Chapter Text

It’s the middle of winter, and instead of holing up in their tents, the Pearl Clan have decided to throw a party. Or perhaps, Warden Ingo had decided to. Possessed by the spirit of festivities and holiday-induced dread, he had single-handedly managed to scrape together a phantom of days past. A party. A-

“This ‘winter party’ idea of yours has been most advantageous for morale, Warden Ingo. The Clan seems to be far more at ease. How did you come up with it?”

Irida is standing on the sidelines of the festival, next to the man behind it all. The music has already begun to rise in volume, and the drinks are flowing like rivers. Soon, once she’s certain all will be well, Irida will join in herself. But for now, she’s decided to hang back and watch. 

“Ah, well- A memory of mine. This was an event I often hosted, I believe , in the past.” Ingo sips at his mug, somewhat daintily. He doesn’t quite appear to be all here right now, as though his mind has long exited this space they share. Reminiscing , Irida thinks. “Celebrations in the winter, surrounded by friends and family. I thought it would be beneficial for us, considering the events of this last year.” He adds, softly.

Irida simply nods along with him in agreement. It has certainly been a year of change and drama, from clan relations improving, to the Nobles’ frenzies and a final confrontation atop Mount Coronet. A roller coaster of emotions, or perhaps a particularly hectic sleigh ride of emotions (since roller coasters appear to have not been invented yet). To have one’s beliefs challenged, confronted and proven false was… Difficult for Irida. 

Yet, this year has been a good one. If one ignores the ‘red sky’ incident.

Irida briefly slides her gaze off into the distance. There, seemingly the happiest Irida has ever seen her, is Lina- Palina. She’s making merry with Gaeric, downing drink after drink with a flushed grin stretched across her face. 

It eases that little wound that had been etched into her heart long ago, after that bitter argument in the wake of the previous Lord Arcanine’s death. No longer did Lina seem smothered by expectations and her own grief. No, instead, she seemed warm- glowing. Iscan and the Galaxy Team’s surveyor had truly been miracle makers. 

“It is helping. Palina appears to be far more relaxed.” She glances towards Palina, almost pointedly. The Warden appears to be on her third drink of the evening, now. Growlithe has decided to snuggle up on her lap despite the inevitable chaos. “So thank you, Ingo.”

Ingo tilts his cap forwards, a strange little quirk which Irida had learnt was some form of polite gesture. He briefly flashes a fond, faint smile. “My pleasure, Lady Irida.”

Ingo breaks out the herbal tea in between drinks. It was very nice of Volo to source some ‘relaxation herbs’ for him.

The party rumbles on, chugging along the tracks that Ingo had oh so carefully laid out. Follow the guidelines, check safety- wait, no, that’s not how it goes, right? Something, something… Train.

Words and phrases lost to him, Ingo decides to settle down and sit for a bit on one of the benches scattered around the settlement’s centre. Another sip, and the source of the confusion suddenly becomes clear. Wine. It’s the wine. The wine must be getting to Ingo, if he can’t even remember those words of empowerment properly.

Good. That is the point of a holiday party. Drink for a week straight and come out the other side with not a single memory of the whole time to one’s name.

Ingo’s already faced that experience once, might as well add another to the list!

Right now, where was he? What wine should he sample next?

Though, Ingo doesn’t dwell on said conundrum for long. His musings are interrupted  by a friendly, quite distinctly inebriated face. Gaeric is here, and he’s ready for round two. Ingo’s fellow Warden rests a hand on his shoulder, somewhat startling him out of his pondering. “Ingo my friend! Come with me, drink the night away.” Gaeric offers another mug. The liquid smells somewhat floral. Rose wine? Tempting. “We need to put some hair on that smooth chest of yours.”

Smooth? Put some hair on him? Ingo is perfectly hairy, thank you very much.

“I- I think my chest is already passable.”

“Is it? You can’t even fashion the clan symbol.”

Oh sick burn Gaeric. Get that man’s not-so-hairy rear. 

Between the lines, Ingo recognises that quip for what it is. A challenge. Ingo likes challenges. He’s not fond of backing down from challenges. 

This challenge, however, would be one of his greatest yet. Most of his previous drinking sessions with Gaeric ended either in glorious battle, an unknown cabin or a shrub. Taking the offering might be- and probably is- a risk.

For a moment, he entertains the idea of accepting the offer. But then, a brief spark of memory ignites. A hangover at work would be particularly tricky to handle. How could he… Drive safely?

Ingo has no idea what ‘drive safely’ would mean in any context, least of all the current one. Must be important, but how so? Oh well. “I- My duties?” Ingo asks, fearing the wrath of Lady Sneasler.

“Lady Sneasler wouldn’t mind.” Gaeric states, as though he personally asked her for an opinion. “I imagine she would even encourage you.”

Oh, that’s good. Makes sense too, now that Ingo thinks about it. Lady Sneasler would probably join in. She should be at the club. With a manicure like that, she’d be… Slaying? Yes, Sneasler would be slaying. Both in a slang way, and an actual murder way. 

Well. It’s what Sneasler would want then. Ingo doesn’t need much more convincing. “Very well. Let us switch tracks! Aim for victory!” He holds his palm out, towards Gaeric, closing and opening his palm slightly. “And… Hand me that mug, please.”

“So the Alpha Garchomp keeps on coming in, harassing the little Bergmite-” Unforgivable. “-and aggravating Lord Avalugg.”

Gaeric is mid-rant, lips loosened by the wine. He’s uncharacteristically frustrated, which is both amusing and jarring. Gaeric has always been a passionate man, but it’s surprising just how passionate he gets when he is in the company of good friends.

“ It needs to taught to respect -”

Palina seemingly nods along, clearly used to this rant by now, and absently combs her fingers through her little Growlithe’s fur. “I imagine that is difficult to handle.”

“Yes!” Hands in the air, dramatically waving around in a manner that somehow makes Gaeric look like the cross between a Honchkrow and a particularly ruffled Starly, Gaeric continues on. “I have had enough- anyone have any suggestions?”

Ah. Well. Ingo isn’t quite sure what he’d do in that situation. Usually, his Lady is more than able to ward off any trespassers. But this isn’t her territory, nor is Avalugg able to handle any threats effectively (well, he is, but the avalanches that would undoubtedly follow would not be very choo choo, to say the least).

Ingo rests a hand on his chin, miming what he thinks makes him appear contemplative. Unfortunately, he looks a bit like a muppet instead. However, the action gets the intended response, two pairs of eyes watch him carefully. Waiting.

(Maybe not a great idea, now that Ingo thinks about it.)

“Do you have anything to say, Warden Ingo?”

Oh no. They think he’s competent. Terrible. Now Ingo has to do something! Quick, route change. Route change. Detour and redirect! Time to quash those thoughts before Ingo is lumped with any more responsibility.

He tilts his cap, steadying himself. “We should use force. Excessive force. Dragons- especially ones that have gone unchallenged for so long- often can only communicate through battle.” 

(It’s true, although Ingo isn’t quite sure how or why he possesses such knowledge about dragon types. Such knowledge is rare, if not unheard of outside the scattered dragon clans. Curious indeed.)

Either way, it’ll benefit him here. Ingo suppresses a pleased grin (or his dire attempt at one). Gaeric and Palina may be strong, but they wouldn’t dare go toe-to-toe with a dragon, unlike-

Oh.

Oh no.

A warm, mischievous grin decorates Palina’s face, highlighted with a faint rosy flush. Ingo knows that look well. That look was one that Warden Palina wore frequently when she was younger, moments before she dragged little (not quite a lady at that point) Irida into her shenanigans. Please, have mercy!

“Excellent. I have no doubt in my heart that you will be able to drive off the alpha, Ingo.” She smiles a little too wide, and thus raises a hand to cover her grin. 

Traitor.

Gaeric takes no notice of Ingo’s growing terror, nor of Palina’s mirth. Instead, he shudders to a power stance, flexing his muscles in some form of threat display, or maybe just as a way to prepare for the battle to come, and cheers.

(Ingo begins to write his last will and testament mentally. He leaves everything to Probopass.)

“Of course! How could I forget?! Ingo! You once fought a Garchomp barehanded, didn’t you? I am in dire need of aid. Join me, brother in arms and muscles, and we shall end Garchomp’s reign of terror.” Gaeric holds a hand out, Ingo briefly imagines a pill in his hand (ibuprofen?). “ Together .”

Goodbye all.

Ingo stands before the Garchomp, barehanded and regretting every moment ever in his life. Almighty, please let him survive. He’s not even trying to win here.

Somehow, he wins.

The win makes Ingo far cockier than he ever had the right to be. Instead of being a normal, sensible human being, Ingo instead decides to chase the darn dragon across the snowdrifts. Hooting and hollering all the way, he doesn’t stop until he drives the fellow to the furthest possible point away. That’ll teach ‘em. 

The Gible, Gabite and Garchomp scrabble around in an attempt to get out of the incoming train wreck, but lack the speed needed to avoid the Nimbasan nightmare. 

“I AM THE ALPHA NOW!”

Ingo keeps on screaming. On and on. Channelling every decibel he has in him, he just keeps on going. Even the Glalies have decided to watch on, impassive frowns scrutinising Ingo’s drunken reign of terror. Truly masterful manoeuvre, Mr Train Man, Sir.

“STAND CLEAR OF THE YELLOW LINE. I AM THE YELLOW LINE. RUN.”

(This, somehow, affects the Magikarp population.)

Eventually, once Ingo is sure that he won’t be attacked once his back is turned, his accented Galarian yelling comes to a close. He eyes the Garchomp, doing his best to appear menacing (which he is, in the same way that Kermit can menace someone) and walks backwards a few steps before turning on his heel and booking it.

The bravado begins to fade after a while, replaced with an icy pang of confusion and mild embarrassment that will haunt his dreams for decades to come.

Ingo realises, as he races back down the hills, that he has no idea where any of that actually came from. What in Palkia’s divine space possessed him to go fight and chase a Garchomp? How in space did Ingo even survive? This goes against everything he ever stood by! Poor Tangrowth must be so worried. 

In his growing panic, Ingo misses a step and slips.

Right into the ice cave.

Oh well, I suppose the train man can have a little more head trauma, as a treat.

The cave is cold, a bit damp and painfully reminiscent of Ingo’s first college dorm room (not that he knows what that means, either). Ice lines every wall, which mirrors his reflection back at him a thousandfold. Two thousand glowing silver eyes peer back at Ingo as he slowly rises to his feet, tipsily tilting all the way.

Waking up in strange places is a unique experience that Ingo appears to be growing used to. Quite a concerning problem, really. He should really try to keep his checks safe. Or safely checking? Oh Dragons blast it all, Ingo can’t quite remember the lines any more. 

Safe checks?

No.

Bungled it again. 

Oh well, quick detour. Ingo reaches for his belt, aiming for Magnezone’s pokéball. Surely his friend Maglev can help him make his way… Out…

Ingo doesn’t have his belt.

Why did he- Oh no. He left it at the settlement, didn’t he?

(“Come, brother. Leave your partners here to rest, we shan’t be long. Glory awaits. The Almighty will surely smile upon us.”

Ingo, stupidly, listened to Gaeric.)

“Great.” Ingo says, to no one in particular. “I am Palkia’s most favourite clown.” He had to be, if he was making mistakes that were that silly.

Ingo sighs, and starts his wandering through the caves. Getting back out won’t be an easy task, especially since he has no one but himself to rely on (and if Ingo has ever learnt anything about himself, it’s that he can be a bit… Forgetful. He didn’t even keep his climbing gear on him).

Stumbling onwards and looking for anything that might aid his escape, Ingo takes the time to admire the ice. It’s rather pretty. Terribly cold, though. But he can see why the Pearl Clan favour the Icelands over the rest of Hisui. It’s quiet, calming, shrieking..?

No, wait. That last one isn’t right, is it?

Nor does… Nor does the ice move… Does it?

Ingo looks up.

An alpha Froslass stares down at him.

It was a good run.

Still, Ingo is a determined man. Might as well go out with a bang. “Ah, greetings Ma’am.” Is that too formal? Yes, it is. Oh well, keep going. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” Ingo channels the Galarian niceties that the Professor taught him. A quick hat tip with an abashed smile. “I was wondering if a lady such as yourself might know which route leads to the exit of your fine cave?”

The Froslass shrieks at him. Ingo braces himself.

Except… She takes his hand with one of her head-hair-hand things and starts to lead him away. Ah! Success?

“Thank you.” He says, in a tone so authentic that only the most inebriated souls can muster. Pleasant, warm and thankful. “You have my gratitude.”

(Those words seal his fate. The Froslass decides that this one will live. He’s very polite. She’ll keep him safe.)

The lovely lady makes a soft, haunting cry occasionally as the duo make their way further into the winding cave. Hopefully, the Froslass is just showing him the back exit. After all, additional exits are mandated for safety reasons. It’s only logical to have one.

Once he gets back out of the cave, he’ll have to return with a few honey candies as thanks. Gaeric’s partner is most fond of them, so surely the lady alpha might too? Though, it would likely be a good idea to bring a few options with him. Sneasler likes some variation, after all. Other pokémon might be the same.

(Ingo doesn’t notice that the cave is getting darker. Nor does he notice that the air is getting colder. He also, in his tipsy state, does not remember the legends about Froslass that the clan had made sure to teach him.)

“Are you fond of dazzling honey, Miss? I know a nice recipe for some sweets that might be most enjoyable-” Ingo goes to turn back, but never finishes the action.

The Froslass giggles. A new decoration to add to her cave. 

(The ice would keep him safe, after all.)