there from the chilliness she carried. "Takes a lot outta yer, too. First time I pulled it off, I was asleep for the rest of the day," she reminisced. Lyra crossed her arms.
"You're just lazy. You were actually out for thirty minutes, tops."
She shrugged, her massive flower rippling slowly as she walked. "Still, pretty impressive stuff, from someone so rusty."
Paprika felt uncomfortable under her gaze, like a bug being studied. Thankfully, she focused on the bigger matter at hand.
Ife looked from Demi, then Ripple, who was still panting slack-jawed. The Meganium tilted her head, appearing entirely unbothered.
“Right,” she began, sitting between them. “Let’s have ourselves a conversation ‘bout roughhousing too hard, shall we?”
“Earth to Ripple, Earth to ripple...Good. Yer finally with us,” Ife sighed. Andrew laid a hand on her snout.
The Feraligatr did not respond. Eberny scoffed.
“Huh? Huh! You wouldn't be able to tell how much of a wimp you are from your looks, huh?”
She glared, and a barbed vine slammed into the crow's breast, knocking the wind out of her. “Keep talkin’ and you’ll be losing yer tongue real soon, okay?” She said, with a deadly-quiet voice that reminded Paprika of yesterday, when she had casually ripped a tooth out of a Quilava's jaw. He hoped she wouldn't resort to that again.
“How about we focus on fixing Demi up?” Paprika suggested gently, as calmly as watching his trainer lose what looked like rivers of blood from his arm. Why were humans just glorified balloons, full of red liquid? Even looking at his arm made him sick, made him wish he just had one arm impaled with sharp feathers instead of this mess he had made.
Squawking indignantly, Eberny landed on Demi’s head. Under their gaze, he scoffed. “C’mon, I’m fine! I’ve seen worse, this is nothing,” he said.
Lyra was having none of it. She stormed over to him, grabbed him by the arm—dropped the stern face for a moment, readjusting her grip to an less injured area—and dragged him over, throwing him beside Ife. “Ife, could you yank those things out of his arm? Gently. Emphasis on the ‘gently’."
“I’m always gentle,” she protested. Lyra put a hand on her hip.
“When dad asked you to wake me up, you tossed me out of the window!”
“And was there or wasn’t there a bed of flowers on the ground? I wouldn’t hurt ya on purpose.”
“‘Dunno what she’s saying but Ife’s right!” Demi piped up. Ife nodded approvingly. Vines extended from the flower at her neck, ‘gently’ holding up Demi’s arm. Sub-extensions broke off, and began to tug the feathers out one by one like tiny serpents.
“So, when are you gonna get a second pokemon, Andrew?”
“Hmm?”
The human jolted to attention from seemingly an intense staring competition with Ripple. Demi leaned forward towards him, only to be quickly tugged back against Ife against her side. Pollen from her flower puffed up into the air. It smelt like overripe fruit. “Yeah, you! Lyra’s got Grella, I got Pokokyu. Plus, you’re really serious about this whole battling-thing, right?”
“It’s weird to not be,” Andrew responded. “I just have…a very specific team in mind. You shouldn’t worry about it.”
“I-is Demi…is he alright?” Grella whispered to Lyra, who nodded, then hesitated and shook her head. The Dragonair was coiled deathly-still beside Lyra, her head in her lap.
“Yes? No? Either way, I don’t think he cares.”
“Couple more to go,” Ife said. The metallic feathers clinked against the ground next to her leg.
"Alright, here's a better question: if you could catch any pokemon, what would you catch?”
Lyra’s face practically shone as she slid into the conversation. It was a common icebreaker between humans, but she answered eagerly nonetheless. “Nidoqueen, easy! They’re strong, cool-looking… what more could you ask for?”
Demi’s head whipped around.“Aren’t you more of a dragon sorta girl?”
She rolled her eyes. “So my whole team’s meant to be Dragon-type?”
“Pretty much, yeah…” He muttered. She sighed exasperatedly.
“Dude, mono-type just doesn’t work in real life. What’s the point of having a full-arse team of pokemon if they're all gonna be folded by a Sylveon?!”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Shut it! Ife is literally right there. Did you even think of that?”
He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it again.
“Andrew, still haven’t heard your choice,” his human prompted. Andrew answered without hesitation.
“Milotic. They’re sleek. Powerful. Efficient.” He sighed wistfully. Demi chuckled, turning his slight smile into an annoyed frown.
“Sounds like you’re describing a car to me.”
“Tch. You wouldn’t know a good pokemon if they dropped out of the sky one day, Demi.” He countered.
"I'd know them if I found them in a random pool of water in forest Green Space," he replied instantly. Flattered, Pokokyu gurgled, the sound sending ripples through his fur. "But if you really want it, why don't you go for it? You're not stupid enough to not be able to find a Feebas."
Surprisingly, Andrew completely missed the insult. Looking away, he busied his hands with Ripple's claws, still fully extended. Each claw dwarfed his hand. "It isn't in his plan for me, " he mumbled imperceptibly, and refused to repeat it for anyone else.
“Welp, I’m done.” Ife sighed. “The arm that got stabbed should heal up nicely. Can’t say the same about the other though. The teeth weren’t as clean as a cut, though.”
“Thanks,” Demi sighed, jumping to his feet and nearly knocking Eberny off. His arms were still glowing green with healing energy.
“Hey? Hey! Watch it, socks-for-brains! I’m trying not to eat dust over here!”
“Hush, for a smidge, Scalp-massager, with your blunt little claws, ” he replied with faux-haughtiness. “I’m talking. Andrew, do you reckon this will scar?”
He held up his arm proudly, showcasing a perfect indentation of Ripple’s teeth in it. The Feraligatr mumbled something, burying her head in her hands and leaning against Andrew.
Sighing, he responded, “Yes, but—”
“—Sick! Heather’ll give me hell about it though. I wonder if she’ll believe me if I say it was another Krookodile?”
Scoffing, Paprika shook his head. That human was lucky he’s his favourite idiot. The Typhlosion watched with mild interest as Andrew stood up, put a hand on Demi’s shoulder and whispered something to him. His face grew grimer, but Demi’s smile widened.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Any secret can be kept for a price, right? Ten pounds.”
Andrew crossed his arms. “Done.”
Eberny’s eyes widened to orbs. Suddenly, she leaned forward, throwing Demi off-balance to get closer to Andrew. “Hm? Did my human say ten? He meant twenty!” He looked mildly confused, but nodded.
“Thirty? Thirty!”
“...Alright.”
Demi scratched his chin slyly. “Would we be pushing it for forty?”
“You would,” Andrew sighed, “But I am willing.”
“Then let’s go for fifty! Caw caw!” Eberny rubbed her wings together greedily as Andrew slipped Demi some money from his pocket. With a sharp bark, Paprika expressed his disapproval. His human smiled cheekily at him, and Eberny turned her beak, revealing a mouth full of scrunched-up paper bills.
“Paprika, buddy…it’s going to a good cause, I promise! Plus, I’m sure Andrew’ll appreciate some lighter pockets, right?”
Andrew blinked rapidly. “No, I’m bribing you. Not thanking you for anything.”
Demi glared, but didn’t respond to him. “Think about all the food we could buy…?”
Pokokyu made a low, bubbling noise. Demi instantly put his hands up in defense. “Woah, woah, chill! Not the shirt again!”
Slowly, he lowered back into Paprika’s arms with a blank look. Demi sighed. “I don’t even need this money, man, it’s your loss,” he grumbled, grabbing the paper bills from Eberny’s mouth—tugged at them harder, with a scowl—and threw them back to Andrew. “According to goody two-shoes over here, unless you have any food for us, your secret will be kept for the grand price of nothing.”
Eberny squawked loudly. “Really? Really! Why do we have to listen to that guy anyway?! That was clean dough right there?!”
“...Are you even allowed in any shops?” Demi asked slowly. She huffed.
“No? No! That’s what you’re for, idiot. You weren’t beginning to think I actually liked you, right?”
Demi scoffed. “And I keep you around ‘cause you’re just a bird-shaped frisbee.”
Tilting her head, she mouthed his words disbelievingly until his hand grasped her leg. “You don’t get it? Don’t worry, I’ll show you!”
“H-he’s got a good throw, doesn’t he…?” Grella muttered in awe, watching the black blur in the sky slowly get smaller and smaller. A scream ripped through the air, fading into nothing.
Andrew reached into his bag, and returned with a small box. He handed it to Demi, who opened it reverently. “You have no idea how hungry I am,” he whisper-shouted. Andrew rolled his eyes.
“Tch. You’re welcome.”
“Thank you so much. I’m gonna savour this like it's my last meal,” he replied instantly. Confusion seeping into his irritated expression, he sat down beside Ripple once more.
“Oop. Gotta get my cut for healing ya,” Ife said.
Her head swooped down, engulfing the entire box without hesitation.
“My bribe!” Demi’s hands grabbed her face, stopping her from pulling back. He pried at her jaws like a madman, trying in vain to retrieve his meal. The Grass-type remained steadfast, her lidded eyes blinking at him seriously whilst her cheeks were puffed out with food. His attempts slowly grew sluggish. With a final wail, he flopped to the ground, defeated.
Eventually, she spat out an empty box, which landed beside Demi with a wet squelch.
“Pleasure doing business with ya,” she said.
He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “I’m gonna get you back for that,” he snarled. She nodded absentmindedly in response.
“Tell me, this isn’t any of your…filthy bird, is it?” A voice called from behind Ripple. Eberny was dangling from the foot, held in the jaws of a Samurott. Its dark blue paws were never still on the ground it stood, as if barely restrained from unsheathing its seamitars for battle. Beside it, a Meowscarada sauntered, its paws barely making contact with the ground—its face scrunched up when the Samurott kicked up dust. It pulled out a handkerchief with a flick of its hand, and wiped the dust off. Demi scrambled to his feet, and Eberny paused from cursing her captors to give him an award-winning smile.
“I guess,” Demi said with a shrug. The Samurott tossed her into the air, and she settled on Demi’s head with a squawk.
“Idiots! You borrow one shiny rock—”
“—it was my faithful's Mega stone, for your information—”
“—and pokemon think you’re their chew toy! Human? We’re kicking their asses.”
“Uhh…” his eyes scanned around him, settling on Pokokyu. “...you up for this?”
Pokokyu blinked, shrugged, then nodded. The Meowscarada and Samurott looked at each other.
“It’d be a shame to let my seamitars go dull,” it grunted.
“I suppose I could go for a bout,” the Meowscarda replied, voice smooth like silk.
“They’re ready to be thrashed!” Eberny translated. The Meowscarada glared at her.
Pokokyu gently lowered himself to the ground. Paprika’s arms were soaked with water. Chuffing, he sat beside Ife, who was characteristically close to the dream world where she lay. Grella and Lyra followed suit.
“Oh! I think I s-see their t-trainers running this way,” Grella said. Rubbing her arms, Lyra hummed.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be pretty interesting to see how Pokokyu and Bonesnapper size up. Wonder if she’ll live to her name?”
Tittering, Paprika voiced his agreement. Either way it goes, he just hoped nobody would get hurt seriously.
It was a fight!
Chapter 26: Something about Demi--Four Straight Years
Summary:
Double battles! (Wow!) School lessons (Hooray!) Shopkeepers with unreasonable grudges..?(Yeah!)
Chapter Text
Paprika Typhlosion, LV 66 Teadrinker, Swift, Fire Pledge, Last Resort, Eruption, Vine Whip, Frenzy Plant, Swift?: Thinking 'bout tea
Pokokyu Octillery, LV 45 Octosentry, Protect, Hyper Beam, Snipe Shot: Eight tentacles, all ready to throw hands
Bonesnapper Murkrow, LV 35 Ragebaiter, Thief, Foul Play, Sucker Punch, Torment, Feather Dance: Winged Menace, your favourite motormouth
It amused Paprika how different they were; the star-eyed girl with a unsure but enthusiastic smile was somehow even more psyched than the Samurott itself, with an impressive lack of patience to boot—she had practically dragged the Meowscarda’s trainer over to their impromptu battlefield and wrenched away his phone.
“Dude. Battle!” She screamed, shoving the device into her backpack without breaking eye contact. Looks like she wasn't one for words. Sighing, the boy shrugged, regarding Pokokyu and Eberny with mild interest.
“If you insist...maybe it’ll teach Vincent that you can’t always stay clean if he wants to fight," he relinquished.
“I am thoroughly aware of that,” He responded, manuevering a pack of playing cards in its paws. They seemed to dance through the air, with no magic but the pokemon's own dexterity.
“Yeah, sure,” the human replied, throwing his hands behind his head with a yawn. “So you’ll be fine against that Octillery, right? With the ink and everything.”
His paw twitched. His rhythm stuttered, and a card fluttered to the floor. Turning slowly, the Meoowscarda hissed, “As you wish, beloved."
“Well then—we’ve got dibs on the Murkrow! Me and Marvellous don’t stand for smug jerks like that!”
In solidarity, Marvellous clanged her seamitars together with a roar. Eberny made a dramatic show of rolling her eyes.
The girl tugged on her sleeves as she spoke. "And since I got here first, we’ll start. Let’s show ‘em what you’ve got!”
“Or,” the boy interjected, to the girl’s irritation, “We'll battle him first, since I didn’t wanna be here. Plus, I’ll be spending the next thirty minutes grooming Vincent until he stops whining about being dirty, and I still wanna get to our lesson on time. I ain’t messing with that woman and her Lucario.”
Scowling, Marvellous growled, “Tell your lazy ally that we’re going first! If he has an issue with it, he can face my blade.”
The girl nodded, already preparing a fierce retort—
“—Ever heard of a double battle before?” Demi interrupted. “So none of us gotta wait?”
“Those always get messy. It’s hard enough keeping track with only two pokemon, four’s just a pain.”
The girl punched him in the arm. “Don’t care! A battle is a battle! Are you in, or are you out?!”
His shoulders sagged. “Either way, you’re gonna make me do it,” he lamented. Grinning, the girl nodded.
“Good to see there is some sense in your airhead.”
“She might be another to watch out for. She’s got the drive, but I wonder how her pokemon will fair,” Andrew mused. When Ripple didn’t respond, he hit her shoulder. “Ripple.”
The Feraligatr turned, with a noncommittal grunt. Andrew tore his eyes away, leaning forward where he sat towards the upcoming battle.
“Do you think he’ll win..?” Grella murmured to Lyra, who was leaning against Ife. The Meganium was, of course, fast asleep. “No idea. I wanna say yes, from Paprika’s battle against Ripple…but maybe it’s a case of ‘good pokemon, mediocre trainer’?”
Grella’s eyes flicked over to Demi's. “Y-you really think so? But he’s bold…I’ve never seen anyone who acts around pokemon like that, like they couldn’t touch him even if they tried…a-and that’s saying something! You’re fearless, Lyra, but he’s…”
“...something else,” Lyra finished. “Definitely, yeah. Demi's a lot of things, but I don't think he's a battler at heart. Not anymore, at least. And hey! I can be cautious when I need to!"
The Dragonair raised her head out her coils, her wings fluttering as she chuckled. “I won’t forget that Applin you nearly took a bite out of,”
She flushed, playfully slapping the Dragonair’s neck. “Maybe it shouldn’t have looked so good juicy, have you considered that?!”
“T-there was a Hydrapple right behind it!” she responded. Scoffing, Lyra turned away.
“Look, let the past be the past. Shouldn’t we be focusing on the battle, anyway?”
She bowed her head in mock submission . In a rare smile, Her sharp teeth flashed in the sunlight.
“Yes, of course,” she said. However, her grin faded as she looked at Demi, into a thoughtful frown. “More brave than fearless,” she whispered. “I’m not sure I know a kind word to describe that…”
Paprika shrugged her words off, and made himself comfortable on the ground. At the rate this battle was going—not a single pokemon had attacked yet—it was going to be a while.
“Hey, we don’t got all day here!” The girl shouted, tapping her foot impatiently. “Since there’s two of us and one of yous, you get the first move. Hurry up!”
Demi chuckled, scratching his head. “So I just get one of them to attack, or…?”
“Yes. What else?” The boy sighed, pausing to take a loud sip of a thermos flask. “Don’t do this much, do we?”
“Eh, we'll whoop you anyway.” He replied, staring at Pokokyu. “Not that I forgot or anything, but you don’t know Octazooka, do you?”
The Octillery shot him a long, withering look before shaking his head. Demi gave a thumbs up in response with a grin.
“Hm. Alright,” he said slowly, making a show of scratching his chin. “How about Pokokyu starts off with,”
The user turns the target's power against it. The higher the target's Attack stat, the greater the damage.
"Ya snooze, ya lose!" Eberny screamed gleefully.
“...Really, Buttercup?” Ife grumbled, slowly raising her head to look down at him. Alright, in his defense, nobody asked Eberny to just… divebomb out of the air so quickly and loudly.
“S-sorry, I wasn’t expecting it, I still haven’t gotten the hang of the whole fire vents…” he apologised sheepishly. He gently pat the small licks of flame on the Meganium’s stubby tail. "Not everything's massive about you, huh?" He commented.
“Hands off the merchandise. But I should probably wake up anyway,” she responded. “And it happens to the best of us. Ya dunno how many times I’ve gotten this oversized flower on my neck stuck in doors and the like.”
He chuckled, smothering the last flame with his paw before refocusing on the battle.
Caught off-guard, Eberny had managed to land a painful-looking blow on her exposed underbelly—the rest of the Samurott's body was clad in tough armour the Murkrow couldn't even hope to pierce.
And boring the Samurott into letting her guard down? He chuffed—Demi wouldn't do it any other way.
“Hey, no fair! You can’t just— start a battle without saying anything! What are we meant to do about it?!” The girl shouted at him.
“Sorry, I guess? If it really pisses you off that much,” he said with a sympathetic smile. With a disbelieving scoff, the girl looked around for a non-existent referee. “If there isn't any more complaints, which one of you are going next?”
“I ain’t done talking to you—that Murkrow of yours has no honour! Have you three no shame?!”
Demi and Eberny shared a disbelieving look. Hopping forward, she cawed, “Really? Really! You look like the intelligent sorta human, too…what’s the move called, smart guy?”
Snarling, the Samurott stepped forward. She dwarfed the Murkrow, casting a shadow over her with an intense glare alongside it. “Do not talk to my trainer like that, rat—”
“—your name’s an adjective. Shut up, and one of you two answer the question!”
“Uh…Foul Play, right?” The girl answered with a confused pause. Laughing, Eberny bowed.
“Yeah, not to be rude but it’s kinda in the name,” the boy piped up. At his companion's venomous glare, he retreated into his green hoodie. “Yeah. Sorry. But it’s kinda a classic dark type move, isn’t it?”
Demi snickered. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to give you a warning the next time she attacks with ‘Honourable honest attack,’ or whatever you’re Samurott would do. It's not really a Murkrow's style, is it?”
And at the ridiculousness of it, Paprika found himself laughing too. Even the Meowscarda seemed amused, in a weird, haughty way.
Marvellous growled, a low, rumbling noise that grew until he swore the ground beneath his feet was shaking. Its piercing eyes stared through his trainer, shining with barely-restrained animosity.
The girl saw and harnessed her Samurott’s rage. “Do it! Don’t let them see what hits them, Marvellous!”
The target is struck with an icy-cold beam of energy. It may also freeze the target solid.
Pokokyu didn’t utter a word, already moving into action—his tentacles surged into the air, constructing a shimmering Protect wall in front of both of them. The Ice Beam slammed into the wall with a shrill scream, and for a moment, it seemed like it would break through—Paprika let himself relax when the Samurott relented boundless fury reached a limit, and the Octillery lowered the wall.
“Hey, the slimy guy’s more reliable than I thought!” Eberny cawed after sticking out her tongue at the Samurott. Pokokyu flourished his cape with a proud sound.
"The Octillery has a cape," the Meowscarda's trainer said, more a statement than a question. "Of course. Why wouldn't it?" Slowly, the boy took his hands out of his hoodie pocket.
“But seriously, that was horrible. I dunno, can we actually hit a move with Flower Trick? Grass beats water. Doesn’t get easier than that,” he said.
“Gladly,” the Meowscarda hissed, rushing forward faster than Paprika could see.
The user throws a rigged bouquet of flowers at the target. This attack never misses and always lands a critical hit.
“Three bouquets. One of them is, let’s say an explosive surprise…take care not to pick incorrectly, hm~?”
The flowers laid neatly in a row in front of them, two bouquets in front of Eberny and Pokokyu, and another between them.
“And don’t try to ignore them, either. I could blow up any of them with a click of my claws. So which one shall you determine as the bomb? Choose wisely, and tick-tock!”
Eberny eyed the flowers in front of her beadily, before taking to the skies with a flap of her wings and shedding feathers in all directions. "Octillery's got this. He'll be fine," she promised. Pokokyu’s pupils were blown wide as he studied the bouquet raptly.
“What can I say? Me and Vincent are a fans of a bit of trickery. Gotta find a way to make things a bit more interesting,” the boy added with a lazy smile.
“I knew I can count on you, dude!” The girl exclaimed, then pointed a finger at Eberny once more. “Ice Beam again! This time, it’ll hit!” She shouted. With a murderous grin, the Samurott gladly began preparing.
“Do the steel-thing with your feathers!” Demi countered quickly, the words pouring out of his mouth. With a nod, Eberny’s feathers shifted from a dirty black to a steel sheen. She squawked when the Ice Beam engulfed her in a cloud of mist, but the move was rendered not very effective…the Murkrow cawed a taunt to Marvellous, despite barely being able to stay in the air with the weight of Steel-type energy.
“Hey! You’re a little wimp, sitting on your tushy and attacking from back there, you know that?! Or are you too chicken to use those little toothpicks you call seamitars on us?!”
The insult was better than any Grass or Electric attack; her impressivemoustache twitched, and a vein popped on her head. “What did you call my glorious blades?”
“Why wouldn’t he just teach the Murkrow Iron Defense?” Ripple mumbled.
“Tch. He’s too stupid to realise how much energy is wasted on a crude version of the move.” Andrew spat, his tone as harsh as ever.
“But it worked,” Ripple pointed out.
“The Murkrow can hardly keep flight. It won’t work again,” Andrew countered. Eberny fluttered unsteadily to the ground, scattering ironclad feathers that plummeted to the ground. Demi picked a few of them up, and shoved the still sharp feathers into his pocket.
“Oh, can’t believe that actually worked,” he said with a light chuckle. “You’ve barely got a scratch on you, too!”
Eberny wings were tucked tight against her body, raising up and down with her laboured breathing. “But I hope you’re not stupid enough to think I can do that again!”
“Nah, don’t worry,” Demi began, with a spark in his eye. “Just do something about the Flower Trick in front of Pokokyu. It's obviously the one rigged to blow."
His face dropped. His trainer shrugged. "What? What did I do now? Nobody actually falls for that, right?"
“It's nothing. You just ruined the fun, dude. And that’s fine, we don’t gotta have it; we can just win. Vincent, use the other Flower Trick.” He sighed. With a disappointed look, the Meowscarda half-heartedly flicked its wrist towards Pokokyu. A verdant glow bloomed in its paws, before a crackling bouquet of flowers that sailed through the air.
“Oh, but you know how much I hate this,” Vincent moaned. The explosion was so bright that Paprika reflexively shut his eyes—yet the light burned through his eyelids, like he had just stared into a million suns.
And it sounded like everyone else was similarly affected: Marvellous let out a long, bassy growl in front of him. He heard a sound like steel from it, scraping together. “And why have you blinded everyone here, Vincent?! I cannot sunder our enemies if I cannot see them!”
“Mm, sorry, I’ll remember that for next time.” He purred in response sarcastically. “But who cares? It’s not like that Octillery’s gonna be standing after that…or is it sitting? Lying?”
Marvellous scoffed. “Your indecision is laughable. It’s obviously sitting.”
“‘Indecision’? I just think with my head, not with some…barbaric swords. How would an Octillery stand, then? It doesn’t have feet.”
Paprika rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. He still couldn’t see anything. In front of him, he heard a foot stamp against the dirt.
“You think too much! Battles are for clashing swords, and winning glory, not…not… like a game of chess!”
“I see you’re still sore after being checkmated in three, hm?”
“Why, you little!—”
Paprika bit his tongue when he heard three intent screams of metal through the air. Lyra and Grella’s nervous chatter fell silent.
Marvellous howled with fury, and Paprika heard Demi clear his throat.
“M-marvellous?!” The girl fretted. “I still can’t see anything, but I swear we’ll slice whoever did that to you!”
“It’s nothing,” she growled. “Got caught off-guard by that cursed Murkrow again. It won’t happen for a third time.”
Paprika could tell the distinct, raspy voice of Eberny the second she spoke: “Me? Me?! I can’t even see my own talons in front of me! Are you naive enough to think I actually did that?!”
“I don’t care! Vincent, do something.”
The Meowscarda chuckled nervously. Silhouettes began to form in Paprika’s vision, but they swirled painfully with green. “I uh, can’t see either,” he admitted. “Normally I just throw more tricks until I stop hearing screams after this, but I can’t exactly do that with you in the way.”
She scoffed, and Paprika imagined her brilliant beard waving in the wind with indignance. Ife quietly asked the Typhlosion why he was laughing, but it was less funny when he said it out loud. After an awkward pause, another round of shrill metal shrieks pierced the air—metal clashed against metal. Marvellous roared triumphantly.
“Aha! You’re a fool to think a true warrior only fights with her eyes. Day and night I've trained and honed my senses, my eyes are like hawks and my ears are—ow! Stop that!”
Eberny laughed obnoxiously. “That one was me!”
“So...do all your battles go this swimmingly?” Demi asked with a click of his tongue. Chuckling, the misshapen blob opposite his human shifted slightly.
“Eh…nah, not always. Double battles always go to crap, anyway.”
“I’ll take your word for it… I’ll be borrowing a couple more of these…”
Eberny squawked. “Ow! You can’t just pluck them out like that!”
“Shush! You’ll live. Plus, you’ll agree that this is really cool. I’ll just stick a couple more here…a couple more there…done!” Demi announced.
“Hey, I can finally see more than ugly green blobs,” the Meowscarda announced, his voice smooth with misplaced pride. “But my, my… Marvellous, you must take better care of your skin. It can’t be healthy for a water type to be so…dry-looking.”
The Typhlosion sighed with relief: he was starting to worry the stunt was permanent. It made him wonder if all pokemon battles ended up so disordered, and his general indifference to the sport seemed all the more justified.
“Hmph. You mean to say my skin is well-hardened,” the Samurott sniffed. “A stuck-up brat like yourself wouldn’t get it. All you know is hot bubble baths, daily manicures, and strawberry-scented shampoo!”
“Ah, so you do like the smell of strawberry?”
The opposing Samurott fainted.
No response.
Vincent's teasing tone wilted into slight concern. “...Marvellous?”
"Hm? I-is she okay?" Grella murmured. "Did the Murkrow fell her already?"
“Huh. Yeah, no wonder Demi puts up with its bullcrap like she's his best friend. That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe you’re just mad someone else knows how whiny you sound. She mimicked your voice perfectly, if you asked me,” Grella responded playfully. The girl rolled her eyes.
“That can’t be right,” Andrew said. Paprika snorted—he had faith in Demi to pull off whatever that was. Still, even his blind optimism couldn’t throw off his sense that something was wrong with that.
The Samurott’s trainer puffed, and for a moment, she seemed taller. “Okay, time out! What the hell was that?!”
Demi shrugged with a grin. “We're doing time outs now? Maybe you should pay attention more to your pokemon. Marvellous looks pretty beat up to me.”
The boy with the flask snorted, and flicked his long hair out of his eyes. “'Beat up’? Nah, she’s gone. TKO, bro.”
“You shut up! Don’t act like Vincent doesn’t look like a pincushion too!”
“Difference is, he didn’t topple like a leaf…barely. That Murkrow of yours is something else. Must have some sixth aura sense to be able to pull all that off without seeing.”
Eberny’s mouth was agape, but she hurriedly shut it and began to preen at the various, albeit indirect praise. “Yeah? Yeah! ‘Dunno what I did, but I did it!”
The girl stared furiously at the Murkrow. “Yeah, well done,” his human agreed. “So, do you wanna keep going or is a 2v1 too much for you?”
Pokokyu let out a weak gurgle. Where an octopus once stood/lay/sat, was a mess of appendages and a head pressed into the ground. “Is this what death feels like?” He said, nearly incoherent.
Demi spared a concerned look his way. “Maybe a 1v1, actually. I don’t think Pokokyu’s doing so hot. C’mere buddy.”
Whistling as he went, Demi picked up the bundle of limbs and dumped them quickly next to Paprika.
The Typhlosion gently flipped him over. Pokokyu looked like he was at the pearly gates already.
“It’s not your time yet, buddy,” he said, with a click of his claws. Swift? stars bathed his body in a white, healing light he could call his.
“I thought we were stronger than that…” The girl muttered as she held up a pokeball. The fallen Samurott was enveloped in red light, then disappeared. “And from a steel type attack too? How are we gonna make it like this?”
Hoodie boy patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. “There’s probably more to it than Steel energy, anyway—the feathers were glowing green, right?”
“Y-yeah, you’re right,” the girl responded, a small smile growing on her face. “Hey, you! With the really strong Murkrow! How’d you imbue a Steel-type projectile with Grass-type energy? That's normally what green is!”
Demi cleared his throat. “Pardon?" He croaked.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! We’re probably classmates, right? Classmates share notes all the time!”
He sighed, realising he was fighting a losing battle. “Honestly, I don’t know what all this ‘imbuing’ stuff means. I just stuck a bunch of her metal feathers in the bouquet of flowers and lobbed it at your Samurott. 'Cuz I was bored.”
Paprika wished he had a phone too, so he could immortalise the moment when all the awe drained out of the girls features; it was replaced by a growing disbelief that carved dark creases onto her face. " 'Without looking?' Dude, just go for champion at this point," she remarked bitterly.
"Nope. One dragon girl is already too much," Demi replied, chuckling under his breath at his own joke. Then, realisation dawned on Demi’s face. “Oh, was that why you guys were running around like headless chickens? Next time just don’t look at it, dumbasses. It wasn’t that bright. I told you, I got sick of watching Bonesnapper fall over three times so I just…I dunno, messed around with stuff.”
“But—but—that’s not fair, how am I meant to warn Marvellous that you’re just gonna lob something at her!”
The boy took a drawn-out slurp of his flask. “I think that might’ve been the plan. It’s weird, but what can you do about it?" She looked like she was going to say more, but the boy just shook his head.
"It isn't worth it. Anyway, if you don’t mind us, Vincent and I are gonna beat up that Murkrow so we can go get drinks.”
Vincent let out a displeased hiss, fruitlessly dusting dirt off of his fur. “And clean my fur!” He added haughtily.
“That too. Crybaby.”
“I’m not—”
“—just Play Rough the bird. I’m tired.”
Scowling, the Meowscarda replied, “And I’ll be getting a manicure tonight, just for that!” It flexed its claws with a hiss, baring sharp teeth that began to swirl and shine pink with Fairy-type energy. Its stance was fierce yet poised. A smile grew on its well-groomed face.
The user plays rough with the target and attacks it. This may also lower the target’s Attack stat.
The Meowscarda rushed forward with a speed that put even Ripple to shame—more like teleported. One moment, he was smiling sweetly, and the next, he was towering over the Murkrow. "Goodbye, midget. It was nice seeing yet another pokemon less beautiful than me." He said haughtily.
Bonesnapper reared her head, bulged out her throat, and spat in his face. His focus blown wide open, the attack quickly dissipated. Panicked, he screamed. “Ew, ew, it spat in my face!”
The boy took his hands out of his pocket. “Vincent,” he warned, but the Meowscarda wasn’t listening. He contemplated wiping it off his face with his paws, but couldn’t bring himself to spread it even more. “W-what if it has rabies?! Or some other horrible disease, you know what street urchins like that are like! Get it off, get it off!”
He helplessly looked at the girl, who scoffed and threw a pokeball back forward. The sunken form of Marvellous materialised in red light, her head hung low.
“My honour…” she lamented.
“Your honour? My beautiful face! Do something! Q-quick, before I break out in rashes or something worse!”
“Surely you saw how hard I was dishonourably hit? Unless your trainer brought one of those human elixirs, I need to recuperate before even a trickle of water. Do not bother me again, unless there is another worthy enemy to fight.” She said with a scowl, before disappearing into red light once again.
“Oh.” The girl squeaked. “Marvellous is outta juice.”
“Yeah, I dunno what Vincent was expecting,” the boy replied. “Hold on. I probably got a tissue somewhere,” he said.
The boy searched at his own languid pace. He chuffed, feeling somewhat antsy. A little water couldn’t be that hard, right? He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to replicate the feeling of Water-type energy. Malleable. Clear. Flowing.
He nodded to himself, and anchored on the feeling; cycling energy from inside to out, he clapped his paws together and pointed forward, letting it rush out.
Wait, too much—he coughed smoke— way too much energy. He was imagining a small stream of water hitting the Meowscarda’s face, but instead unleashed what felt like an entire Hydro Pump’s worth of water towards Vincent. It had no focus whatsoever, leaving him soaked in water as well. Pokokyu managed to stop his snout hitting the ground, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he had just run an entire marathon.
Paprika got stronger.
Eberny got stronger.
Pokokyu got stronger.
“Holy crap,” Demi said with a giddy chuckle, putting ROTOM back in his pocket. His feet were light on the ground, as if afraid he was going to be sprayed next. “Dude, is it always one or 100 with you? He asked for a light shower, not an entire river.”
He cupped his paws around his snout and shouted, “Sorry!”
Pokokyu made a disbelieving noise. Paprika didn’t think he heard him, either. Vincent was drenched and lying face down on the floor. He couldn’t deduce an emotion from Hoodie boy as he returned him and stuffed the pokeball back in his pocket. His disillusioned look sent shivers down his spine.
Ife gave him a hearty pat on the back, that put a warmth back into his back. “Great job shutting that cat up,” she said dryly.
“Alright,” the boy said, looking wearily at Demi. “That, is the reason we don’t do double battles.”
What followed was perhaps the most awkward session of healing yet. Demi took an unhealthy amount of pleasure in telling the two ‘it’s just Swift’ when they asked what move Paprika was using. The Typhlosion shook his head, and kept focusing until the Samurott was in a better state. If he wouldn't explain, he wouldn't even bother trying.
“Thank you, mysterious Typhlosion!” Marvellous trumpeted, and Paprika helpfully supplied his name. The Samurott tilted her head.
“I may be strong, but my knowledge is sometimes lacking. Paprika, as in the spice?”
"Mhm," he replied, maybe a little less friendly than he could've mustered.
“It is a…noble name,” she said quietly, then bared her teeth in a silent growl. “But do you know what isn’t noble? The way your trainer commands his pokemon! From what I heard from my fellow, it is abhorrent! Dirty tactics, sleight of hand—horrible! All of it!”
“That’s Demi for ya,” Ife commented. He chuckled when Marvellous’ head swivelled around, eventually looking up to find the Meganium’s head. "A win is a win."
“You’re massive!” She said with awe.
“Blunt, aren’t we? Call it healthy growth, if ya asked me. Maybe ya'll just need’ta eat your veggies.”
Stars danced in the Water-type’s eyes as she nodded eagerly. “I shall double my portions at once!” She announced, standing up prancing off as if the battle never happened.
“Do you think she knows I was joking?” Ife muttered once she was out of earshot. Paprika shrugged with a casual smile.
His smile wavered but didn't fail when blunt claws dug into his shoulder. “Paprika? Paprikapaprikapaprika!”
“Mhm?” He said. Eberny pushed her head into his vision, so far that he needed to steady her with a hand to stop her from falling. She shrugged off his hand, and Paprika resolved to just let fate take its course.
“Didya feel it? Didya feel it!”
“Feel what?” He asked, wondering what was getting her so excited.
“It, idiot! Getting stronger!”
“ 'It' is vague," he pointed out cheekily, but with a thoughtful tilt of his head. He knew what she meant. The feeling of something expanding in his chest…it was a fuzzy, but familiar one.
Hadn’t happened in a while. But, if what Myriad said was true…
“...levelling up, right? It’s not a bad feeling.” He said. Eberny scoffed, pulling back.
“‘Not a bad feeling?’ It’s amazing! Is this why you pedigree pokemon act like lapdogs for him?”
"You can't just let that runt walk all over you," Ife goaded.
"I deal with it for Demi," he responded. "All of it,"
"If ya say so."
The strange crow pushed down on him, before taking back to the skies and settling near Demi.
“I-it wouldn’t be out of pocket for me to say that sounded vaguely evil, right?” Grella asked nobody in particular.
“Ooh, I smell flowery,” Vincent purred, standing to his feet and ignoring the Murkrow circling tauntingly around his head. Ife grunted in acknowledgement.
“Startin’ta consider just dropping everything and becoming a nurse,” the Meganium remarked.
“Tch. Are we done licking our wounds? We’ve still got lessons to get to,” Andrew snapped. Admittedly, he had a point—it had been close to an hour they’ve spent out here, if he had to guess.
Paprika heard a river rushing past his ears, and spun around.
“Paprika, I’m all for forging your own path in life, but forgive me for advising you to stop expelling aura so…rawly. If you can learn Frenzy Plant within a few hours, you can learn Water Gun or something of the sort. I’m convinced any other pokemon would’ve hurt themselves by now badly with how sloppily you use your aura pool.”
“Paprika, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lyra asked, shoving a book back into her bag and standing up.
“Act natural." The voice whispered hurriedly. "I’ve seen how this could turn messy.”
He nodded with a wide smile, and threw a thumbs-up at Lyra.
“Sorry, I forgot how…unaccustomed some could be to this. I just thought you would do well with some advice. I say not unkindly that you aren’t experienced in battles. Learn more moves. You’ve got the rawaura to do it.”
He suppressed a shudder as the foreign contact left his…something. Not his mind, no, it felt even more intimate than that. Like something that he should never have known about.
“Perhaps he’s reflecting on Demi’s interesting method of battle,” Grella commented with a giggle.
“Thanks, Meganium... Demi! You’ve made four terrible enemies today!” the girl shouted, before running off with her Samurott bounding behind.
“Two!” The boy shouted in return. Vincent yowled in protest. “Three, actually!”
“Remember our names, Demi…!” She announced ominously, before running into the side entrance of the building. Marvellous barely made the turn, nearly falling into some bushes and kicking up dust.
“I don’t know your name!” He shouted after the girl, but the group was already out of earshot.
“They seem friendly,” Lyra chirped. Ife scoffed, which sounded more like a low rumble.
“Don’t lie to yourself. C'mon,” she said, before walking slowly towards the main gate to the school.
“Well, that’s the most urgent I’ve ever seen her. Is the next lesson really that good?” Demi remarked, looking at Andrew, who didn’t instantly realise he was talking to him.
“It’s with Miss Sirrarron, if that matters.”
Paprika snorted at Demi’s groan. “Tch. What’s got you moaning now?”
“That Lucario’s got it out for me, dude. And I have a feeling Miss Sirrarron never liked me either.”
Andrew rolled his eyes, glancing at Ripple and shaking his head. The Feraligatr was firmly in his shadow, despite being a head taller than him. “Overreacting, typical. I was hoping you’d be a bit less like Lyra,” he said as he walked with his arms crossed. Lyra stuck out her tongue at him. “It can’t be that bad.”
“A good trainer admits when they’re wrong,” Andrew said. For a moment, Paprika thought he saw a slight smile on his face.
For all the teacher duo were, they were not subtle. Whatever Curry thought was off with Demi, Miss Sirrarron had wholeheartedly agreed. Random glares. An unfair number of questions. Pretty sure he saw the woman mouth ‘you’re dead meat’ to Demi.
[“And, who should I ask this question…”]
Demi shot him a despondent look. The Lucario’s keen glare landed on him.
[“Ah! Since you’ve been so eager today, Demi, let’s continue going through our fundamentals of aura, hm? Since you couldn’t answer either of the more… high-ability questions, how about we start with something easier? Tell me, what is a projection, Demi?]
Demi slammed his head on the hard desk—landing whatever part of Pokokyu currently laying on it. “Just say that you hate me and get it done with it,” He said. “It’s cruel to kill me so slowly.” Pokokyu gave him a hesitant but sympathetic pat on the back. The Lucario stopped his pacing. The last thirty minutes had been a war between the Curry’s scathing comments and Demi’s impenetrable shamelessness. Notebooks and pens had long since been forgotten—the outcome of their verbal battle was far more important to the whole class.
Demi slouched further. A stray tentacle poking him in the cheek didn’t even faze him.
“Uh…”
He chuffed at Pokokyu’s tortured expression—the excruciating feeling of knowing the answer, but not being able to say it. Instead, he crumpled in defeat when his human shrugged. His shoulders must be aching by now.
Curry smiled. [“I see. You’ve forgotten once more—must not be important then, right?”]
“I feel like that’s a trick question.”
The user strikes the target with a hard bone two to five times in a row.
The Lucario’s arm swung in a blurry arc forward, and when it was pointing at Demi, Paprika saw the eerie blue glow of a projected bone illuminating his cheek. His frown was cast in harsh red and cerulean. “That’s the second time you’ve swung that at me,” he said. “Does it actually do something, or…?”
[“Of course, it—”]
“—it crumbles like sand.” He interrupted. His human confidently poked the tip of the pointed edge, and didn’t bother to watch as it dissipated into minty blue sparkles. Growling, the Lucario lowered his hand. “So you do know what muffling is!”
“Paprika, I don’t think you should be eating that…” Grella suggested gently, giving him a concerned look.
“Paprika, do what you like,” Demi shot back, ignoring the Lucario staring him down. Grella shied away from his look with a small squeak.
“Be nice,” Paprika said, kicking him in the leg underneath the desk. The words were lost, but his tone was meaning enough to the human.
Miss Sirraron slammed her large hands on the desk in front of her. Vincent’s ear twitched. “Insuffereable. Absolutely insufferable, the lot of you! Just who raised all of you children?! When an elder is speaking, you keep your gob shut and listen! Now, I knew Curry would’ve been too lenient with you. So I’m taking charge again! Next person or pokemon to move a hand, a claw or paw without my permission gets detention!”
“Funny little guy,” an Emboar said when Pokokyu poked him. Miss Sirrarron seethed.
“What did I just say?!” She bellowed.
“Nothing about tentacles” Lyra whispered to Grella. The Dragonair snickered, and failed to play off her laugh as a cough.
“And I hear everything you say! Shut it!”
“Y-yes miss!” She yelped, straightening in her chair.
“Good, good.” she cackled like a witch. “Now, let’s do this lesson properly. Perhaps if you bothersome kids are shown something interesting, your dopamine-fried noggins’ll finally stay put!”
The Lucario crossed his arms, shaking his head sternly. [“No, no, and no again. You can’t be showing them it this early in the course. We agreed to wait at least a month.”]
“Eh! You worry too much. What’s the worst that can happen?”
The Lucario pierced her with a stern look.
"Yeah, so what? Anyone too stupid to try it and capable enough to do it would’ve already have died by now.”
The Lucario let out a defeated sigh. [“Like a brick wall... And you used to be the more reasonable out of the two of us.”]
“Ignore my overcautious colleague over here, folks, rugrats; As long as you all sit back, relax, and don’t try any of this at home, you’ll be fine. Pay attention, and maybe this could be you in a couple of years! Or decades. Or never.”
Everyone’s attention was on the overzealous woman and her vigilant, maybe anxious Lucario. When she raised her hand, her palm facing to the ceiling, Curry looked away. The unending crinkling of a crisp packet behind him screeched to a halt—trainer and Munchlax paused, transfixed.
“This,” she announced, “Is what paying attention in class can get you!”
Her fingers flexed, and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Her palm glowed with a spark of orange light, which erupted into a pulsing ball of pure energy. Her hand buckled but she forced it back up, as if the ball was made of heavy metal instead of weightless aura. The room was cast in a warm, confident glow.
“Class! Here’s another question,” Miss Sirrarron said, her voice strained. “Of course, even an idiot knows pokemon have more aura then humans. On that note, how much of my total aura am I holding currently?”
Suddenly, everyone was willing to contribute. She shook her head after each answer, growing increasingly impatient. “Where’s a smart kid when you need one? C’mon! We ain’t got all day!”
“Threefold?” Andrew asked Ripple. The Feraligatr shifted, her pupils narrowing with focus.
“Twofold. Two and a half.” She responded raptly. Andrew nodded.
“Ding ding! We’ve got a winner,” she grunted. Her eyes reflected the light to a brilliant red. “Therefore, it can’t be just a human’s pitiful stores. If I tried to muster up this much, I’d probably just drop dead right now!” Her tone was jarringly upbeat, almost casual if not for the slight waver from effort.
[“But, as some of you possibly know, it’s possible to draw aura from another store—using your body as a proxy—for your own use. Of course, the sensible source will always be your own partners.”] Curry added.
“Yeah, yeah, it's awesomeand all, stop looking at the pokemon nearby you like you just found a cool gun on the ground.”
[“When would you—”]
—the sphere wobbled, flickering and deforming. The teacher glanced at Curry before staring down the ball. Then, it became tame once more. “Shush your snout! The reason the technique is not more widely used is because of how volatile it is. Aura is a powerful, righteous thing—without even a brief second of an iron will forged by your spark, hammering down on it, it will attempt to return to its original source.”
Miss Sirrarron sighed, her shoulders sagging as the tension uncoiled from the room; the aura burst into sparkles, which gathered and settled on Curry. They reminded him of burning wood.
“...huh, they actually don’t taste half-bad.” Ife smacked her lips together, nodding thoughtfully. “Kinda like—”
“—wood, right?”
“—yup.”
Grella shot them both disgusted looks.
“Didn’t hear anything about instant death in that monologue," Alex pointed out.
[“I,”] Curry said, staring down Miss Sirrarron until she stepped back, [“will explain this. Without absolute trust in the proxy—not familial love, not a strong friendship—complete and utter surrender of the pokemon to the human, the only thing you’ll summon forth is doom. Not even the slightest doubt can blacken your mind, or you risk ‘rejecting’ your human altogether. If you’re lucky, the rejection will be instant.”]
His hard eyes scanned the classroom, over each of them in turn.
[“If you’re not? Well, it depends on the pokemon. Perhaps a Fire-type would burn their trainer inside out. A Flying-type could collapse their lungs with only a shadow of hesitation in their mind. Pick your poison. None of you will try this. Am I clear?”]
Reluctant, pondering replies from his classmates sounded out.
[“Demi.”]
“D-dude, I said yes! I don’t trust Paprika like that!”
Paprika gasped, staring at his trainer incredulously. Demi threw his hands up in defense. How dare he! “You didn’t even trust me to get to school yesterday on time!” The traitorous trainer defended.
[“...this register says you were late that day, human.”]
“Not the point!”
[“Then his doubts aren’t unfounded. Perhaps if you acted less secretively, you would earn his complete trust. Bond with your pokemon, Demi.”]
“I’ll get him like, a burger or something. Chill.” Demi said, which Paprika is now definitely gonna beg, lie, steal and barter to get—
“—hey! Don’t lose it over a burger!”
—or maybe just wait expectantly like a good Typhlosion would. He could do that. Definitely.
“Yer fur’s glowing. Please don’t burn me again,” the Meganium pleaded curtly. Smiling shyly, Paprika wrangled his hunger under control.
Pokokyu looked hopefully up at him with wide eyes. “Yes, Pokokyu, you get a burger too. Maybe Bonesnapper’ll get one too if she promises not to peck my head.”
“No promises!”
“No burger.”
“...Maybe I promise?”
“Maybe you’ll get a burger.”
“Good enough! I’m feeling lucky today~”
[“We do not throw our friends and classmates around, Demi. Put her down.]
Grumbling, he slowly lowered the bird back onto the desk. “Some pokemon just need to be thrown about more. It isn’t my fault.”
[“Even an infant knows Murkrows are like that.”]
“Like what? Like what!”
“Shut it, the three of you! We’re trying to teach a lesson over here!” Miss Sirrarron interrupted with a scowl. Her scowl only deepened when the bell rung, a high, shrill noise.
“Nearly. You tried to have a lesson. We’re out.” A boy—Alex—sneered. He and his Blaziken stood up, and began strutting to the door.
“Not so fast!” Miss Sirrarron said. She wrung a deceptively burly arm around the Blaziken’s neck, grunting with effort (or rage) as she threw him back into the desk. He thought he heard the wood splinter as the Fire-type collided with a painfully with a chair.
Wordlessly, Alex sat back in his seat beside him. His cheeks soon matched his Blaziken’s deep red, ruffled feathers.
“I,” she said, crackling her knuckles with satisfaction, “Decide when the lesson is over.”
Someone coughed. “Uhm, and when would you like the lesson to end, miss?”
She smiled sweetly as she looked at the clock. “Oh, would you look at the time! I’d say just about now.” She waved her hand. The keystone glinted golden in the afternoon sun. “You ragamuffins are dismissed. Don’t do anything stupid!”
Frazzled, the Blaziken stumbled out of the class, followed by Alex who had his eyes trained on the floor.
Snickering, Demi elbowed him lightly. “Those two are really going through it, aren’t they?”
He crooned sympathetically: scoffing, Demi rolled his eyes. “It isn’t like they don’t deserve it. C’mon, let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”
He instantly perked up, jumping out of his seat and bounding towards the door. Sighing with a smile, Demi scooped Pokokyu in his arms and chased after him. “Now, why can’t you move that fast in battle…?” He teased.
“Demi! Paprika! Wait up!” Lyra called afterwards, narrowly saving Demi from “You’re grabbing grub at the Heart, right?”
His trainer’s eyebrows raised. “Yup. If we hurry, we’ll get there before all the adults do. For a ‘small town’ the traffic gets insane,” he responded. “Are you coming with?”
“Yup!” She chirped. Grella shadowed her with a worried look. Lyra placed a hand on her snout. “Don’t worry, Guinevere had a lot of ‘human paper’ that she didn’t know what to do with. We’re practically swimming in it.”
The Dragonair wasn’t placated. She fretted quietly, leaning in close to Lyra until she could hear her normal whisper. “Obtained legally, right?”
“Emphasis on paper. Nobody’ll know the difference, and it’s gone to a better place. Just—enjoy yourself for a bit, okay? You deserve it.”
“She’s right,” Ife chimed in, standing to her feet. “A victimless crime ain’t hurt nobody.”
“I-I guess,” the Dragonair acquiesced. Her wings were tightly folded, but still fluttered weakly as she spoke. “If both of you think it’s okay…”
“Then we’re set!” Lyra announced with a smile.
“Finally, I think I’m starting to feel faint from hunger…” Demi lamented loudly.
“Oh, shut up. Andrew gave you his lunch, didn’t he?”
He dragged a withering look, from Ife, to Lyra, who just laughed in response.
“Ah, you’ll be fine. Let’s go!”
And with that, they were off. Paprika hoped nobody else heard his stomach grumbling. Andrew walked stiffly past at a brisk pace. Lyra had no such qualms about running in the school halls, and soon caught up with them.
“Andrew! Ripple!" She beamed, ignoring Andrew's sharp look. "Aren’t you coming?”
“An hour. Nothing more, nothing less.” Andrew said curtly as they marched across the previously empty streets which now swarmed with cars. The temperature dropped somewhat as Grella fretted.
“O-oh, w-we’re too late… how are we meant to get across the road now?”
Cackling, Eberny swooped to the skies, perching herself on a street lamp with ease across the street. “Dunno! Better figure it out!”
“We could just wait,” Andrew proposed.“ There’s must be an opening eventually. Patience isn’t a crime.
“B-but who knows if all the good places would be filled up by then? I-its nearly quarter past three—”
“—you can just say 3:15—” Demi said.
“—yes, but I was taught to say quarter past, in your language. Next time I’m uprooted from my home I shall ask them to teach it your way.” She replied harshly.
They locked eyes for a long moment, while the cars raced past. He didn’t offer an apology, so she continued with nothing more than a flick of her bead-tipped tail.
“A-as I was saying, every moment counts. It could be a while before we get an opportunity, and Andrew and Ripple are already in a rush.”
He grunted in agreement. “But what else do you suggest? We cannot exactly ask nicely for the cars to stop. And—”
Demi whooped loudly, and Paprika choked on smoke when he saw his trainer swinging through the air. His arms flailed as Pokokyu swung by a tentacle above the road, until he hit the concrete with a stumble. “See! That wasn’t that hard!” He shouted over the rumble of cars in the road.
“Tch—you idiot! What if one of you were hurt?” Andrew shouted back. Demi stuck out his tongue at him.
“You’re not my mum!”
“Not you, I’ve made peace that you’re a lost cause. Pokokyu! I had a lot more faith in your judgement.”
The Octillery visibly sagged, and mumbled something he couldn’t hear over the traffic.
“So how the hell do the rest of us get across?” Lyra asked. “This traffic is endless, I swear…someone remind me not to do this again.”
“I've got an idea, ?” Ife huffed, standing. Reluctantly, Lyra agreed.
“Thank ya,” the Meganium responded walking forward casually. “Can’t be this big for no reason.”
Paprika’s faith in her plummeted as she walked into the centre of the road. Cars screeched to a halt—more to preserve their own vehicles than for her safety—and horns blared.
“Mhm—sorry. Moving through." She grunted as she went slowly, not even batting an eye as she kicked in the driver's car that swore at her. "Are the rest of ya just gonna stand there? Move.”
He wasn’t going to be asked twice. He scampered his way across the road, until he was in front of Demi.
“Hey, what’s up?” He asked.
Chuffing, he cuffed his trainer across the head. He was getting better at that.
“Ife! Tell me the idea next time!” She hissed. The Meganium smiled lazily with a wide yawn.
“It wouldn’t’ve worked if I told ya. We’re across the road, aren’t we?”
“Watch the ice. We don’t want an accident.” Ripple grunted. Grella looked over her shoulder, eyes widening with a small squeak at the faint but noticeable blue sheen where she had slithered. With each step the Feraligatr took, the ice melted into streams of water that soaked into the asphalt. “S-sorry! I didn’t even realise,” she apologised. Arms crossed, the Feraligatr avoided her eyes.
“McDonphans, straight ahead!” Lyra announced triumphantly. And would you know it? It was almost completely empty! Perhaps this outing wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Andrew scoffed. “I’m not eating any of that glorified cardboard, and you’d all do well not to eat it either. I’m going to the supermarket.”
“C’mon, you said you haven’t even tried it before!” Lyra moaned. “It’s really good cardboard! It doesn’t have to be healthy all the time!”
“Food is fuel first, not an indulgence,” Andrew replied coldly. “Come or don’t. I’m not going in there.”
He took a sharp left and walked towards the boring store without the good melty cheese. Paprika whined.
“Welp. We might as well follow. It took ya a solid minute of bartering to even get him here,” Ife said, before stomping that way too. Or just normal walking. It was hard to tell the difference, with her.
“Puh- please? I wanna eat chips without stealing it from chumps first…” Eberny said with her best attempt at a pout. It was admirable, really, but it just looked like she was staring Demi down with nothing but scorn.
“We can do that another day. Mum gave me money for a special reason. C’mon, before Andrew gets too bored without us.”
Shouting curses at him all the while, Eberny swooped after him as Demi walked, then ran (with Murkrow-evasive maneouvers) to the store. Leaving just him, Lyra and Grella.
“That guy’s insufferable,” Lyra muttered. Grella smiled softly, gliding towards the store on her own personal ice rink.
“D-don’t worry! It isn’t all that bad, right? There’s a few things I wanna get, anyway…”
Paprika listened idly as he walked behind Lyra and Grella. He didn’t bother to remember the details, just that it was definitely more than ‘a few things.’ Exasperated, Lyra listened but smiled anyway. She enjoyed the Dragonair’s company regardless of what they were doing.
Once he was inside the store, the sterile scent of cleaner hit him like a wall—his snout wrinkled, but he pressed on regardless to where Demi was.
“Hm? It’s a surprise, Paprika! Bug off!” He chuckled, shoving a cylindrical object into a bag while lightly pushing his inquisitive snout away. “You’ll love it. Promise. Anything you wanna get, Pokokyu?”
The Octillery had been waiting eagerly, but his eyes lit up at the mention of his name. His limbs shot out, searching shelves with an energy that made him dizzy watching. With a shudder, he retraced and slumped. Demi was surprised.
“...nothing?” He asked. Pokokyu shook his head. “I swear, you’re interested in the weirdest things.”
Grella slid in their direction. “Demi? I-I think we have a problem.”
“Hm?” He asked, looking up at her. “What happened?”
“Clean up, aisle 5!” A voice boomed through unseen speakers. “Another Murkrow got in. Nearly made off with the stone, too. Clean up aisle 5!”
Paprika and Demi shared a unsurprised look. Grella tittered nervously.“W-well, Eberny has a problem. Come with?” She asked. With a wordless nod shared, they followed her.
Ife bowed her neck when they walked past from where she laid. Grella pouted, coiling in on herself and rising like a spring until she was eye level with her. “H-hey! Why aren’t you helping her?!”
“Mm, I can’t be asked,” she replied in a low, lazy hum. “Ribbons get stuck in my teeth. How about you give it a shot?”
“Y-you know how I feel about Fairy-types!”
She yawned, scooting slightly to let a frazzled lady walk past with her staring toddler through the aisle. “Yeah, when ya were the same size as one of my teeth. It’ll toughen ya up a bit, Grella—give ‘em a snow cone.”
The Dragonair scoffed, thrashing her head side to side. “I don’t make snowcones!”
She grinned widely. Paprika tried to ignore the gap in her smile.“But I bet you’d make a killer one if you tried.”
She gasped, turning away without a word. “T-the nerve of that Meganium!” She huffed. “Paprika. Demi. Come on, we don’t need her…please?” She added, unsure off her conviction at the end. Paprika for one was already convinced, and Pokokyu was always along for the ride.
He gave his trainer a firm look. That was now their bird to prevent from getting into trouble.
“What? I’m with you, I’m with you. Just hope it isn’t that Sylveon,” He said, with a knowing look. Paprika…couldn’t quite recall what he was talking about, but still felt uneasy. They continued to follow the Dragonair through a maze of shelves and corridors—past a sandwich that looked good, maybe he could get one later—until they reached aisle 5.
He knew he shouldn’t make such assumptions, but such a burly, man looked quite ridiculous standing next to the delicate Sylveon. “Alright, get outta here. I should’ve known you lot wouldn't stop robbing my shop for the world—Silvy, be a dear and Moonblast the vermin back to hell,”
“H-hey?!” Eberny squawked indignantly—or perhaps fearfully—whilst pecking at a ribbon to no avail. Her snares remained strong, and the ribbons were tied with easy experience. “I actually got money this time! Promise! Promise!”
Demi laughed, leaning against a shelf and waiting to see how it would play out. Grella timidly nudged him with her tail. “Shouldn’t you…do something?” She asked quietly. Demi stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, sure, eventually.”
Pokokyu stared up at him. Slowly, he began to drag Demi into view with his tentacles, pulling hard when Demi dug his feet into the floor.
His bushy and grey eyebrows furrowed. The shopkeeper’s steely, darting eyes assessed him quickly.
“Demi,” he said.
“Mister Hunter,” he responded with a nod. “How are the eevolutions?”
The man hacked, and spat on the white floor. “What do you want, kid? Make it quick.”
He threw his arms nonchalantly over his head. “Just the bird, and I’ll be out of your beard. Promise,”
Paprika tapped him on the shoulder. Demi rolled his eyes, but added, “And maybe buy a sandwich for my Typhlosion. That’s it.”
Her sheer enthusiasm for food rejuvenated Eberny, just enough to crane her head upwards and say, “Me too? Me too!” Demi’s shoulders slumped.
“Two. Two sandwiches.”
Pokokyu looked up at him expectantly. Demi scoffed. “Earlier you wanted nothing—you know what? Three, sure. Just cuz I like you, Pokokyu. Can you do that?”
The shopkeeper tapped his knuckle against the desk in a slow, relaxed rhythm. The Sylveon sat on its haunches, and tended to torn ribbons.
“No.” He finally said. “Not for your mother. Not for her kin.”
“Ah—c’mon! You can’t just kidnap my pokemon!”
The man ground his fist into the desk. “Read the sign.”
“I’m not—”
“—read. Sign.”
Demi ran a hand through his head. “Yeah, alright. ‘Karma comes late.’ Is that what you wanted?"
He grunted in acknowledgement. His Sylveon stalked around them, its soft blue eyes sharpening into something bitter. "Four straight years, Demi Ennewt. Do you know what that does to a man?"
Styruse on Chapter 1 Tue 17 Jun 2025 09:07PM UTC
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Mariotron124 on Chapter 1 Tue 26 Aug 2025 03:23PM UTC
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PosedRose on Chapter 1 Sat 30 Aug 2025 09:26PM UTC
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KaaLa211 on Chapter 3 Wed 15 Jan 2025 04:07AM UTC
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PosedRose on Chapter 3 Thu 16 Jan 2025 05:26PM UTC
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hbg (Guest) on Chapter 25 Sun 17 Aug 2025 04:43AM UTC
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