[Pokémon] Lull

Synopsis: Lane Eldritch likes dragon pokémon cards, so much so that he would do almost anything for them, even Francis' stupid dare about entering the old, supposedly haunted, Harbor Inn. Then something weird happens the next day: Lane won't wake up, and his worried parents have no idea why. A sullen Lucas, Sinnoh's latest pokemon champion and Rowan's renowned apprentice, is forced to help solve this mystery by cheerful co-researcher Dawn. It's not easy trying to fight someone else's demons when you have your own you're trying to bury.

Lull is an expansion of the cresselia event that takes place in the Diamond & Pearl games, though it also touches on other events in the games. It is my own spin on the--at least in my opinion--terrifying events the player character goes through and the aftermath of dealing with these events on his own.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. =) Thanks for reading.


Myth: sacred narrative used to explain the view of a people.

Cynthia likes myths. I don't. They're essentially stories weaved by the naïve who, in a desperate attempt for truth, pass it along to their people until this myth becomes a reality in their minds. It doesn't work like that. Somewhere is an answer, a solid truth, that can be analyzed, defined, and contextualized.

No, I'm not a fan of myth. I blame myth for the current state of the Sinnoh championship, the state of our region–why I had to concern with issues bigger than me. That should have been Cynthia's job, not mine. I was only a kid. She left the region–no, the world–to me, gave me a few words of advice, and pushed me forward. I was pissed.

I digress. It doesn't matter. It's my rule now. She can loll about in Fairy Tale Land for all I care. I like to stick to what is true. Solid fact.

...

It's a girl.

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[FONT=Vivaldi, cursive]Chapter One[/FONT]
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[FONT=Vivaldi, cursive]O[/FONT]nce upon a time in a not far off place lived a boy. Let's call him Lane. He was your average kid, a height of four feet, four and a half inches (the exact amount matters when you're eight and a half), and relatively thin of frame.

The boy also had ears. They were big and stuck out, like airplane wings. Zoom! But they were big, pointy ears – not elf-shaped, though, for he had a strange dislike of elves ever since a Christmas fiasco where a group of elves made him DANCE (the horror!), and he missed his chance with Santa – and darn, all he really wanted to do was ask him for a new set of toy cars (which he would begrudgingly mention he did not get by the way!), and everyone laughed, making him aware of the huge stature of his ears, and – well, the main point is not to associate Lane with elves. But that's for another time. Right now it's time to focus on the current issue: running. Quickly, too, otherwise that would be jogging.

Lane was good at running, believe it. He liked to run everywhere. Up the street to school. Down the street to the library. To the left for the docks. To the right for more docks. Running and docks and sea and school and friends and pokemon were all he knew. He liked running across the drawbridge, his sneakers making funny noises as they slapped against the wooden planks. Every time he had to walk across the bridge, he made sure to stop in the middle where the bridge would separate in two and stare out toward the sea. He gripped the metal railing with sticky hands and pulled himself up, his feet dangling in the air. The salty wind whipped his hair around.

This was Canalave, Lane's home for eight-and-a-half-years, and he liked it lots because it was all he knew. The sunsets were always orange and yellow and pink, like today, brighter at the horizon where the sun was beginning to set and darker the further up he looked. In class, they learned how to draw sunsets–you need at least five colors, preferably in order from bright to dark–because that's what Canalave is known for. The pretty sunsets that made the ocean look like it was on fire.

Or was it the docks? Canalave wasn't much of a tourist attraction, despite its pretty sunsets and coastlines, but people from other regions used the city as a port, a place to drop off and load goods from all over the world.

Or maybe it was the ships. Lane couldn't remember. History was awfully boring.

"Get off the bridge, kid!" he heard one of the workers yell. "A ship is going out!"

Right. It was definitely the ships.

He let out a laugh and scampered off the bridge and back onto the concrete sidewalk on the other side, continuing toward his destination: the local pokémart. It was a part of a chain of markets with its trademark blue roof, though Canalave tried to separate itself from the pack, embedding its walls with the local sand and seashells. He could make out the figure of a girl picking at the wall with her fingernail while another boy stood next to her, fiddling with something in his hands. He saw the girl turn her head.

"Laney!" she squealed loudly, causing the boy next to her to look up. "You're here!"

"Hurry it up, Dumbo!" yelled the other friend. "We've been waiting forever!"

Lane gasped for breath, something rattling inside one of the pockets of his dirty jeans. "Guys!" he shouted, his right hand reaching for the item inside his pocket, pulling it out with a few quick tugs. He finally reached the group after running up the store's ramp, wiping a light sweat off his brow. "Look! My dad gave me these!" Lane excitedly opened the palm of his hand, revealing a small canvas bag. He pulled on the strings and opened the bag to reveal marbles the size and shape of his irises. Besides the generic cat's eyes marbles, a few marbles with red tops and white bottoms glinted in the sunlight.

"Your dad gave you pokéballs?" the girl questioned excitedly. "Wow!"

"What? No," Lane muttered, quickly pulling the bag away. He pulled one of the shiny spheres out. "It's just a marble. But it totally looks like one, doesn't it?"

The older boy slapped the bag, making the glass marbles rattle. "Who cares about your stupid marbles?" Lane looked up from his marble and glared. "Especially when I got this beauty?" The other boy held up the group of cards in his hands and plucked one of them out, kissing it.

Lane threw the marble back in the bag, holding back a sigh at the lackluster reaction. "What is it?"

"This, baby!" After giving his oily, blond hair a cocky flick, the boy revealed the front of the card to Lane's curious eyes. On the card was a picture of a dragonite, a metallic sheen behind it. "Beautiful, ain't it?"

"You got another dragonite card?" Lane asked in disbelief. "And a metallic one, too!"

"Well, Laney Boy," at this, the boy wiped the front of the card on his mustard-stained polo to rid it of fingerprints, "I'll gladly trade you this card ... for the right price."

Immediately, Lane's free hand jumped to the back pocket of his jeans where he kept his collection of pokémon cards. He patted it and felt nothing. Well, crud. He forgot his collection. He could run home and get them – no, that wouldn't work. His friends wouldn't wait for him again, and the pudgy boy wasn't the most reasonable of people either.

Looking back and forth between his friends and his back pocket, Lane feebly pulled up his bag of marbles and sheepishly murmured, "I'll trade you your card for my marbles."

His friend laughed, fingers wiping at his nose. "Pathetic," he said, snorting. He plucked out a card from the stack and flung it at Lane. "But here, Midget. Since I'm such a nice guy and all, I'll let you keep this one." The boy scampered down the ramp, the girl following him, leaving Lane behind, staring at the fallen card. Big, wide eyes embedded in a tiny, blob-like body stared back up at him. A castform. Nothing special, and he had a few of them at home, too. He didn't know why he bothered to pick it up and pocket it. A card was a card was a card, he supposed.

Still, he couldn't help but whine as he chased after his friends heading toward the railing that served as a barrier between the land and sea. They were watching a ship leave the Canalave docks, blowing its horn as the drawbridge raised to let it out. He hopped on the curb and grabbed at the cold railing, leaning back. "C'mon, Francis," he begged. "You already have that card! You know how bad I want it!"

"Heck no!" argued Francis, his eyes cast forward toward the docks. Waves crash into the docks' wooden pillars. Boats that bobbed in the water reflected the sun.

"C'mon!" Lane whined again. "I'll do anything!" He should have stopped there. No good would come from this.

"Anything, huh?" the bigger boy sneered.

Lane gulped but nodded anyway.

"Okay, then." Francis hopped off the curb. He clapped the smaller Lane on the back, making him choke on saliva, and urged him forward. Shoes scuffing on dry concrete sounded. That one girl followed behind, annoyingly asking–in that annoying, high-pitched voice that only girls had–where they were going. Of course she was ignored, making her whine more.

The walk wasn't long. Francis stopped them in front of an old, rickety building, its shingle roof in shambles and its lawn unkempt. The fence–or what remained of it–surrounding the building was weather-worn, the wood splotched and splintered. One of the front windows was cracked and smudged while the other window was nothing more than a gaping hole, letting in whistling sea wind that pushed back dusty, red curtains.

"I dare you to open the door."

The old Harbor Inn, as Lane recalled. His dad told him that years ago, even before Lane was born, the Inn was a thriving, popular building which gave home to sailors stopped in town. But something happened to the old man who ran it (died, Lane figured), and ever since, the Inn had been shut down. People have tried to revive the building back to its lively state but rumor had that the building was haunted. Or maybe no one cared. Something like that.

"No way!" protested Lane, his voice almost squeaking. He jumped a bit at the sound of creaky hinges, marbles rattling in his pocket, and he quickly snapped his head to find the source. It was the old Harbor Inn sign that hung above the doorway of the building, the white paint flecked, bits of it resting in the grooves of the letters.

"Yeah, Francis!" begged the girl. "Don't make him do that! It's dangerous in there!"

"Quit your worryin', Julie." Francis glared at the girl before turning his attention toward Lane, a glint in his eye. "Do you want this or not?" He pulled out the dragonite card from his pocket and waved it back and forth in front of Lane's eyes.

"Don't do it, Laney!" pleaded Julie, tangled brown hair waving wildly in the ocean's gusts. "The ghosts will get you!"

Francis snorted. "Ghosts, Julie? Please."

Julie huffed, blowing up the bangs that teased her forehead. She crossed her arms, a slight wrinkle in her nose. "They exist, I swear! How can you explain why there's sometimes a light on inside there?" She let out another frantic gasp of breath, wild greens turning toward Lane. "Don't do it, Laney!" she repeated in a shrill voice, making Lane cringe. Small fingers wrapped around Lane's upper arm again, making him cringe again. "I won't let you!"

"For Arceus' sake, Julie. Get off him." Lane felt the girl's nails dig into his upper arm, which made him wrinkle his nose, as she desperately fought against Francis' grasp. His arm was getting more sweaty. Then cool air – she let go. Francis turned toward him and gave him a look that clearly said, "Go. Unless you're a chicken." If only his facial expression read, "Let's get pie!" He did enjoy pie.

Not wanting to displease or look like he was scared out of his mind (which he was, but whatever), Lane ignored the pleas of Julie and walked past the broken fence and up the cracked pathway toward Harbor Inn's porch, stepping over a trail of ants. The rickety door and its imperfections became clearer the closer he walked. He noted the cracks, jagged lines that zigzagged across the wood in no coherent pattern, and another chipped paint job, red flakes peeling off and revealing old oak. The doorknob was rusted over, its keyhole scratched at like someone before him dared, and/or was stupid enough, to enter the supposedly haunted building.

Another gust of wind – he wasn't sure if he shivered because of that or the butterfree that flew restlessly in his stomach. It was an emotion that suppressed the current dislike he had for Francis' dare, but all Lane could do was channel that nervous, jumpy energy to another physical source: the door.

His feet rested on the first concrete step that lead to the old inn's porch, and he turned his head, looking at his friends. Francis was edging him on and smirking – but that wasn't anything new. Julie, meanwhile, was watching him bug-eyed, biting at her pink nail-polished fingernails. Lane turned back toward the door and breathlessly pushed his legs up onto the porch, resting both feet firmly on the ground.

No ghosts. No motion. Nothing. He could do this.

Shaky hands and trembling fingers reached for the rusted doorknob. He jiggled it. Nothing ... again. The door remained locked and stood that way even after several years of neglect. A harder jiggle. Still locked. Two hands now? Nope. What if he leaned all his weight on the knob? Negative. Kicking? Kicking always worked. ... Nope.

Lane gave the door a final annoyed kick, leaving a footprint of his sneaker on it, before turning around and shrugging toward his friends. "It won't open!"

"Try harder!" Francis yelled back, waving the dragonite card tauntingly.

Determined to get that card out of Francis' stubby, sausage-like fingers (sausage-like fingers that were surely smudging the glossy sheen of the card), Lane turned around, spat on his hands, rubbed them together and attacked the doorknob again with vigor, eyebrows furrowed. He rammed into the door with his shoulder, the pound hurting more than helping the cause, but he continued to push into the solid wood anyway, hands still twisting at the knob. He focused on the broken window ahead, red curtains fluttering outside the frame in the sea breeze.

Then eyes. Sharp ones–blue ones–that peeked out at him from the corner of the broken window. Curtains fell back and eyes were gone.

Before he could register what the heck that was, a sharp pain shocked the hand holding the doorknob and ran through his arm. He jumped back, yelping, sucking at dirty fingers – thump! Something kicked from inside the inn! ... Wait. Nothing actually lives inside the inn, right – thump! There! The door! He was sure of it this time!

"What the?" Lane turned toward the door and knocked. More power, Lane. Weak knocks never get answered. Maybe if you knock repeatedly. Use the palm of your hand – no, the side of your fist. Knuckles will get you nowhere in life and neither will weak knocks. Your foot – kicking! Kicking is always the solution! ... Still nothing.

"There's someone in there!" Lane turned around, waving frantically to get his friends' attention, curiosity overwhelming his nervousness. "I think I saw someone through the window!"

"See!" Julie squealed. "I told you there were ghosts!"

Francis tuned out the high-pitched squeaks that poured out of Julie's mouth and focused on Lane who still stood on the ancient porch. "I swear to Arceus, Lane, if you go in there now, I will give you all the dragon pokémon cards I have."

All of them? Francis, known for his pokémon card collection at school, was bound to have all the good dragon pokémon cards. He craved them. He wanted them – badly. And he was already here anyway.

Since the door was locked and his frame was too weak to push down the door, the only way in would be through the broken window. Running a hand through his black locks, Lane jumped off the concrete porch back onto the unkempt lawn, some of the weeds reaching up to his knees. He brushed past them, amusedly thinking he was an explorer in the heart of the jungle as he kicked the weeds down, squishing them under his feet. He was tall, too, in this adventure and grew into jumbo ears. Crunch, crunch. Broken glass littered in the weeds, maybe?

He sneezed as another puff of wind blew. He felt the old velvet, his fingers picking up dust, making him sneeze again, and he peeled the heavy curtain back, peering inside.

The eyes again, like blue marbles embedded in ... nothing? No, it had a ... shape, sort of. Blob-like, but tall ... kind of fat. Dark–or was it because it was in the shadows? They stared at him–the eyes he meant–but the figure cowered in the corner of the dusty room. Clammy sweat. Piercing ... heart racing. Then a thought, a whisper – was it out loud? No, it was in his head.

I am watching you – wait. Why would he think that?

I know who you are. Know what?

I am coming for –

"Lane Eldritch! What in the world do you think you're doing?"

Everyday is a struggle. It's not your classic struggle to survive, no. It's a struggle of self-identification. I have to constantly remind myself of who I am and what my purpose is. In an attempt to make something of yourself, you tend to lose who you are – or the person whose intentions were once good.

It's pathetic, I know.

People are easily corruptible. Sex, power, money – people often use one to get another, and it becomes an endless cycle. For what, though? You never really go anywhere. It's like a drug. You just want more for some reason, and you'll do anything for it. But why? In the end, it means nothing.

I don't understand people. I really don't.

...

Age: Fourteen, possibly fifteen.

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[FONT=Vivaldi, cursive]Chapter Two[/FONT]
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[FONT=Vivaldi, cursive]I[/FONT]t was time to panic. Lane quickly turned around, dropping the curtain and letting it flap with nature, eyes wide. There, standing next to his friends who were also looking at the source of the screeching voice, was a snarling creature. Its eyes were narrowed into slits of fury, and long claws–okay, nails–were clenched into fists that rested next to powerful thighs disguised underneath the friendly facade of floral print.

The creature shouted, "You come here right now!"

"But Mom!" whined Lane, stamping his foot. "I saw–"

"Now, young man!"

A weird noise escaped Lane's mouth, a mixture between a growl and whimper, as he moved forward toward the fence, kicking down gnarled weeds, his head bowed down.

"Busted," snickered Francis as Lane exited the old inn's yard.

Lane Eldritch's mom, a usually pleasant woman, was furious, her hands on the waist of her skirt. In between her fingers was a plastic shopping bag filled with groceries. "Well?" she demanded.

"Well ..." her son murmured back, trailing off, eyes still cast to the floor. Dry, chewed up pieces of gum littered the ground almost decoratively.

"Look at me, Lane."

Meek blue met mad blue.

"... Francis said if I went inside, I'd get all his dragon pokémon cards!" Lane blurted out after his mom stared him down for a few seconds. There was something about his mom's stare that could make him say anything. The smaller boy averted his gaze from the bigger boy. He felt cold daggers coming his way.

"If Francis told you to jump off a bridge, would you?" his mother retorted.

Would he got pokémon cards if he did? Was there water under the bridge? Were they at a water park? Lane loved water parks.

Lane's mother took notice of Lane's dazed state. "Lane Adam Eldritch!" Uh oh. The middle name was thrown in the mix. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, Mom," he grumbled.

She didn't believe him. "You're coming home. Say goodbye to your friends." She grabbed Lane by the upper arm and pulling him with her, high heels clicking on pavement. "And don't think your dad isn't going to hear about this!"

Lane looked back toward his friends in horror and abject confusion, reluctantly following his mom across town. His friends' faces responded: shock and smirking satisfaction.

Did he mention how much he hated Francis?


His name is Lance.

No, forget Lane! Lane is gone! Lane and his big ears and short legs are not on this world! Lane, who is grounded and had all his video games taken away for a week for apparently intruding on "sacred ground" (whatever that means), is no more! He is Lance now, the greatest dragon pokémon tamer in all of Kanto–no, the entire world! A hero! All good heroes need capes. Where there's a cape, there's a hero. That's why Lance wore a cape, right?

Either way, Lane didn't care as he tied a blanket around his neck and bounced on his bed, making springs groan and creak with each bounce. He jumped off, landing gracefully on the shaggy, white carpet, and pointed up, yelling, "Use Dragon Rage, Dragonite!" before dropping to the floor and rolling around.

There was a time once where Lane's mom asked about her son's infatuation with dragons and Lance, the greatest dragon tamer in Kanto–no, the entire world!–and why he didn't look up to ... closer pokémon idols like, let's say, Cynthia, who was in the region and could be easily seen at a local event. (To be fair, Lane's mom was somewhat ... "surprised" about the cost of Lane's birthday present and the expensive train ticket that brought them to Kanto where Lane's almighty god in his sweet, sweet mortal flesh was, and Lane just had to see him because MOM HE'S BRINGING ALL THREE, YES THREE, DRAGONITE.) His response, filled with gasps and looks of horror was this: Cynthia's a GIRL, Mom! Besides, there are a multitude of reasons why Lance, the greatest dragon tamer in Kanto–no, the entire world!–is better than Cynthia. Lance, on his time off, fought bad guys. Literally, he kicked them out of the way. Awesome. Cynthia, on the other hand, researched myths. Pfft! Oh, and she didn't wear a cape. Lame.

"Are you going to talk to him?" whispered Lane's mom as she watched her boy.

"About why he was rolling on the floor or–"

The sly remark was returned with a light punch on a shoulder and a small smile as Mrs. Eldritch stepped back a bit to look her husband in the eye. A jolly man but tough, muscles barely contained by the sleeves of his shirt, though he was starting to get a little chubby around the belly. He returned his wife's affection with a laugh.

"Come off it, Alyson," he said quietly, regaining composure, his face basked in the slim, golden light coming out of Lane's bedroom. "It wasn't that big of a deal. Kids go in there all the time."

"Eldritch, he tried to climb through the window! This wasn't just a run to the door, knock, then run back sort of thing! He really was trying to go in! He could have gotten hurt! What if he got inside but couldn't get out? No one would know where he was!"

"He was with friends," Eldritch argued. He gently pulled his wife away into the shadows of the narrow hallway. "He would have been fine. He's a growing boy, Aly. He's going to get into trouble."

A cluck made its way out of Alyson's mouth. "I'm all for boys being boys but not when it could seriously hurt him. I was lucky that I was in the area."

"Relax, Aly. You've got to let him go sometimes. In two years time–"

"Don't," she interrupted. She looked toward Lane's partially open door. "Just don't."

"You know how bad he wants to be one."

"I know he does. And we both know I'm going to let him become a trainer once he does get his trainer's license. But I'd rather not think about it ... not until I absolutely have to."

The muscular man put his hands behind his neck and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I suppose." He paused, eyes gazing downward toward his wife. "You want me to talk to him?"

She nodded.

"About?"

"Just ... talk to him, really. Get him ready for bed, too. It's late."

Eldritch put his hand on Alyson's shoulder and lightly squeezed it before brushing past her and heading toward his kid's room where a bouncing Lane – or Lance, the greatest dragon tamer in Kanto–no, the entire world!–pulled the pillow off his bed and threw it toward the wall, cackling like a witch.

Lane turned toward the door as soon as Eldritch entered. "Who dare enters the great lair of Lance, the greatest dragon tamer of the Kanto – no! The entire world!" boomed Lane, a frightening creature clad in blue, cotton pajamas. He outstretched an arm that held a marble pokéball.

"I do! Prepare yourself!" proclaimed his father, running into the room, scooping up the pillow, and dashing toward a giggling Lane. Eldritch tackled into Lane with the pillow before picking him up and playfully (but carefully he would say to Alyson) threw him onto the bed. Lane growled and hopped onto his feet, but his father had other plans. He sat on the bed, making it groan from all the weight, and patted the space next to him. A shy Lane emerged from caped shoulders and marble-clutched hands, sitting next to his father, legs swinging across the side. He knew why his father was here.

"It wasn't my fault," the boy remarked after a few seconds of silence. He bowed his head, avoiding his father's gaze, choosing to stare at his bed covers. "Francis said if I went inside, he'd give me all of his dragon pokémon cards."

His father nodded.

"And I had to go in, Dad!"

"Had to?"

"Well ..." Lane fumbled with his words, fidgeting with the marble between his fingers. "Yeah! It was the only way Francis would give me his card!"

"And what is so special about this card?" asked Eldritch, ruffling Lane's hair with an affectionate palm.

Lane's nose scrunched up from the action. "Dragon pokémon are the best!" he proclaimed, swatting his father's hand away. "Real trainers are dragon pokémon tamers!"

A sly smile formed on Eldritch's face. "Real men are sailors."

"Daaaad ..." the boy whined. Lane, for as long as he could remember, was often told that by his dad. He had no idea why. Sailors didn't wear capes after all. "Dragon pokémon are awesome! They're so strong, and they look so cool!"

"Don't go judging a book by its cover, Lane." At this, Eldritch dug around his pocket and pulled out a pokémon card bent at the corners. "Strength can come in all shapes and sizes."

Lane eagerly took the card in his hands, but his smile soon dropped when he realized it was the castform card from earlier.

"I found those in your jeans when you threw them in the hamper."

"Oh," quietly replied Lane, fixing the bent corner of the card before stretching over and placing it and the marble on his nightstand. The friendly, big eyes of the castform stared up toward the ceiling. "Can you keep a secret, Dad?"

"Hmm?" Eldritch quickly snapped his head toward his son. Lane was beaming, his eyes shining in the light of his pokéball-shaped lamp. He wrapped an arm around Lane's shoulders and pulled him in comfortingly.

Lane looked at the door, then at his dad, then at the door again, eyes wide with excitement. "Well," he began in a low voice, "I saw something in Harbor Inn today."

Bugs? A bidoof? Another small smile made its way to his face as Eldritch asked, "What?"

"Eyes!"

What a weird response. Eldritch looked at Lane, a bit bewildered. "Eyes?" he repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

Lane nodded eagerly. "In the Inn, Dad! They were blue! I was going to check it out until–" at this he started to grumble, "–until Mom stopped me."

If Lane noticed the flash of worry that crossed his dad's face, it quickly disappeared. Eldritch gave his son's hair another ruffle. "Sounds like an exciting day."

"It was, Dad!" The boy bounced up and down on his bed, ruffling his sheets. "I wish stupid Francis gave me the card, though."

A small chuckle made its way through Eldritch's lips as he reached over and untied the blanket around Lane's shoulders, draping it across the bed. "Well, you can't have it your way all the time." He looked at the alarm clock on Lane's nightstand. Glaring red lights told him it was forty-six minutes past eight. "All right, kid. Time for bed."

An annoying whine but Eldritch expected it. "It's too early!"

"Bed," his old man repeated in a firmer tone. He stood up and walked around Lane, peeling back his comforter and looking down. Water pokémon on his son's bedsheets looked back at him. "Get in."

Begrudgingly, Lane obeyed, crawling, back arched, toward his pillows. He flopped onto his belly, muffling his whines before rolling onto his back, kicking the comforter back with socked feet. "You believe me, don't you?" he asked as he slipped into his sheets, resting his head against the pillows.

His father pulled the comforter back. "About the eyes?"

Lane nodded.

Eldritch brushed the bangs that teased his son's forehead. "Of course, Lane. Now night."

"G'night, Dad!" The boy snuggled into his sheets and turned toward the wall.

Taking a final glance at his son's back, Eldritch strolled across the room toward the door, flicking off the switch. The light of the street posts leaked through the blinds covering Lane's bedroom window, leaving a striped pattern of gold and shadow on Lane's small frame. He heard Lane squirm and wiggle, the bed creaking, but this wasn't uncommon; when awake, the kid was a ball of energy. The door creaked as he opened it (Eldritch made a mental note to take a look at it tomorrow) and exited, leaving the door open a bit as another source of light for Lane. As much as Lane protested that he wasn't afraid of the dark, the boy couldn't sleep without his door being slightly ajar.

Sailors liked to talk. A lot. Mostly about nothing. How was the trip? I heard it was stormy in Hoenn a few days ago; you make it back all right? How are the kids? Johnny got in trouble again, huh? When do you ship out again? Did you get some? Some what – oh! Heh. Maybe. But no one likes to hear about that. When sailors talk, the only thing people remember are the epic tales. That and hearty language. Stereotypes. Oh well.

Eyes. Eldritch took a few steps away from his son's room before pressing his back against the hallway's wall, filing through stories he retained in his head throughout the years. Eyes and the Inn. It sounded familiar. Some say the Inn is haunted. Any attempts to renovate were stopped due to some mishap. Or maybe no one cared. Something like that.

They were tales, the sailor reminded himself. Talk. That was all it was. Exaggerated talk. But eyes? Just eyes? What the hell did that mean?

"Eldritch? You okay?" With her arms wrapped around a basket of laundry, Alyson stopped in front of her husband and stared at him worriedly.

You should tell her. No. Aly wouldn't believe such crap. "Nothing," sheepishly replied Eldritch. "Just lost in my thoughts."

Alyson nodded, shifting her head to look at Lane's bedroom door. "Did you put him to bed?"

"I did."

"Good." She thrust the basket of laundry into the surprised arms of her husband. "Now come. I need help with the laundry." She heard him mutter something incoherent.

They walked past Lane's room. Alyson couldn't help but peer inside. She watched her boy wiggle like a worm, tossing about before he turned toward the door, the hallway light enveloping his face in a warm glow. It startled her how startled he looked.

She knew he was still mad at her, and the last thing he wanted was her getting cuddly and kissy all over his precious face. Still, she couldn't help but let it out: "I love you, Lane. Sweet dreams."

The boy smiled. "Night, Mom." Lane was getting older and therefore was embarrassed in saying the "L" word back to dear momma. It made Alyson a little upset at times. One day he would say it again. She kept those thoughts nestled in the back of her mind constantly.

It was now fifty seven minutes past eight, and Lane still couldn't sleep. He tossed and he turned before settling on his left side, staring out the window. Through the blinds he made out the night sky. Stars winked back at him. No moon, though. Or maybe there was a moon somewhere. Either way, he couldn't see it.

With one fidgety leg, Lane decided to kick a socked foot toward the wall, making loud thumping noises that traveled down the quiet hallway toward the living room where the married couple sat. That'll teach them. What, exactly, he didn't know.

Thump, thump, thump!

"Do you have work tomorrow?" asked Alyson. She reached over and pulled a t-shirt from the basket, folding it.

"Some paperwork. I should be home for dinner tomorrow."

Thump, thump! Eight fifty-eight.

"That's good." Alyson grabbed another shirt in the basket.

Unlike his wife, Eldritch carelessly folded a pair of jeans and haphazardly threw them toward the floor. He shrugged at the glare his wife gave him and reached for the remote control resting on the coffee table. His wife stopped him.

"Wait," she said over more thumps. "Not until he falls asleep."

Thump!

"Oh, who knows how long that will be. He seems restless tonight," Eldritch argued. Nevertheless, he sat back, leaving the remote where it was.

Thump ... thump ...

Alyson clicked her tongue. "That boy has too much energy. I wish he'd be a little quieter."

Thump ... Eight fifty-nine.

"Yeah, well ..." Eldritch shrugged again.

There was silence for quite some time as folding continued. The coo-coo clock rang nine times, the tiny spearow figuring popping in and out of its wooden confinement. The thumps ceased. Lane had fallen asleep and the television was turned on.

I like being alone. I'm not sure why. The solace maybe. I don't feel pressured to finish my projects. I'm better this way. I don't need anyone to help me.

I'm not sure why she's here. She slows me down. I function by doing things myself, by being alone. Everyone–mentors, gym leaders, anyone who had a sense of power over me–made me feel like no one can do a better job of taking care of yourself than yourself. If you want something done right, do it yourself, and don't you dare get connected to the people involved. When you start caring, when you start loving, when you start empathizing, you lose sight of the bigger picture. Such useless emotion ... It's illogical and irrational. I think someone told me that. I don't remember who.

...

Hair color: Dark blue
Height: Roughly five foot
Weight: Specimen wouldn't give me the chance to analyze this

~ ~ ~
[FONT=Vivaldi, cursive]Chapter Three[/font]
~ ~ ~

He went down the street. He was in Jubilife.

Why?

He wasn't sure. A lot of kids from school were walking in the opposite direction.

He was in the mood for ice cream.


"Lane!" shouted Alyson. "Come on! It's already eight and your breakfast is getting cold! You're going to be late for school!"

There was no response. No loud stomping. No doors creaking. No water running. Nothing.

Wiping damp fingers across her jeans, Alyson turned off the tap of the kitchen sink and shuffled across the floor. She kicked off her slippers as soon as she reached the carpet of her living room, letting her toes sink into its thickness, before heading down the narrow hallway. It was dusty in here, spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling, but with Lane being the handful that he is and a never-ending basket of laundry needing to be washed or folded ... Ah, it wasn't the time to think about what she had to do later. What important was now, and what needed to happen now was Lane's awakening.

She knocked–Arceus knows why; it was her home after all–before pushing the bedroom door back, the hinges squeaking, her mind making the note to tell Eldritch about the annoying noise. Lane was tucked into his sheets, his body rising and falling lightly as he breathed. Black bangs teased his eyelids (it reminded her that she needed to cut his hair), but he didn't seem to mind considering he was still, well, sleeping.

"Lane!" she said sharply. "It's time to get up! Let's go!"

Lane didn't respond other than the gently lifting and lowering of his chest.

She walked in further, stepping past toys thrown about his room. She peered over his body. His hands were outside the covers and stretched over his head, palms face up with fingers slightly curled. The sleeves of his flannel pajamas were pushed back to the elbow. Lips, dry, were partially open, showing the tips of his two front teeth.

Alyson bent down a bit and gently shook Lane by the shoulder. "C'mon, love. You've slept in long enough." She shook harder. If that didn't wake him up, nothing would.

... Nothing?

Frustration turned to nervousness turned to anxiety as she pressed two of her fingers against Lane's neck, looking for his pulse. She felt it beating, not too slow, not too fast. Normal, really – er, whatever a normal pulse was. It wasn't any different from hers anyway.

He would. He would pretend to be asleep so he wouldn't have to go to school and skip his spelling test today.

"All right, Lane," she said in a mock disapproving tone. She placed her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. "If you're not going to wake up in time for school, then I guess you get to stick around when Aunt Beatrice visits. She'll just love pinching those cute little cheeks of yours." Alyson smiled slightly. Lane was always afraid of his dear Aunt Beatrice. It might be the moles: they were a little hairy and uncomfortable to look at sometimes. The mock threat, though, went over Lane's head as he continued to sleep – or fake sleep. Whatever he was doing.

That biting anxiety continued to nibble at Alyson's inside, building its way up from her stomach to her throat. She felt his forehead – she wasn't sure why she did that. Foreheads don't tell you anything except if a person is too hot, and sure enough, he wasn't too hot. So why did she feel his forehead?

She racked her brain for answers, swallowing a lump in her throat. Coma? But ... but she saw him last night and he was just fine. Unless that thumping – did he hit his head? A concussion? No. Lane always kicks the wall when he's frustrated – being grounded is frustrating for a little kid, right? There's no reason to jump to conclusions. You're no doctor. But what else could it be if he wasn't responding?

Alyson walked around Lane's bed toward the window, fingers wrapping around the cord of the blinds. She pulled on them, letting sunlight pour into the room while keeping her eyes fixated on Lane. She saw it: twitching eyes, eyeballs rolling around in their sockets but were trapped underneath closed eyelids. It was like he was dreaming. So he was able to respond–sort of–but ... huh? What the hell was going on?

"Lane," she pleaded. She let go of the cord, letting it hit the wall. "Please wake up."

The boy simply grunted and rolled onto his side.

Lane wasn't good with playing along with jokes – at least for this long. He usually cracked after a while, the corners of his lips pulling into a smile and a quiet laugh peeping its way through. But there was no smile, no laughter. Just snores.

Alyson hurriedly ran toward the phone.


He was in the supermarket, the one at the corner, and he was going to buy some ice cream. The lady at the register pressured him–peer pressure, old lady pressure, tire pressure–to get candy, too, and he did like candy. So he got it. Why? Who knows. He didn't have money.

He was lured to the back of the store by the manager, and the manager adopted a baby girl from some place called Hoenn. He watched the adoption tape (there were a lot of palm trees), and where did the ice cream go? He was holding it. The candy was melting in his pocket into goop. Green, bubbly goop. The room had brown walls and was dark. The only light was the television. It was kind of cold. Smelled of fish. The manager was talking in gibberish, some awkward, cawing language.

He was back home–no, not his home but his neighbor's. He switched homes with his neighbor, but it looked like his house except the kitchen was to his left instead of the right. He went to the backyard. Aipom heads in ice bordered the garden, and in the heads were knives sticking through the eye sockets. Bizarre, though the oran tree was still there.

A starly crashed into the glass door and caught on fire.


Ropes are heavy. Don't ever let someone tell you they're not because they are, and if they tell you ropes are light, then you tell them they're liars. Really. Straight up. Especially when they're coiled and several are stacked upon each other – the ropes, not the people. But Eldritch was a man, and no rope was taking him down today. Fight the good fight against the rope. Justice will prevail another day ... assuming rope is evil.

He dropped the rope (serves it right!) in a pile on the wooden docks before wiping his brow and turning around to stare at the ocean. It was a nice day: breezy but thick. Did that make sense? Thick wind? The oceans were calmer than usual, too. Were they thick as well?

Still, despite the cool weather and thick wind, sweat trickled down his neck. It bothered him, but he tried to ignore it, climbing up the ramp leading up to the small ship he was maintaining. Its metal surface glinted in the morning sunlight. Wooden floorboards were spotless. Sails stood tall. Perfect. It was going to be a boring day; he had been assigned for local work, shipping people back and forth between the various islands that dotted Sinnoh's seas. He had preferred it for a while, though; he missed his boy quite a bit on his last trip to the Sevii Islands. But he was sure his itch for adventure would come biting sooner or later.

Eldritch looked up, watching the wingull circle above as they squawked. It was going to be a slow morning. Trainers–lazy trainers–didn't appear until noon or so where he would ship them to Iron Island. That was the more popular destination, Iron Island, as it had tough terrain trainers liked to make their pokémon tackle. God, hit that rock, Onix! or whatever. The other islands were peaceful but nothing much was on them. God, hit that flower, Onix! just didn't have the same ring.

"Eldritch!" A voice broke through the squawks. Eldritch snapped his head down to see a co-worker running on the docks, one of his arms waving him down frantically.

"Hey, Jason!" Eldritch hollered back heartily, grinning. Jason was such a funny character. Such a tall and gawky creature with arms that easily hung at the knees when he stood up straight. Okay, so he over-exaggerated – sue him. He was always oily looking, too. Jason, he meant. Eldritch never questioned why. That would be rude, and he had bigger issues to worry about, like saving the world from rope.

Jason was particularly oily today, sweat glistening off his forehead. He stumbled by tripping over his sneakers but quickly regained balance with a flail of thin limbs, stopping and panting near the boat Eldritch was standing on.

"What's your problem?" asked Eldritch playfully, leaning on the metal railing. He rested his chin on his fists.

"Not ... my ... problem ..." Jason managed to pant out, rolling back the sleeves of his jacket. "... Yours."

"Yeah, I suppose." The young father gave one of his charming grins. Then he blinked twice. "Wait, why?"

"Your son."


Black. Maybe it was for an hour. A minute. A second.

He was on a boat with his dad wearing a cape – no, he was wearing the cape, not his dad. A huge magikarp jumped over the boat, and he shouted, and the magikarp opened his mouth, and smaller magikarp flopped onto the boat. He was up to his knees in flailing magikarp, and his dad laughed. He grabbed a magikarp by its tail and threw it at his dad's head, and he ducked. His dad, not him.

The sky was purple, he noticed, blueish-purple, like right after the sun had set below the horizon. He reached into his pockets for his marbles but color pencils came out instead. The boat was filled with magikarp, and they flopped into the sea with a splash. It got him wet. They landed on a sandy island, boat scraping the shore, and on the island were crawdaunt that were green.


"What do you mean he won't wake up?" He opened the door of his home, making the white shutters covering the windows quiver, and stormed inside, not caring that he was trekking dirt onto the carpet his wife worked hard on to keep clean. Alyson grimaced.

"I tried everything." Alyson matched Eldritch's long strides down the hallway toward Lane's bedroom.

"Are you sure he isn't kidding? He has that spelling test today." One of Eldritch's arms accidentally knocked down a picture hanging on the wall, but the married couple stepped past it. "You know how he acts when he has a test."

"If it's a joke, he's been at it for a while." Alyson stepped forward and pushed open Lane's bedroom door where the sleeping boy resided, still cozy in his covers. Eldritch stopped, staring, before stepping inside the room. "I think something is wrong."

"Well, obviously." He cringed at his bitter tone. "Lane!"

Lane's nose twitched.

"Well, he responds to things like sleeping people can do sometimes," Alyson murmured. "His eyes twitched at sudden amounts of light hitting him, he swatted at his face when I ran a feather across it ... But he just won't wake up."

Eyes in the Inn. Why the hell are you thinking about myths now?

Eldritch looked back and forth between his sleeping son and worried wife, heart racing. He finally decided to pick up his son, blanket in tow. "Come on," he urged, walking swiftly toward the door. Aly was on his heels. "We're taking him to the hospital."


More black? Was it for a day? A millisecond?

He was at school, and he was practicing pokémon battling with one of the school pokémon. It was a bidoof, but it kept crying out, "Budew budew budew." He was inside his classroom for some reason instead of on the field. Things kept slipping through the cracks of the doors: flowers, paper cranes, paper dolls.

"Hey, some guy left a crane in the room. Did you find it?"

Yeah. The crane was brown nor did it look like a crane but a rotten banana peel. He didn't know how to imagine a crane. He slid it back under the door.

GIRLS ARE CROWDING AROUND – the girls are taller! Why did he shrink? He was the size of an ant, and he ran toward the bidoof and climbed on it and away they ran ran ran, but he never got the chance to get his trainer's card–

"Laneyyyy!"


Nothing was wrong with him. They ran tests for a day and a half so far and nothing had come up. Eldritch had never felt so frustrated – or tired for that matter. He ran his hands through his hair before running his fingers down his face, feeling the black stubble poking out around his chin. He rubbed his eyes.

Someone gently clasped a hand around his shoulder, making him jump. "Take a nap. Please," Alyson pleaded. "He'll be fine. I'll watch him for both of us."

"Lane would hate it here," he murmured. Hospital decor was plain: white walls, white tiles, white bedsheets. They allowed Lane to wear his pajamas, a vibrant blue against the white. The room was, dare he say, boring. Eldritch ripped his eyes away from Lane to look out the window. It was dark already, golden light from street posts pouring into the room. He saw his reflection in the clear glass. Damn, he looked worn out. He needed a shave.

"I'm not sure how to say this," he remembered the doctor telling him earlier. "We ran tests but we cannot find anything ... unusual. He really is just sleeping. We'll keep him here to monitor and to run tests, but I'm not sure what else we can do."

He's okay, right?

"In the stable sense, I suppose. There is obviously something wrong; we're just not sure what."

This can't be the first case.

"We suspect a pokémon has something to do with it. A human falling under a pokémon's hypnosis spell has happened before. Inhaling sleep-inducing spores is common, too."

What are you saying? A pokémon is the reason for this?

"It's plausible. We're asking for the opinion of people who specialize in sleep-inducing pokémon."

What can they do? They're not doctors.

"If it is a pokémon causing your son's sleeping state, then they'd know better than us."

Lane isn't a pokémon.

"I know. But, again, if it is a pokémon causing this, then they'd know better than us."

But you're a doctor. You have to know–

"Eldritch!"

Eldritch blinked as Alyson snapped her fingers in front of his face. "What?"

"You dazed out on me. Go home."

"I'm fine," he muttered. He jumped up from the stool near his son's bed and strode across the room, collapsing into one of the stiff armchairs. He tapped his foot, staring at the heart monitor, listening to its beeps and watching the green line rise and fall. He leaned forward, digging his elbows into his thighs, resting his fallen head into his hands. "I'm fine."

"You just said that." Alyson took Eldritch's spot, sitting on the wooden stool and squirming, trying to get comfortable. She reached through the metal rails and lightly pressed her hand against Lane's tinier one. His hand was warm, and while it made her smile lightly, it brought little comfort to the beautifly in her stomach. She wrapped her hand around his fingers and squeezed gently.

"Well, I am. I'm fine."

"You're tired."

"I'm fine."

"Fine." She looked at her husband. "And he's fine, too."

"Fine."

"Go to bed."

"No."

"You're being stubborn."

Eldritch stuck out his tongue.

"And childish."

"A little. And fine my ass, Aly."

She glared.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"How come no one here knows what's wrong with him? How come no one seems to be trying anything anymore?"

"Who else is there, Eldritch?"

"I don't know. Have you called God yet?"

"Your sarcasm woos me."

"I am quite the charmer."

She ran a thumb down the smooth skin of Lane's hand, running it past his knuckles and resting it on his nails. A lock of wavy hair fell into her eyesight. "They're trying, Eldritch. Keep positive. For me. For yourself. For Lane."

"I'm trying. It's just ... is there nothing we can do?" He racked his brain for answers, trying to review today's events, fingernails scratching his scalp. "There has to be an answer somewhere."

Yes, humans have fallen asleep by cause of pokémon, Eldritch. It's quite common, really. We can either wait for the spell to wear off–this takes a couple of days–or we can try to counter the effects with different medication. This varies, depending on how your son was attacked. The most common way a human falls asleep due to a pokémon is via spores, such as sleep powder.

"Medication, Nurse Joy?" he murmured quietly. "The doctors gave Lane a shot earlier, but it had no effect."

Yes, that would be it. Next would be via audio, such as sing or grasswhistle. This one is a little bit trickier, but the effects usually wear off.

"I don't think so." His voice got louder though still inaudible to his wife's ears. "I guess it's possible, but I'm sure my wife and I would have heard something last night if that were the case. He was just down the hallway."

Well, if he is still in a sleeping state after a few days, then we'll know it's not from an audio attack. Neurological attacks, such as hypnosis, aren't as common though quite possible. Perhaps some sort of pokémon put your son under a spell.

"That sounds likely, but I'm not too convinced. Are there any pokémon in the Canalave area that use hypnosis against humans?"

Not many. But let's keep it in mind. It's a little more complicated to snap a human out of a hypnotic state, but it can be done.

"Thank you, Nurse Joy."

"Who are you talking to?" asked Alyson, staring at her husband.

Eldritch blinked a few times. "I was talking out loud? I thought that was in my head."

She sighed. "Go home. Come back in a few hours after you get some sleep."

"I'm–"

"Fine?"

"Mhm."

She stood up and reached over, sweeping the bangs out of Lane's eyes and cupping his chin in her hand. Lane was such a peaceful sleeper. She looked around – her husband was right; Lane would hate it here. It needed more ... color, more vibrancy. She needed to clean it, decorate it, make it her own.

"Why is everyone so sure it has to do with a pokémon anyway?" he asked. "Or that a pokémon can help? Lane isn't a pokémon."

"It's keeping your options open, Eldritch."

"He's not a pokémon," he repeated.

"I know. You're grumpy. You need sleep."

"No. You go home and sleep."

"I did. It's your turn."

"I'm not leaving."

"It's only for a few hours. A clearer head will help you think."

"I'm thinking just fine."

His wife gave another all-knowing sigh and slowly stood up, the folds of her skirt flowing downward. White, sandaled feet crossed the cold linoleum toward him, leather bands stringed and crossed around her ankles like some sort of Greek goddess. Fair, brown hair, slightly curled, framed her face. No profound wrinkles, though worry tugged at her lips and rested in the crinkles at the edge of eyes.

Young, he thought, too young to be worried about an eight year old child. He was, too. But with Eldritch often out at sea, dare he say his homecomings were ... well receptive. It was almost cliché, thinking about his love life. A young woman waiting for him at home, hands clasped against her chest and hair blowing wildly in the wind as she stood on a cliff (or something – Canalave had no major cliffs) while he was off doing god-knows-what. In a romantic world, he would be fighting pirates, (but in all reality he was probably negotiating with other regions about goods), thinking about her – and no, he had no lock of her hair in a pocket watch, though he did keep her picture in his wallet that was bent and faded due to the seawater.

How could he say it politely? Lane was a ...

Well ...

When he came home and she told him she was pregnant, he was in utter ...

Yeah.

It gave him another reason to come home in one piece. He wasn't sure if he liked that as horrible as it sounded out loud – or in his head. Tied down with wife and child ... Wasn't that the reason he became a sailor, to travel? To escape that?

He loved his wife. He always would no matter what. He knew that things were tense between them lately. Fights, arguments, disagreements ... however you want to phrase it. They were more frequent, more intense, but held behind closed doors. What did they even fight about? Things just happened too fast, he supposed.

The calmness she radiated scared him a little. She would normally be stressed out beyond belief (she was such a neurotic lady) but she was quite mellow, relaxed. It was weird. "Eldritch," she said in a quiet voice, finger wrapping around the cord of the blinds.

He looked up from the armchair. "Hmm?"

"You smell awful."

"Thanks."

She smiled. "At least shower."

"Fine."

"Good."

He got up, his rear impressed into the cushion of the armchair, and stretched his arms up, cracking his knuckles in the process. Sneakers squeaking across the floor, he walked past Lane's bed, giving it a look–not a look of worry or despair, mind you, but pure curiosity–and toward the heavy door, hands grasping the cold handle and turning it where even more silence greeted him. Whispers: "There's Eldritch, Lane's father," from nurses, custodians, doctors even.

"Poor guy," he heard.

The smell of disinfectant tickled his nostrils. Hospitals were always so cold. Was the air conditioner on full blast? Was it the circumstances of the place that made it cold – and hushed for that matter? Yet at the same time it was stuffy, like the hospital was waiting on bated breath, not breathing but hoping.

Doors swished and he stood outside near a concrete fountain, observing it for some reason – or maybe he enjoyed the sound of splashing water. Canalave was a quiet town, pushed to the side and surrounded by sea, leaving little room to escape. That was the first thing he noted when he came to town: ships and sea and nothing more. It was its own world, functioning independently from the rest of the region, able to provide for itself. Its own stores, its own hospital, its own library, its own port – hell, its own beliefs, stories, myths. Sure, there were visitors but rarely anyone came back. All the locals knew each other. It was a take-it-or-leave-it kind of town. It's hard to handle it if you don't like your life being pried into.

Needless to say he was surprised when he flicked his brown eyes from the fountain to the life past the railing he was gripping onto and saw someone he remembered years ago stomp down the pavement. A trainer. Trainers come for one purpose (Iron Island to hit rocks–not flowers–with onix if you forgot) and that was the end of it. They don't return, especially not him. Out of all trainers, he must have something more important to do than visit the small town.

The trainer was talking with some whiny girl in a mumbled tone, eyes cast toward the floor as he tugged at his scarf. The girl let out a shriek at something he said, pounded the floor with her boot, and stopped, but the boy kept walking, so she chased after him. Their stomps got louder as they approached him, and they were about to pass him by when Eldritch yelled, "Hey!"

The boy stopped and looked up, unflinching in the chilly breeze. The girl, meanwhile, let out a whimper, grabbing at her upper arms and running her hands up and down the goose-bumped skin.

"Hey," he replied, staring. "Uh ... Eldritch, right?"

"It's cold!" the girl whined. She tugged at his shirt sleeve. "C'mon!"

He snapped his head toward the side and sighed. "You didn't have to come. Rowan asked me to–"

"And I AM Rowan's closest researcher," she said in a haughty tone, arms crossed.

"That's by choice – you could leave Sandgem, you know." He brushed her off, ignoring her fuming, and turned around to face the sailor again. "It's nice to see you," he said politely.

"Back at ya, kid." The cold wind that whipped around his jacket awoke Eldritch from his sleep-deprived state. "How's that riolu?"

"Good. He's growing strong. He evolved, actually," he replied.

Another question: "So what brings you round these parts again?"

Gripped in between the boy's hands was a package wrapped in brown paper. He held it up. "Delivery," he murmured. "Rowan asked me to drop it off. I think they're just research packets for the library."

"I could have done it," muttered the girl, staring at the ground. "By myself, too."

He ignored this, dropping his hands to his sides, fingers still wrapped tightly around the package. "Still a delivery boy for the old man after all this time." Another soft sigh. He looked up, noticing they were standing in front of a hospital. "Hey ..." he trailed off. "What about you? Why are you here?"

His heart dropped. For a moment, Lane's state slipped from his mind. "Troubled times ahead, kid."

This caught the girl's attention. "What's wrong, sir?"


"Did you hear me?" Giggle. "I said wake up! I said your name!" Another giggle.

Something bopped him on the forehead.

"I saw you move! I swear I did! Wake up!"

Another bop.

Lane grunted, rolling onto his belly. Wet. What the? Why wet? Oh, god ... Did he pee the bed again? No, it was wet all over. Cold, too. Spiky, like wet grass. Fingers stretched away from each other, grasping the floor – yep, definitely wet grass.

Weird.

"See! I was right! You're moving!"

It was going through his pajamas–er, the wetness, not the voice, though he figured that could be debated–and his eyes flicked open, blurry. He was on his stomach. It smelled fresh like after a rainstorm. Another bop, this time harder, right in the back, and he yelped, pushing himself up onto his knees. He ran his fingers across the front of his jeans, wiping off blades of grass. His eyesight became clearer. There were trees. Dead trees, but they were waving. At least that's what he thought. Maybe it was tiredness – er, him, not the trees. Or were they tired, too? He could not read tree or talk tree for that matter, so he couldn't ask Tree if it was tired. He could mime tree, maybe.

Did trees have genders?

A gasp, followed by squeals of delight.

"I did it!"

Then a thought. A horrible thought.

He was going to be late for school. And he had a spelling test today!

Please tell her to go away.

Arceus?

Dialga?

Mom?

No, really. I have dealt with crazy men, fought against some of the strongest pokémon in the region, went to places that any ordinary trainer wouldn't be able to survive in for a day, let alone weeks, and my downfall is going to be this ... this thing? Some girl who I swear to GOD is trying to get into my pants? Cocky? Maybe. No pun intended.

There has to be a reason why she's so nosy, why she's all up in my business. She wants to know me again. Why? The observer does not need to be the observed. There is no deep meaning to me, no inner trauma that needs to be brought up. So butt out, woman.

The faster I figure this out, the faster I can get the hell out of this place and away from her.

...

Eyes: dark blue
Bipedal
Supple, though clumsy

Note: Buy milk for breakfast tomorrow

~ ~ ~
Chapter Four
~ ~ ~

Good morning!" she said cheerfully.

He stared at her, unamused. She stood next to him, a cup of coffee in each hand.

"I said good morning," she repeated in a sterner tone, her eyes fixated on him.

"And I said nothing," he replied, still staring.

She broke the awkward gaze by turning her attention toward the cups of coffee that were warming up her hands. She set them down on the table. "I got you coffee. I thought it'd be nice to have something warm to drink."

He turned his head back toward his work, tapping his pencil on the table. "I didn't ask."

"Yeah, but it's nice, no?"

He didn't reply, flipping through the pages of a heavy book. Dawn set the cups on the table, pulled back the chair next to Lucas and plopped herself in it. She scooted the chair back in, making its legs squeak across the wooden floorboards. He gave her a glare–so cold–before snapping his head back down. So she gave her cup of coffee a warm smile instead and pulled it in comfortingly, wrapping her fingers around it and breathing in the steam.

His name is Lucas. Did you know that? Dawn knew. She taught him how to catch a pokémon, you know. He was such a nice boy, and he had such a nice smile. Such a helpful kid. He helped find her pokédex once. This was years ago. They were only eleven then – kids! Now they were older–fourteen, almost fifteen ... where does time go?–and he had changed into ... whatever that thing is.

Oh, he looked the same, sure. Blue eyes. Black hair. Weird hat. Red scarf. (She always thought it was cute that they both had red scarves.) He was kind of pale and on the gawky side since he hit a growth spurt. He was so much colder, though. A hardened face, hunched shoulders, and bags under his eyes – too young to look so old. Mom said apathy was worse than ignorance. With ignorance, you just don't know. With apathy, you know ... you just don't care. That's what Lucas was, apathetic and ...

Emotionless?

Maybe. There was still a spark, a twinkle, he had back when they were rookies. Something was ... different. Maybe she imagined that spark. It was discomforting seeing what was once an empathetic child turn into nothing more but an asexual shell. He changed. She wasn't sure if she liked it. Was that what you turned into after three years of journeying?

"How's it going?" she asked sheepishly.

"Fine," was Lucas's stiff reply as he scribbled inside his notebook. He reached for a book placed in front of him and flipped a page forward.

She guessed he was mad at her. It wasn't her fault, honest! ... Okay, so what if she, after meeting Eldritch and learning of his predicament, offered her help? And so what if she immediately mentioned that "Lucas would like to help, too!" resulting in a death glare from the boy? And does it really matter that she forced him, via Professor Rowan, to postpone his travels for another week ... or two ... or four?

Surrounded by books ... this was his thing, wasn't it?

She decided to ask. She knew the answer, but she decided to ask anyway. "Are you mad?"

"I don't get mad," was his quick reply.

"Well, do you need help?"

"No," he answered. He pulled the book in closer, his left hand resting on the pages. It was like he was trying to avoid looking at her. Goddammit, she was pretty! She needed to be looked at!

Dawn let out a huff. "There must be something I can do!"

Lucas let out a sigh, stretching his arms above his head, fingers wrapped around his pencil. "You can be quiet," he said, dropping his hands back down and tapping the eraser end in a steady beat.

"I'm a researcher, too!" she whined, tugging at the ends of her dark blue hair. "I can help, you know!"

"Uh huh."

It was Dawn's turn to let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm not as annoying as you think."

"Right."

"Whatever!"

A small smirk–emotion?–that quickly vanished as Lucas scribbled in his notebook. Dawn tucked her legs underneath her rear, making sure to pull down on her skirt so Lucas wouldn't see more than he needed to (not that he cared), and raised herself up to peer over the boy's shoulder. Words. A lot of words in an illegible cursive that swirled and blurred together into fancy language. She narrowed her eyes, staring at the chicken scratch, trying to unwrap the text into something coherent.

"Does that say, 'Buy milk for breakfast tomorrow'?" she asked.

Lucas pulled his notebook away from the girl's view. "No," he muttered.

Dawn lifted her hands up and pulled out one of her barrettes, letting the loose strands brush against her cheek. "Can you at least tell me what you think is going on?" She bunched her hair together and clipped it back tighter.

"Mm ..." He licked his lips. "I don't think Nurse Joy was far off. A severe case of hypnosis or other sleep-induced pokémon attack sound plausible. Maybe the best hope is to wait it out."

So that's why he was so enthralled with that status effects book. "So you think it has something to do with pokémon?" she asked.

"Not unless something darker is going on in that household."

"What are you saying?" She frowned. "You think Mr. Eldritch had something to do with it? Don't say that. He's such a sweet man."

"Well, it's not that I want to say it nor do I think he would. But you never know." Lucas shrugged and turned the page, revealing a drawing of a drowzee. "Canalave–this south-western area, really–doesn't have many pokémon capable of learning sleep-inducing moves naturally. If there are any, most pokémon use it under threat."

"Are there varying levels of sleep-induced attacks? Like effectiveness?"

He paused, then nodded. "Air-borne attacks spread via spores, like sleep powder, are much more quite effective and common in the wild because of its ability to travel over greater distances. That being said, it is not necessarily strong."

"What about audio?"

"Audio isn't as powerful since other noises can drown it out. It's definitely not as effective as spores."

"So maybe it's audio. Bird pokémon have moves like Sing and can travel great distances even if they're not common in the area."

"It's possible–" This made Dawn smile triumphantly. "–but then again, the victim usually awakens after a hour or so. I'm not ready to rule audio out, though. Same goes for air-borne spores."

Dawn nodded slightly and pulled Lucas's book towards her, staring at the drawing. "So what else is there?" she asked, staring into the being's beady eyes. "Visual?"

"Yes. This, too, can vary. Yawn, for example, is visual. The user yawns, resulting in a chain reaction that eventually lulls its opponent to sleep. Then you also have moves like Hypnosis which are powerful but inaccurate."

"So maybe Lane saw a pokémon using Yawn and the attack hit him later that night?"

"I mean – well, yeah, that could ..." Frustrated, Lucas took off his hat and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. "Sleep Powder, Spore, Yawn, Hypnosis, Grasswhistle, Lovely Kiss, Sing ... All of these, to an extent, are 'curable,' but nothing has worked. So what could it be?"


Lane scrambled to his feet, toes sinking into the wet grass and, to put it simply, panicked.

"Aw, man!" Hands brushed past elf-like – er, huge ears to the top of his head. He rested them there, flattening unruly strands of hair. He paced back and forth. "Momisgoingtokillme. Iwokeuplate! Test!"

He kicked a rock with his bare foot and grabbed the band of his jeans, pulling them up so they fit snugly around his waist. "I'm already doing bad in spelling! Why do I need to learn how to spell 'rainbow'?! That's such a stupid word!"

Squish floated toward him and gave him a half-smile. "What's wrong, Lane?" he asked.

"My test, Squish! My mom is going to kill me if she knows I woke up late!"

"Oh, it'll be okay!" said Squish. He nudged Lane in the head with his own squishy one and giggled.

Lane let out a sigh as his companion oozed out rainbow drops. Squish turned into a cumulus cloud, puffy and fluffy–which Lane wanted to grab and form into another shape–with two watery eyes, except his coloring was highlighter yellow, not white; and he meant the clouds, really, because eyes? They are mentioned too often and in weird descriptors, like orbs, or spheres. Wonder why? But either way, he was being honest and true, like a dart, if darts were honest and had feelings and were not just weapons to be thrown. Also, nun-chunks are weapons.

Squish squeaked and came to rest on Lane's unruly hair, letting out a sigh. Moisture seeped through the creature's body and pooled into Lane's hair. He felt a drop of rainbow water run down the side of his forehead like sweat.

"What brings you to Darkwood?" asked the squishy one.

Darkwood was a place in the middle of another place. It had trees and also creatures.

"I'm not sure," admitted Lane, feeling the top of his head and pressing his fingers against Squish's form. His finger sank in, getting wet. "What about you? What are you doing here?" He pointed his head up toward the sky. It was dark blue and wavy. There was also the sun, a darker orange that Lane didn't remember.

"Princess went missing," was what he heard.

Lane blinked a few times. "Princess ..." he repeated, trailing off. "What happened to her?"

"Kidnapped, Lane!" squealed Squish fretfully and quickly, quivering on top of Lane's head. He floated off the boy after a few seconds and came within his line of vision. Lane noticed the being's fluffy form turned into a droopier one, and his mellow yellow turned into a gloomy gray. "I was running away from the explosion and came across you sleeping."

Questions, so many questions, and where to begin? You must start with the most important one. You came here unaware that life lessons would be passed unto your breast, but they came, and now you are a better person because of it. "What about my test?" Lane first asked.

"Postponed," said Squish. He motioned his entire body toward more trees, trees of no gender, that were brown and dead. "The explosion was in that direction."

"Explosion? From what?"

Squish's eyes focused on the sky. "There." He motioned his head.

Lane was confused. Was it the sky or the trees he was suppose to be mad at?

"There was a bright light that fell from the sky and BOOM!" The creature dramatically floated toward the ground like a twirling leaf in the wind, his form reverting back to its original state: a gray, shapeless blob with two, blue eyes (orbs, mayhap!). He giggled, rolling onto his back so he could look up at Lane. "Princess was there! The light hit her, and she vanished!"

Lane plopped into the grass, the wetness dampening the bottom of his pants, and picked Squish up who drooped and oozed between his fingers like silly putty. "Princess," he repeated for the second time, this time thoughtfully.

A whirring noise–the grinding of metal against metal–caught Lane's attention, making him stand up and look. Bubbles floated toward him and popped against his face, making him flinch. The land rattled, so he held Squish tighter in his hand and ran toward the source of shaking. He brushed past the genderless trees, the air cold and cutting against his dry face, and he smelled the sea – but too bad there was none near. Or so he thought ...

No, he was right. No ocean. There was a train, though!


Dawn had a piplup: bipedal, roughly a foot high, and weighing in at eleven and a half pounds, give or take a few ounces. Its ability is Torrent, which increases the power of the pokémon's water-based moves when low on health. Its evolution is prinplup, who evolves into empoleon. The breed is terrible at walking but are powerful swimmers. They often puff out their chests as they are a prideful species.

Dawn's piplup was puffing out his chest. Also, he was annoying.

"Move your damn bird," Lucas growled, pushing the piplup away with his left hand. The piplup, with an unhappy chirp, deflated and flapped his wings to gain stability only to fall backward. He hopped back onto his wobbly, yellow flippers and poked at the books sprawled out in front of the researcher. Lucas looked up from his notebook to stare at the bird, and the bird smirked–or as good as you could smirk with a beak–filling his chest with air and puffing out again.

"Oh, he's just interested in what you're doing. Pip is such a curious, little guy." Dawn grabbed for the chick and hugged him to her chest, and the piplup cooed, nuzzling against her breast. The bird turned his eyes toward Lucas, and – good god he better have imagined that. That bird DID NOT just glare at him evilly as he pressed the side of his face against Dawn's bosoms. "Be nice to him. He'll warm up to you once you get to know him better."

Warm up, huh?

"I don't even see why you need to have him out," Lucas said, eyes returning to the safety of his notebook. "And why hasn't that thing evolved yet? You've had him for years."

"You know as well as I do that some pokémon don't want to evolve," Dawn replied. "Why? I don't know. You tell me. Maybe you can figure it out. Either way, Pip doesn't want to evolve, and I don't mind." She smiled and petted her pokémon's head affectionately.

Lucas watched the bird once more, this time out of sheer observation than annoyance. Pip wiggled out of the arms of Dawn and toddled around on the barely-clothed thighs of his trainer, the tip of his slipper slightly underneath the pink cloth of Dawn's skirt. How sweet. How angelic. How innocent the movement of lifting his flipper slightly, shifting Dawn's skirt. How convenient that the piplup's head was pointed down at that moment. It became apparently clear why the piplup refused to evolve. It was cute to be a pervert when you were under a foot tall. Once you become fat, and chubby, and older, and pimply (or prinpuply, if you want to make it a lame pokémon pun), the police are called.

Good god this girl is stupid. What Lucas–and any other normal human being with the semblance of a brain–saw as perverted action, she saw as cute, sweet, ooey-gooey, kissy motion.

He was tempted to tell her, but he had doubts that she would believe him.

With a sigh, Lucas reached up and took off his hat, letting the ceiling fans dry off the sweat that built up on his forehead. He looked toward the window and watched a flock of wingull fly by in a crooked v-formation. "Enough distractions," he murmured, staring down toward his markings and putting his hat down next to it. "Do something. Particularly something that does not involve me."

Dawn picked Pip up and pinned him against her stomach as she stood up, boots scuffing the wooden floorboards. Shelves and shelves of books, she thought, and all of them boring as heck. Her eyebrows slightly furrowed together, and she used her free arm to run a gloved hand down the dusty tomes. No gossip magazines? No histories of trainers? Just boring data collected over the years and shuffled into leather hardbounds? Must Lucas pick the most boring floor to reside on?

Ah, a good book finally. Pokémon Myths and Legends. The title was simple, yet it effectively caught Dawn's attention. She pulled it out, sending up dust that made her nose twitch and Pip sneeze and jump out of her hold to waddle on the floor. It was out of place unless they were in some bizarre library universe where the alphabet went A, B, L, C, D. Wait! It made sense now! This is why Lucas wanted to study on this floor! He wanted his name to be in front of the alphabet! The fiend! The devil!

Wait. Aren't books organized by last name? What was Lucas's last name? And hell. What powers could you possess by messing with the alphabet? If you acquired a power that everything you touched turned into chocolate simply by messing with the alphabet, Dawn would do it. She totally would.

"Lucas, what's your last name?" she asked, laying the book flat on the palm of her left hand and flipping the cover over with her right. She leaned on her left leg, popping her hip.

"How 'bout no?" he muttered, turning a page.

"That makes no sense."

Lucas didn't reply, making Dawn sigh for about the hundredth time that day. The boy was a frustrating creature, yet he really didn't do anything to bother Dawn in the first place. Maybe that was the problem. All he did was sit and read and write. He didn't like to joke around, let alone talk.

Now let's be honest here. Like dart honest. As much as Dawn wanted to help the Eldritch family solve their problems, there wasn't much that she really could do other than regurgitate the same information those in the medical field already knew. The chances of her solving this mystery were slim to none. Her credentials? She barely had any. Oh, right. She was Rowan's apprentice for the last three years. Had she learned anything? Outside the useful tip here and there, and a memory or two that she will tell her future kids (two boys, one girl, two years apart in age, with the girl being the youngest. Also, she wanted to live near Hearthrome, and her husband would be a successful researcher or businessman or whatever who also fought the evil rope villain on the side. Oh, and he would also cry at the end of romantic comedies and isn't afraid of emotion), her apprenticeship was, dare she say, pointless – at least until she could use it on some resume for an equally crappy job. But that's beside the point.

All things have a second motive. The surface motive was helping Lane. The real motive was to get her friend back. She knew Lucas was a well-respected trainer and researcher despite his age. She knew doctors and Nurse Joy and all the experts in Canalave would ask his opinion had they known he was in the area. He wouldn't do it of course–at least by free will–so that's where Professor Rowan came into play. Professor Rowan would make Lucas stay, and here they sat.

Dawn was a friendly, lovely child. Dawn knew it, too. While she had her moments of ... denseness, she knew when she wasn't wanted, and it never really mattered; there were plenty of others who wanted to be around her. Lucas didn't want her around. But for some reason, she didn't want to give up. She wanted to try to get to know him – then immediately change him to something that would fit him better. It must be a girl thing.

She slammed the heavy book on the table and pulled the chair back, sitting in it. She cleared her throat, flipped her hair behind her shoulders, tapped her fingers on the tabletop, and grinned at the annoyed researcher next to her. Lucas quickly lowered his head back to his notebook.

Dawn was a stupid, noisy child. Lucas knew it, too. She was always dense–the stupid way she bit her lip as she read the table of contents, like a book without pictures on every page boggled her mind–and he didn't understand how anyone could stand to be around her. He didn't want her around. But for some reason, she didn't want to give up. He knew she wanted to try to get to know him. Why? He had no idea. It must be a girl thing.

"What happened to your friend?" she asked, sliding a finger underneath the thin leaf of the book and flipping it to the next page.

Friend?

"What friend?" he questioned back.

"You know!" Dawn tore her eyes away from her book and made motions with her hands. She petted something imaginary above her head and extended this motion toward the sides near her ears. "This guy!"

This must mean something meaningful. Something like the imaginary airspace is metaphorical for the huge amount of crazy the girl had stored in her head, and she was trying to pat it down, only for the crazy to explode forth like a volcano, spewing forth its hot, molten, crazy hate of craziness.

"I'm not following."

"You know!" she repeated with more enthusiasm. She simulated jogging in place while remaining firm in her seat. She puffed out her cheeks.

That answers it. She, indeed, was a mad, volcano-like woman on the verge.

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Use words."

"Oh, I don't know his name. That blond kid you hung out with. He ran off after we let him keep that chimchar. You two screamed like sissies when a flock of starly attacked you. Remember?"

"Oh, Barry? And starly can be fierce in flocks, you know."

"Uh huh. But either way, what happened to him?"

Lucas shrugged. "I don't know. I lost track of him after ..." He trailed off.

Repress it, Lucas. It's over.

Dawn gazed at him worriedly and nudged him in the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Lucas blinked a few times, nodded, and recapped his sweaty hair. "We just ... drifted apart I guess. Last I heard he was going to the Battle Frontier. I was going to head there, too."

"But?"

"But I was roped into staying here for a week or so for a whimsical research project," he muttered.

"Oh." Dawn beamed as Pip hopped onto her lap. "Rope is evil."

"Quite."


He had no idea what happened, why he was doing it, and where he was heading, but Lane knew he had to get on that train. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it but whatever.

"That train always leaves earlier than its departure time," remarked Squish in a shaky voice, quivering in Lane's sweaty hands.

The genderless trees swung at him (or maybe he imagined that), and he dodged the fiends like any good hero would, ducking and weaving while Squish screamed. The train was pulling out of the station, he noticed, and was picking up speed, bubbles flying out of the train's stack.

"Wait!" Lane yelled, little legs running faster. He held his left arm up and tried to wave it down.

The train was made out of steel, wheels grinding against the tracks with a rhythmic thunk, THUNK! He ran closer to it–which in all reality probably wasn't the safest thing but whatever to that, too–with his left hand still thrust forward, fingers wiggling and grasping at the cold air. Passenger car after passenger car, painted in an array of blue shades, rushed him by, and all seemed hopeless until something grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him up so his feet were no longer on the ground but swinging forward in a wild flailing of limbs. The being dragged him into the train, and Lane rolled in, resting on the flat of his belly. Squish was flung out of Lane's grasp and groaned tiredly a few feet away.

Lane had been on a train once. He was about six, and he was with Mom to visit Dad who was stationed in another city further away. He remembered the train with its loud honking and its brakes screeching, and he got out of his mom's grip and ran toward the edge of the platform and peered forward when it was pulling into the station. He slipped. He fell forward. He remembered the bright light from the train turning into a streamed blur and hands gripping and pulling him back by the shoulders, and the honking noise was multiplied by five. He remembered Mom freaking out. She was crying for some reason and sat him in her lap when they got on the train, and she constantly kissed him through his hair. It bothered him. He was old enough to sit on his own! He also remembered candy–lots of it!–and the landscape rushing by the window.

"Never again," she kept breathing into his hair. "Never again."

He didn't know why he remembered that, or why he was remembering that particular moment in this peculiar situation. Either way, he did.

"Th ... thanks ..." Lane managed to breathe out.

There was a giggle followed by a response. "You're welcome, Laney!"

Something collapsed on top of him, more light than heavy. He didn't move, partially bewildered and partially exhausted from running and almost killing himself like any good hero. He let whatever was on top of him rest there, pressing its face against the nape of his neck. Something stringy but soft draped around his head like a tent. Was it hair?

"Want to wrestle?" The voice giggled again. It pulled at his elf-like–er, pointy ears, making him flinch.

He shook his head no, managing to shake the being's grasp off.

Wait, Laney? Oh, sweet Mesprit, no ...

Lane managed to squirm enough to roll onto his back and thus stared into the wild face of Julie.

I guess she's amusing in a train wreck sort of way. You probably shouldn't stare but you end up staring anyway just to see if more chaos ensues. I don't know. She captures my attention so quickly, and I feel so stupid, so weak, for giving in like some trained puppy. She is pointless distraction. I don't like it. It scares me – no. I don't get scared. I don't fear. I don't get angry, or upset, or ... anything. That is pointless, too.

She's still at it. She's still trying to understand me. I don't like when people try to justify things, research it more than needed, and make ludicrous hypotheses. Things happen. That's it. You'll never understand the situation more than skin deep. Nothing good comes from prying into territory where you are obviously not wanted. It's anti-researcher, I know. You don't have to tell me. You don't have to go, "You're not doing your job."

If she wants to get hurt, fine. I'm not apologizing for it.

...

Details:
- hat: white
- hair clips: gold/yellow
- scarf: red
- skirt: pink, slightly ruffled
- shirt: black and sleeveless

~ ~ ~
Chapter Five
~ ~ ~

Betray not your anger, lest ??? will come.
Weep not with sorrow, or ??? will draw near.
When joy and enjoyment come natural as the air, that is happiness.
Let such be blessed by the hand of Master ???.

She commented, "Pretty," before turning toward her notebook and writing down – why was he even paying attention to her? "What do you think, Lucas?" she asked thoughtfully. She brushed a loose strand of hair away from her cheek and smiled. "It's about mespirt."

"I think you're wasting time reading that useless crap," he muttered, casting his eyes down to stare at his notebook. He made motions with his left hand and watched his shadows dance among the lined paper.

Dawn ignored the comment. "It's part of the trio – the lake guardians. It sleeps at Lake Verity. I almost saw it once when I visited. It was like its shadow or something."

Lucas didn't reply.

"It's known as the 'being of emotion."

"Uh huh."

Dawn smiled. Pip jumped onto the table and knocked her pencil out of her hand to nuzzle her palm. She petted him, ruffling the feathers on his head.

Lucas shifted his eyes to the side, peeking at the girl's notebook. She wrote down terminology, the estimated height and weight of mesprit, and its physical detail next to a picture of a gray blob with two dots for eyes and a u-shaped smile. It had a long, skinny tail. Happy sperm? he thought amusedly. He looked toward his notebook. He doodled a hypno, somewhat realistic, somewhat cartoonish. It was hypnotizing itself and was stumbling around quite dizzily.

"If I weren't so adamant about you following in my footsteps, boy, I would say you would have done well as a cartoonist," he remembered Rowan telling him. "Honestly, though, Lucas. You need to get serious; doodles do not belong in a report."

Why was he clenching his pencil, his teeth? Why did his nose scrunch slightly? Why did that make him so upset all of a sudden? "I ... We should call it a day," Lucas murmured, slamming shut the status book in front of him, making Dawn and Pip flinch in surprise. He placed it on top of the huge pile of books he collected and pushed the stack toward the edge of the table. "I think we should wait until tomorrow and ask Lane's parents about the day before he went into his ... dormancy state."

"You mean sleeping?"

"We're not sure if it's sleeping persay."

"But it's just ... sleeping, isn't it?"

Take your notebook and go home, he thought. And he did. He grabbed his notebook with his left hand, stood up, and swung his backpack over his right shoulder. Dawn still had that myths book open, fingers lightly resting on its thin pages with Pip on the opposite side of the book, peering down at it, head cocked to the side. "Meet me at the hospital tomorrow if you want to continue this little 'research project' of yours. I'm going home."

He heard Dawn make noises projected from the back of her throat as she quickly swiped the myths book with one hand and Pip in the other. That didn't stop him from walking toward the staircase. It had been a long day of doodling, and reading information that he could easily look up in his own data collection, and sitting, and writing things that had nothing to do with why he was here, and much, much more (including shipping & handling). Oh, and eating smashed crackers that he had found at the bottom of his backpack. Can't forget that.

He heard his stomach grumble. He should probably get something to eat before heading–

"Hey! Uh ... you wanna go out for dinner?"

She asked it so coyly, so sweetly, so quietly that it startled Lucas into stopping just to make sure he heard right. It was uncharacteristic of her, being quiet. He turned his head slightly, eyes on the peripherals so he could look at her. He watched as she returned her piplup to his ball and grabbed her bag by the handles. That myths book was still pressed against her chest. Was she blushing or was that a trick of the library lights?

"Dinner?"

She stepped forward–dainty steps like she walked on the balls of her feet–and nodded. "Yeah, you know, the meal that we eat when it is around this time of day?" She gestured toward the window with a nudge of her head. It wasn't too dark, but it wasn't light either, a mix of pinks and purples – a nighttime canvas only seen in cliché cowboy movies.

"My treat," she added. "We haven't eaten since breakfast or lunch or whatever we had this morning, and, well, I'd like to catch up. You've gotten so busy since you won the league. I mean, you have all these events you have to attend, and the paperwork, and Rowan has been pushing us to finish our theses ... well, I barely get to see you. I don't know. I ..."

He didn't know why she trailed off like that and turned her head away when he gave her his full attention. "I'd just like to be friends again," Dawn continued, staring at the floorboards. "Or friends. I'm not sure if we ever really friends to begin with, but I'd like to change that. What do you say?"

He was about to say no, tell her that he had things to do, people to see, paperwork to fill out, any excuse he could muster, and they could go out tomorrow–maybe, if she was lucky–but her eyes suddenly snapped up toward his and quickly swept back and forth, reading his face. And like that, a light hope disappeared into heavy disappointment.

Oh, hell. He was going to regret this. "Sure, Dawn."

"Great!" Dawn grabbed at his wrist and pulled him toward the staircase excitedly. "There's this cute little seaside café nearby that I just love, and I think you'll like it, too! We can talk about everything and what you've been up to and – oh! I have so much to tell you about what's been going on in Rowan's lab! And ..."

Yep, he thought, as Dawn made him half walk, half run down the stairs in an awkward galloping motion while she chattered away. He was definitely going to regret it.


Lane heard gasps, sharp and short. Julie had him pinned down by the arms, and her hair, uncombed, draped into his face. He sputtered, he coughed, he gagged, he huffed, but the hair fell all over his nose and mouth. So he let the strands lay there, trying not to move his face so it wouldn't tickle him further.

One of his arms was released in order for Julie to point ahead. "Who's that?" she asked. "He's a cutie."

Lane figured she was talking about Squish despite not being to see him, so he stated the castform's name. "I like him," was what he heard. The weight was lifted off him, and she crawled over him toward Squish. There was a weird squelching noise, followed by Squish's squeals. Lane remained flat on his back, still catching his breath.

"I'm Julie!"

"I'm Squish!" replied Squish happily.

Julie walked over toward Lane with Squish–who was a shade of coral red though retained his regular castform shape–floating above her left shoulder. "Come on, Lane!" she said. "You need to help us with this game to keep the train going!"

He walked toward Julie. He stood in front of a square machine with glass windows. One, two, three, four ... multiply by five. There were twenty-five of them, he counted, and each window had a picture of a different water pokémon.

"The train is running on water, see?"

He looked down. Below his feet was the ocean, flat as glass, and they were rushing past it – or were they in it? Is that what she meant by "running on water?" Or did the train use water as energy?

Squish hopped from Julie's shoulder to his and bopped a glass window adorned with a picture of a wingull. The window lit up and went through several colors that traveled to the other windows. They all settled on a shade of gold. Lane followed suit, pressing another wingull window, and it squealed like a bidoof, leaked green ooze onto his fingers, then flickered through different hues of purple.

"Yeah, ooze comes out if you press the wrong one. It's the pollution of the train," answered Julie as Lane gagged and wiped the liquid onto his jeans, leaving a green streak across his thigh.

"What are we suppose to do then?"

Julie giggled. "It's simple." She stepped forward and, with her index finger stretched out, connected a picture of a piplup to a magikarp. A trail of white dots followed, encasing each window in the same light, and they remained that way amongst the flickering purple tiles. "Get it?"

He did. Using his index and middle finger, his thumb tucked underneath his other fingers, Lane dragged his hand across the glass windows, lighting up a picture of a luvdisc, quagsire, and psyduck. Alarms rang, and a beacon on the top of the machine began to flash red.

DING DING DING! Free wailmer bonus!


Cynthia once told him that he was a cute but socially awkward creature who needed to work on his conversation skills. It was mostly because the poor kid could barely keep a conversation going past five line with anyone, let alone strangers, but it, somehow, also maintained the "down-to-earth" persona the Sinnoh League wanted their champions to perceive. By constantly re-telling your story, you remain humble ... in theory, anyway.

"I want you to remember your roots, the journey you took, the difficulties you went through," she told him. "This is what will make other trainers relate to you while also keeping your feet firm on the ground. It is difficult to relate to a champion who thinks too highly of himself, who thinks he is better than everyone around him." That always confused him. Surely if he won the pokémon league, that would make him better than everyone around him, wouldn't it? Trainer-wise, at least.

"Kids are going to look up to you whether you like it or not," she continued, "and knowing your history ..." She hesitated when he glared at her. "My point, Lucas, is from here on out you're not some regular kid. I'm not saying you have to change yourself entirely – that's the last thing I want. Just ... be careful. You're a role model now."

He didn't know. There was something really odd about an eight year old running up to him to ask for his autograph. His reign as Sinnoh's latest champion was coming up on its six month birthday–or anniversary, or whatever–and by now he figured he would be used to the publicity, but he wasn't. He still had that stantler-caught-in-the-headlights sort of look about him. Were they talking to him when asking about his life as a trainer? Did they want him to take the picture or be in the picture? It was like winning the lottery and not knowing what to do. It was that moment you realized you were wandering around town naked. Something like that.

"What a sweetie," said Dawn with a smile, dipping a fry into her ketchup before biting the tip with her front teeth. She chewed it thoughtfully. "It must be strange getting asked for autographs, huh?"

Yes.

"No," he lied.

"That's great. I'm glad you're getting used to it." She giggled, the edges of her eyes creasing as her smile widened.

"I guess." He stared at his half-eaten burger.

Luckily–or unluckily, depending on how pessimistic Lucas felt like being–Dawn took control of the conversation and barely waited for his "yes," "no," or "I guess" responses. She somehow managed to weave a story out of those four simple words. Somehow those words triggered a memory, made her ask a question, made her respond. Why couldn't he do that?

"So really," Dawn rested her chin on the ball of her fist and leaned forward, "what is it like to be champion?"

Great. He couldn't respond with his three answers. "It's ..." He paused, thinking. What was it like to be champion? It was kind of like that one feeling you get when people hype up a movie, and you watch it, but it turns out to be not so great. Everything seems so amazing–you get invited to all the parties and sometimes you get free stuff–but everyone tries to get all up in your business. It was like barely coming to grips about wandering around town naked before being asked why you were wandering around town naked.

She looked at him funny after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"It's okay," he finally muttered.

"Oh." She simply nodded and stirred a fry in her ketchup. "Personally, I'd love the attention."

Of course.

"I'd use it to bring attention to issues I'm concerned about."

Uh huh. He had many conversations like this. The "what if?" scenario that previous champions warned him about. It reminded Lucas of the questionnaire portion of beauty contests. What cause are you behind? What is your biggest regret? What would you do if you were the winner of the pokémon league? Questions with fake answers that sounded good on paper but were unattainable in real life.

It made him think. A fourteen year old should never be handed that much power. Once you have it, you don't know what to do with it, or you end up wanting more of it. And once you get more power, then what? All of it seemed futile.

Yeah, he hadn't really done anything with his supposed power. He was kind of apathetic toward it; the fame wasn't what he wanted. He wasn't eccentric like the others, didn't use his power to fulfill outside goals. He knew it should be something he should take advantage of–good things don't last forever–but there was this voice, a voice that told him that he got this far without this power and that he damn sure didn't need it.

"I suppose it's scary to be given all that power." It was like she was reading his mind. "I ..." Dawn trailed off but stared Lucas directly in the face. "I have to ask, Lucas. What was it like to ... to–"

"Out with it," he muttered. He knew where this was going.

The sudden interruption startled her. "He was ... power-hungry, wasn't he?"

"He" was Cyrus. Lucas met him when he was eleven He didn't know it was Cyrus at the time, just some odd man in a trench coat. Team Galactic's presence had increasingly become more apparent after this, or maybe he started to pay attention after the fated meeting. It was never Lucas looking for trouble; he just simply ran into it. Regardless, he became "that child," that child with a vendetta against Team Galactic, according to Cyrus, the media, his mentors ... everyone, really. But he never had one, a vendetta. He didn't even know what the word meant at the time. He was just ... confused. He had no idea what was going on, but everyone assumed he did and attacked or praised him for it. Where was everyone else? Why didn't anyone help him? He was a kid, a stupid kid. Why did they put the weight of the world on his shoulders?

Dawn watched Lucas struggle with his thoughts, his eyes darting in his sockets. His shoulders tensed, his forehead crinkled, his fingers fidgeted along the line of his cap. She sort of regretted asking but she had to know.

Straight off the bat, Dawn knew that she wanted to focus her research on the relationship between trainer and pokémon. Rowan's focus was on pokémon evolution, so she took it a step further and based her research around the effect human interaction had on pokémon evolution. Would domesticating pokémon make them weaker than their wild counterparts or did this make them stronger? More importantly, how does human interaction trigger maturation to the point of transformation?

Maybe it was just an excuse to people watch. It sounded smart though, didn't it? Dawn had to split her focus between pokémon and humans. You learn things from other humans.

Cyrus had a tough childhood, she read. Extremely brilliant as a child but his work was often ignored or criticized. No love, she figured. No friends. Then he went ... "crazy," but he made it seem so normal. He was cool, so calculating, that people actually believed in his ideals of a new world for a while. She never understood that. She guessed it would be easier to create a new world rather than trying to fix the one you lived in (that was the basis of his argument, right?) but ...

She made theories. He wanted to create a new world to frame his attitude toward life. He had good intentions, she supposed. No more fighting, no more strife. But no love, no compassion, no joy. It saddened her that a human could be so empty–could feel so alone–that he thought all emotion was futile and that the world would be better without any feeling whatsoever.

When you're a researcher, you start to see red flags. Most flags have to do with pokémon. Foaming at the mouth and a suddenly vicious nature may indicate rabies. When plant pokémon start to sprout flowers or produce pollen, it usually means that they are preparing for their next stage in evolution. Things like that. But Dawn was also a people researcher given her specialty, and it was hard to miss the connection.

"He was," he finally answered. "He had big goals. Bigger goals than most people could even dream of let alone go through with."

"He was close," she said quietly.

She watched him bite through his burger quite aggressively, ripping at the bun with his teeth. She watched his Adam's Apple move as he swallowed his food. He ran his tongue over teeth. "I wouldn't say power-hungry. He knew he needed a lot of power to go through with his plans. I just don't think he cared if he was powerful in this world. Only if he was powerful in–"

"In his world," Dawn finished.

"Yeah."

Dawn could feel her next question burning on her lips. "What was he like?"

Lucas repeated the information Dawn already knew. He hated any type of emotion, positive or negative (ignoring the irony in hating emotion), and he was calculative but calm. A man with good intentions (they both supposed) but overzealous in his execution. Misunderstood as a child. Unappreciated as a child. Antisocial. A genius.

"I can't help but wonder," Dawn began, fiddling with her split ends, "that if he got the attention he wanted as a child, would he have turned out the way he was? If someone, somewhere, gave him the credit, the attention he craved, would he have become what he is? Wherever he is?"

Lucas stared at her, the sound of kricketot chirping in the background.

"I heard he had no friends. I heard he had no one to talk to."

Where was she heading with this?

"He didn't want to befriend his pokémon either. They were just sources of power. He wanted that power."

Why was she babbling on about this?

"And because he didn't know what friendship felt like, because he didn't know what it felt like to have someone truly interested in you, he figured starting over would be better than working on what he already had." Dawn started to feel sick to her stomach and pushed her plate of food away toward Lucas. "Right?"

Why was she getting so riled up from this? He noticed the pitch in her voice was getting higher and higher, and she seemed breathless. "I ... You would know more about that than me, Dawn," Lucas answered, a bit bewildered though he hid it well. His hunger pains disappeared quickly, too. "That's not my specialty, like you. Pokémon and human interaction, I mean. I don't need to understand humans. You know my emphasis is on battle–"

"Right?" She stressed that word again. The red flags were waving wildly now. "If someone is so misunderstood, so friendless, so ignored, despite being so brilliant, wouldn't it seem like these sort of actions would be repeated? Maybe not to Cyrus' extent, but wouldn't they seem mentally unbalanced?"

"I don't know. Each situation is different. Every person is–"

"You know as well do that when you recognize certain patterns in pokémon, certain outcomes are sure to follow," she interrupted again. "Nature proves this time and time again. What makes this any different with humans, Lucas?" Dawn wasn't sure when her hands flew up from her thighs to grip the edge of the table so roughly that it shook in her palms.

He was at a loss for words. "Where the hell are you going with this, Dawn?" The tension, the concern that rested in the creases of her forehead, jumped into the pit of Lucas's stomach and kicked him repeatedly. He hated that feeling. He did his best to remain calm. There was no point in agitating her further.

Dawn paused, unsure how to say it. She observed him, trying to separate her emotion from her subject – and failing at it. "I'm worried."

Lucas didn't respond, unsure if she was going to finish her statement. "... About?" he finally asked after.

She bit her lip before replying. "About ... you."

And like that, it all became so clear. The reason why she brought Cyrus up was because–

"I don't miss red flags, Lucas."

–she thought he was turning into him. He was Cyrus, at least in her eyes.

Lucas had never felt so pissed. "You are so ..." Again, he was at a loss for words. He stood up quickly and grabbed his backpack from the side of the table, swinging it over his shoulder. Dawn remained sitting though she looked up toward him. He felt his face flush with anger. "I have never been so – I don't even know what to say to you." Customers sitting at other tables turned toward their direction.

"Don't leave," she begged. She stood up and reached over, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Lucas, I just–"

He brushed her hand away. "Just what? You think I'm a miniature version of him?"

Their scarves blew in the bitter wind. Dawn shivered but didn't reply. Lucas scoffed.

"That's what I thought." He pushed the strap of his backpack further up his shoulder before lacing his fingers behind his head. He watched her open her mouth in response, but she stopped midway to lick her lips. "Wait. Let me try to figure this out. Your question is if a child–someone around our age, I assume–is raised in a neglectful environment, which leads to antisocial behavior, then that will lead to a lonesome, depressing, or emotionless adulthood?"

"I ... guess."

"Your background research involved delving into Cyrus' life story. You found that his personality and background matches mine. Is that right? We're both scarred in some form because of lack of adult presence, him, his school career, and me, the whole Team Galactic scandal. We were left to fend for ourselves because the supposed adults around us were just too stupid to help us. We don't like talking to anyone because of that. We don't trust anyone, not even our companions. Is that what you figured out?"

Dawn felt her cheek blush with embarrassment as she heard people muttering around them. "Kind of."

"And your hypothesis?"

"Don't patronize me, Lucas."

"Answer me," he demanded. "And don't even start with me being condescending – Arceus knows how much you were to me just now."

His tone startled her. "I think you might go down a similar path like he did."

Lucas, unlike Dawn, didn't seem aware of the growing interest in their conversation from bystanders. "And let me guess. Your experiment–and correct me if I'm wrong–is if there is human interference ... that's your researcher's emphasis right? Human interference with pokémon? You want to see if messing with me, getting into my business, will change me. By becoming my 'friend,'" he made sure to put emphasize this word, "you think you'll be able to alter my 'natural' course. Am I hitting the nail on the head?"

No response.

Lucas couldn't help but smirk and feel triumphant. He had no idea why. Solving the mystery, finding the source, what have you, was always a big deal to researchers. "Right. Good luck with that. I'm out."

Dawn hesitated, legs planted to the ground, as Lucas turned around toward the exit, a heavy pound with each step. "Lucas!" she managed to call out after being baffled for a few seconds. "Come on!" She started to follow him.

Lucas quickly spun around. "Don't," he said. The tension in his voice somehow made her stop. He turned back around to walk. He was so angry with himself. He gave her a chance – he actually allowed someone to come into his life, and he almost fell for it. He almost let a tiny piece of him go to that ... to that–

A bump to the shoulder threw him off balance slightly and made him stop in his tracks. He looked up from the café's floor to see what dared step in his way. A man, thick but short, was standing in his way, blocking the only exit – a small gap in the metal railings that surrounded the outdoor café. It was Eldritch.

"Hey, kid." The sailor's voice was gruff. "What's the rush?"

It had now been three days since Lane had entered his "slumber state." Eldritch was tired as ffffffft (let's assume that's a word), and, well, thought? He could still think? He was running on ten hours of sleep. Things were starting to get ... hazy. He didn't feel tired. He knew he was tired, but he felt like he was on a high. You know, that feeling you get at the peak of a sugar rush. That feeling you get when you're running on ten hours of sleep for the last three days. And yes, he was aware that he used his situation as an analogy to explain his situation, and if he had gotten more sleep–let's say, fifteen hours because that's a nice wholesome number right there, fifteen–he probably could have been more creative. But he didn't. So there.

"Nothing," he heard Lucas mutter, his eyes cast toward the floor.

Eldritch looked down the direction Lucas had come and saw that girl–Dawn, Sunny, something that had to do with the sun–at one of the metal tables that sporadically decorated the café's garden. She looked worried but mystified at the same time. Oh, women. His wife had bothered him to go eat. Go, sleep, Eldritch. Go eat, Eldritch. Remember to breathe, Eldritch. Always nag, nag, nag about remembering to live. Sigh.

"Girl problems?" he asked.

"You could say that." Lucas shook his head and walked past Eldritch. "I'm sorry. I'm going."

It took him a while to contemplate those two words. He blinked, finally understanding. "Now wait. Going?" Eldritch quickly spun around (mentally, he went "whee!" as he felt his brain jolt about in his skull) and grabbed Lucas by the shoulder, pulling him back and stopping him. "Going home for the night?"

"No, going for good. I'm sorry, sir, but I can't stay. Honestly, I'm not finding anything new other than what you guys already know, but if it'll help ..." Lucas swung his backpack around and dug through it, pulling out the red notebook. He proceeded to open it and looked it over a few times before ripping out a few pages and handing it to Eldritch.

"Well, it's your call, kid." Eldritch took the papers and folded them up. "I can't stop you. At the same time, I can't say that I'm not a little deflated that you've given up."

Lucas zipped up his backpack. "Yeah ... Good night, sir." He brushed past Eldritch.

"Erm ... Good night."

Think of something. Stop? No, too dramatic. Come back? Too desperate. Eldritch wasn't a desperate man. Think faster. Quicker, now, quicker.

"Hey!" he finally shouted, waving the papers in the air. Work, dammit.

It did. Lucas turned around, his scarf flapping in the wind.

Eldritch started to walk toward him. "I need to tell you something." He felt like a feather when he walked now. Did you know that? Probably not.

Lucas didn't reply but listened.

"I know this much, Lucas," Eldritch began, shoving his hands within the depths of his pants' pockets. He looked up, staring at the winking stars. "I know I shouldn't be even thinking this–I haven't gotten much sleep, you see, but even I know my theory is ludicrous. But I really do think something in that inn did something to my kid. He was playing near the area a few hours before he was hit with that sleeping spell, or whatever the heck the doctors are calling it. He was with his friends, but he was the only kid to look in. So says my wife anyway."

He waited to see if Lucas was going to say something, but he didn't, so Eldritch continued. "There's this myth–" He noticed Lucas roll his eyes. "–that Canalave locals like to tell about that inn. It's haunted, they say. Pokémon, demon, who knows. All you can really see is its eyes. Canalave is a strange town, Lucas. You hear stories about people going missing, people going under deep spells like this, but you never really think that they're true. They're just myths. Something to pass the time."

Lucas nodded.

"And again it might be because I'm delirious, but I kind of believe this one. Within Harbor Inn is something evil and hates being bothered. I don't understand it. What kind of creature is so mean-spirited that it would hurt a child who bore no ill-feeling toward it? I digress. I suppose that doesn't matter. What matters is figuring out what's wrong with Lane.

"I trust you, you know. Not because you're some hotshot trainer, or because you're a prodigy, or because you're a brilliant researcher following in Rowan's footsteps–" There was another eye roll from the kid. "–but because I know how you were, or are, deep down. I could see how dedicated you were those three years ago when I first met you. You were determined. A little confused about what you wanted to do, sure, but determined. And I suppose being smart helped, too. You didn't like giving up."

Eldritch grinned, pulling a hand out to run it along his unshaven jawline. "But I know you don't trust anyone anymore. Bad things happened to you and people expected you to recover quickly. They tell you to repress it, don't they, because showing pain isn't an inspiring quality. You started to look at the world differently because of what happened to you. I see you lost hope in most things." He paused thoughtfully, staring Lucas straight in the eye. "But don't lose hope in solving this. For me. For my boy."


They got off the train, Lane, Julie, and Squish, in front of a cottage. They were only meant to stay for a few minutes, but they got distracted by a video dedicated to him, Lane, which played the background noises of a sci-fi show. The television was mounted in the wall of the cottage. Lane could reach into it and feel around, grabbing at sound effects. He managed to catch a "whizz!" noise and brought it out, careful not to crush it in his palm. He released it, and the whizz swirled above their heads. It sounded like a high-pitch whistle.

Crap! That was the train leaving!

"Hurry up, Lane!" shouted Julie, chasing it down with Squish perched on her head. "It's gaining speed!"

Lane had taken his socks off earlier because they got wet from playing the train's game, and he was trying to force them on his feet, though the wetness made it all the more difficult. He tripped, falling flat onto his belly, one sock gripped in his hand and the other stuck around his toes. Julie stopped, turned around, and ran back to help him. The train left.

Of course that would happen. Socks are the leading cause of people being late for trains.

I hate her. I'm not even sure how I can properly express how angry she makes me other than repeating those three words. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

Someone told me that if I can't express myself out loud, I should try writing it down. It's why this stupid research journal is filled with tangents more than analysis. I don't feel any better. I hate how she makes me so angry. I hate what she thinks about me. Why do I even care?

Dammit so much.

...

Personality: Nosy.

~ ~ ~
[FONT=Vivaldi, cursive]Chapter Six[/FONT]
~ ~ ~

Hello, Professor Rowan! My name is Dawn. I'm eleven years old, and I'm originally from Sandgem, Sinnoh. I am interested in enrolling in your pokémon apprenticeship program."

Lucas watched the young girl with wide, burning eyes.

"Why do I want to apply for an apprenticeship?" she repeated slowly, careful to pronounce each syllable. "I love pokémon, for starters. I think they're awesome, and we have a lot to learn from them."

Lucas heard mutters, which made Dawn pause.

"Yeah, I think we have a lot to learn about pokémon as humans. The way they build communities, families – I like the way they interact. Some species have strong family dynamic. Others are able to able to disconnect from each other easily because they separate quickly. It's interesting, don't you think?"

He supposed so.

More mutters off screen.

"What makes a human trustworthy in the eyes of the pokémon?" she repeated. "Hmm ... It's easy for a trainer to pick a pokémon: strength, type, appearance, whatever ... But some pokémon never fully trust their human companions while others would risk everything for them. Interacting with humans sometimes betters the pokémon physically. How is that possible? It makes me–"

A shout: "Who's there!" The lights turned on, making Lucas cringe. He blinked rapidly and turned around in the swivel chair to where the voice called out. He didn't bother to pause the DVD – Dawn's younger self continued to babble about her interest in trainer-pokémon interaction.

Breaking in was easy. Whoever said pokémon trainers were a honest, clean bunch was obviously never a pokémon trainer. You learned to steal – food mostly, though toilet paper was a close second. You learned to find haven in dusky corners of forgotten department stores because anything was better than sleeping in the rain. You learned that feces make excellent sources of heat when you cannot make fires. You learned to be sneaky. You become a crafty lad. Besides, Lucas had visited Rowan's laboratory so many times that he knew all the weak spots, back doors, and loose ends.

Also, he had a key.

He already knew who it was. The messy, thin white strands that pointed up in different directions, the wrinkled blue pajamas, the pair of buneary slippers ... T'was the Old Fart as Lucas liked to call him (in his head, of course) in his disheveled glory, a mug of something steamy in one hand and a candy bar in the other.

"It's me, Professor," Lucas said. He raised a hand and waved, though he remained sitting in the leather seat. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, no. I was up anyway." The Old Fart walked closer and peered around Lucas, gazing at the television. "Application videos," he murmured. "What for?" He took a sip of his steamy drink then wiped at his mustache.

He didn't answer. Lucas turned around in his chair back toward the television and stared at Dawn before it faded to black. It was quickly replaced with Lucas's fresh, smiling face. The Lucas on the video shifted awkwardly in his seat, shoulders stiff. His hat was still new – oh, look. There was the price tag swinging from the back as he bobbed his head. Lucas remembered feeling embarrassed when he realized that the tag was still there five days into his journey. His eyes were bright with wonder. Or dumbness. Or excitement. Something or another.

"I'm Lucas, and I'm eleven years old. I'm originally from Twinleaf, Sinnoh," the eleven year old Lucas on T.V. nervously told the fourteen year old Lucas in real life. He felt Professor Rowan rest one hand on the back of the swivel chair, leaning into it. "I would ... I'd like to apply for your apprenticeship program."

"Feeling nostalgic?" asked the Old Fart. Lucas heard slurping soon after.

He didn't respond to this either and continued to watch and listen. "You offered me this position after me and Barry were attacked by starly and used the pokémon in your briefcase. Er, sorry about that again." The eleven year old wiped at the back of his neck and grinned wider. "It interested me. I'm sure it would have interested Barry too if he hadn't run off ... Actually, Professor, I'm curious. I mean, keeping the pokémon that I wasn't suppose to use is one thing but offering me a position as an apprentice researcher is just ... nuts."

That was what the Old Fart was. An old, nutty fart.

"Don't worry about that, Lucas," answered a voice off screen. "Just answer why you're interested in the program." The Old Fart's chuckle hadn't changed a bit.

He shifted his cap, letting it sit askew purposely. "Well ... I like pokémon, Professor, a whole lot. Battles are interesting. I like all the different strategies that come with it. I like all the type differences, the different techniques ..." The eleven year old paused. "But really, I always ... I always dreamed of just being ... of being more than a trainer. I really want to solve things. I want to make a difference somehow. This seems like the perfect opportunity."

That was totally a beauty contest answer. Lucas stretched over and stopped the video before turning off the television with a sigh.

"It feels like it's been a long time, hasn't it?" asked Professor Rowan. He strolled over and grabbed a nearby stool before plopping himself in it. His face was stern, unmoving. Was it age that did that? He hoped he died young. God, that's a depressing thought.

"Have I changed, Professor?"

"You tell me, Lucas."

"I was so ... hopeful back then. I had no idea what I was going to go up against, what direction I was headed. Life was simple then. It should have stayed that way for a long, long time."

Professor Rowan nodded.

"I feel like I did a lot in three years."

Another nod.

"I mean, I even became champion of Sinnoh. That has to count for something, right?"

A third nod followed by wrinkled fingers running down a chiseled jawline.

"I accomplished what I set myself up for. But why don't I feel proud of myself for it? I don't believe in myself like I used to. What the hell happened?"

Professor Rowan set his mug on the floor and laced his hands together, setting them down on his lap. "Statistically, Lucas, how many trainers give up on the pokémon league challenge a month after they start their journey?"

"One out of five," the boy immediately replied. "Then the amount of league-bound trainers decreases – that is most league-bound trainers may not give up becoming a trainer, but they quit the 'badge quest' route due to monetary, physical, or emotional constraints."

"Mm." A tight-lipped grin appeared on the old professor's face. It was solemn, disappointed kind of. "League-bound trainers, even if they do not rank high in the competition, end up becoming some of the most prominent figures in society. Why do you think this is?"

Let the reasons flow. Because they're strong? Obviously. Dedication sounded fitting for the Old Fart's mindset. Confidence – you have to have balls to travel and be on stage in front of millions of viewers. Intelligence. By the time you hit the league, the trainer relies more on strategy and knowledge than dumb luck. God hope so anyway. Then you dive into corny reasons. Love. Trust. Friendship. You know, the BS responses that trainers use when being interviewed with painted grins abroad. He grimaced at that last thought. When had he become so bitter?

"I'm going to go with dedication," Lucas replied. "If a person is dedicated to a cause, he is going to prepare himself for that cause. He may become faster, stronger, or whatever it takes to accomplish that goal. Everything builds up so long as you are dedicated."

There was a twinkle in Professor Rowan's eye. It appeared when he was feeling mischievous or when one of his brilliant thoughts came into his head ... or candy, whenever the Old Fart saw candy. "I want you to be truthful, Lucas. You have done great things with your life, and you are only fourteen. You are currently one of Sinnoh's strongest trainers. The pokémon you have reported back to me has been useful with my pokémon evolution research. Your own research in the field of pokémon battle tactics is quite insightful in itself. Single-handed, you managed to wipe out of the most notorious groups in the world. Were you dedicated to all these causes?"

"I always wanted to be a trainer, Professor."

"A researcher? A hero?"

There was hesitation. "It's not that I minded the researcher part once I really got into it. I didn't know I would go in that direction, but I did so–"

"A hero? The young child who took down Team Galactic with little help? Did you plan on becoming that person?"

He was bemused. "Well, no. Who plans on becoming that?"

He heard a weird noise slip out between the professor's lips, a mixture between a grunt and a sigh. He watched the old man reach out toward him, like he was going to pat him on the knee, but he withdrew his hand. "It's time you realize that great responsibility is often thrust upon those we trust most. In the process, the trust grows to the point that those who threw that responsibility in the first place believe those persons can do anything. We forget that those we place so high on pedestals are fallible, that they are capable of error, that they are human, so much so that even that person–that hero, that child who wanted to make a difference and was eager to please–starts to forget that, too.

"And by the time he realizes what has happened to him and how much he has changed, he doesn't know how to function without trying to please people, and it bothers him. He teaches this to those who look up to him–out of vengeance, because it's all he knows, what have you–and the pattern repeats. And then, suddenly, you're a sixty year old man with bunery slippers on his swollen, wrinkly feet while talking to the genius that is the fourteen year old champion of Sinnoh. And he can't help but wonder how exactly he got here ..."

What? Lucas watched as the professor trailed off thoughtfully. Clearly the Old Fart was so tired that he was babbling nonsense.

The Old Fart shook his head as he snapped out of his own thoughts. "In the end, Lucas, there are always going to be people that want you to be something you may not have pictured yourself to be. Sometimes it takes another set of eyes to realize the potential that is within. You are going to change – and you have, if you must know. What's important is that when you go to bed, you feel satisfied with who you have become. You're worried. I know. That's okay. That's normal. You don't have to know the answers right away."

Lucas remained quiet. "I digress," said the professor after a few seconds of silence. "I will ask you the same question I asked you three years prior, but this time, I want you to really think about it. Who are you, and who do you want to be?"


The old cabin looked a lot like Harbor Inn, Lane realized. It had similar windows except these still had the glass intact. There were the red, dusty curtains. There was the jagged, cracked concrete path. And there were the weeds, twisted and gnarled likes claws coming up from the depths of heck.

Squish went somewhere – he didn't realize he left until now, actually. Julie was still here, standing next to him. They were looking at a map mounted on a tack board. It was the region of Sinnoh. They were volcano markers, brown triangles tipped with red. According to the legend, each marker was a "burn zone," which meant that the people in the area were all dead. Canalave had three.

"You shouldn't be here. Go home."

Lane and Julie turned around. It was a woman, old, wrinkled, and short. She wore a hood. Dry strands of dark hair poked out from below the hood, like twigs.

"Where are we? When did the volcanoes erupt? Class taught us that they were dormant!" exclaimed Julie. "My mom and dad live there! My friends!" She gasped, hands reaching down and grabbing Lane's wrist. He felt her nails dig into his skin, but he didn't complain.

Wait. He had family there, too ... But for some reason he kept thinking about pancakes ... Mm, pancakes drenched in butter and maple syrup and whipped cream. Ooh, chocolate chip pancakes with a nice, cold glass of chocolate milk with a straw. Or blueberry pancakes. Yeah, blueberry. Wait! Strawberry! Thick slices of strawberry with powdered sugar!

"You shouldn't be here. Go home," she repeated, walking toward them. One of her gnarled hands reached forward. Such long nails. There was a color scheme to her nails. One nail was pink, the other blue, the other yellow, then rinse, wash, repeat. The two stepped back.

"Where is ... pancakes?" asked Lane.

"I said GO HOME!" She lunged at them and turned into a dragonite. It was a slow transformation, or maybe it was fast but he slowed the process somehow like an action replay. It's kind of like when you watch a basketball game on T.V., and they replayed the same shot five times at different angles. Gosh, his dad watched the most boring stuff, and he always fell asleep watching it.

He could hear the bones of the dragonite woman grind, the old, wrinkled skin stretching and turning light brown. How painful it must have been for the wings to erupt from her back. They were wet with goo. She roared. It echoed through the trees. She flapped her wings, creating a breeze. Lane admired her tail and the way she swung it around. Every swing created fire.

Holy Arceus, fire! She was the volcano! The burn zone creator!

Julie tugged at his arm and quickly pulled them toward the cabin entrance. She let go of Lane's wrist and jiggled the doorknob, but it wouldn't open.

"It's lock!" she screamed.

Lane felt the hot, hot heat at his back. The dragonite took off into the skies, and the sky turned orange from the flames she released from her mouth. He pushed Julie out of the way and used both hands to twist and turn the rusty knob. Nothing. Kicking! Kicking is always the solution! He used his dirty sneaker to kick at the ancient wood, and the door opened with a loud bang. The two quickly rushed inside, and Lane slammed the door shut. The wooden floor was damp and smelled like pee. Something gray and small was quivering in the corner.

"It's Squish!" Julie yelled, pointing with her free hand. "What happened to you?" She went over and dropped onto her knees, poking the squishy thing with her finger. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

The castform responded with a quiver. Lane felt Squish's vibrations with his feet. Thump, thump, thump.

That boy has too much energy. I wish he would be quieter.

Thump, thump, thump.

It's time to get up, Lane.

"Get out of there, you brats!" snarled the dragonite woman. Lane yelped and jumped back as he turned toward the window and saw the beast's angry, yellow eyes glare at him. Smoke poured out between the gaps of her sharp teeth. "You have no idea what you're up against!"

"Julie! Come on! We can't stay here!" he warned. He stepped back and tripped over a loose plank, landing on his bottom with his thud. At his feet was something black and made out of shiny vinyl. He picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers, making an annoying squeaking noise that hurt his ears. Actually, his ears were starting to feel funny. He felt them up. Why did they feel ... bigger?

"Squish? Say something!" she demanded.

Please wake up.

Lane pulled the vinyl thing into his lap and flapped it in the air. It was like a flag ...


It really wasn't the time to think about the city's flag song. It's funny to replace "hearts" with "farts" by the way.

"Squish!" Lane heard distress in Julie's voice like she was on the brink of crying. "You're not dying, are you?"

Lane!

Lane quickly got up, swung the black vinyl material around his shoulders, and rushed over, hunching over to stare at the castform. The poor thing was breathing heavily now, and its color was draining away, melting around him. He was wasting away in a pool of his own color. He picked him up, ignoring the cold liquid that dripped onto his fingers. He patted him on the back, and more color liquid oozed out.

His eyes twitched at sudden amounts of light hitting him, he swatted at his face when I ran a feather across it ... But he just won't wake up.

"Don't die, Squish!" Julie pleaded, tears forming in her eyes.

We're taking him to the hospital.

Lane turned Squish around. Horrible, blue eyes stared at him, startled him, scared him. He tried to drop Squish, but something sharp dug into his hand and clung onto him. His breath got caught in his throat. He wasn't sure if it was from surprise or pain.

He found his voice. "I ... who are–"

There is obviously something wrong. We're just not sure what.

"Why, Lane!" Squish's adorable squeaks was replaced with a low, gritty voice. "You're not scared, are you?"

"Let him go!" Julie immediately grabbed Squish, tore him away from Lane's hand and threw him against the wall. Squish hit the wall like a wet sponge before flopping onto the floor.

"It's too late, you stupid girl! He's mine!" he shrieked with glee before melting into a pool of gray liquid. White wisps of smoke rose from his body. Those horrible, blue eyes were still there, floating in the liquid. That was the last thing he remembered. Eyes in a pool of black and the screams of a girl, pleading him to stay.

But where was he going?

"Dark ... Dar is watching me ..."

There are two types of people in this world: men and women.

I think I was going somewhere with this. I don't remember what. Something

~ ~ ~
Chapter Seven
~ ~ ~

I think a lot of my problems stem from my desire to control things. I'm not sure if I was always like this. Organizing your dolls by use, then height, then name ... would you consider that neurotic? It made sense to me as a child. But anyway ... It gave me a great sense of comfort knowing what was going to happen every day. I felt secure that way. I mean, of course I can handle unpredictability – I have a child for Arceus' sake. It's just ... Well, those little unpredictable moments become bigger ones, and everything starts to spiral into something I can't get a handhold on. It's nice when you have a say in what happens to you.

My first pokémon was a glameow. I named her Fuchsia. She ran away – no, I don't know why. We were okay, I think. I just became a trainer, so we weren't that close. The night before she ran away, she was curled up on top of my sleeping bag, and when I woke up, she was gone. No trace of Fuchsia anywhere. I had captured a couple of pokémon by that time, so I wasn't completely alone, but ... Why did she do that? She didn't seem unhappy. I treated her well. Made sure she was well fed, protected. I guess ... I don't know. That's the downfall with people that plan their day like that. When the unexpected happens – no, when something happens that you can't tangibly fix, you get really angry at yourself. You begin to wonder that 'what if?' What if I kept Fuchsia in her pokéball that night? Things like that.

You know, Lane was a surprise. I was only twenty; Eldritch was twenty-two. Dan ... That's Eldritch's first name, you know. Daniel Christopher Elijah Eldritch. Elijah is his middle name – his first name isn't that long. Either way, he goes by Eldritch since he found his first name too long and too boring and something that has to do with being a sailor. I think he made up that last point. I'm not sure.

Dan was out on business – I say business instead of sea. It might be a stability thing. Seas are unpredictable. This city is surrounded by it. Mother Nature throws you off just because she can. Let's, you know, throw a hurricane at you. Some lightning storms. How about snow? Business, though? That means there's only a certain amount of days between when I see him and when I don't. It's concrete.

Well, Dan was out on business one day. I wasn't feeling all that well, especially in the morning. So I took the test. You know ... the test. It was positive. I took another. It was positive, too. Then another. Negative. Turns out it was a false negative. Have you heard of such a thing? Apparently it happens if you take the test too late in the day or if you leave it on the counter for too long. Probably other factors that I can't remember. The point is that I was unmarried, though deeply in love–or so I thought back then–and young and pregnant. I hadn't planned on marrying and having a child until years later. I still had other plans before I could even think about that.

I remember that day well. The day I told Dan, I mean. He just got back from his trip, and all he wanted to do was drink a beer and sleep. I couldn't wait. So I told him, right there, right then. Just straight out with it, Aly. He's a man. He can take it. To this day, I'm not sure if he blacked out from exhaustion or my news.

"What are we doing to do, Aly?" he asked when he regained consciousness. "This apartment is too cramped for a baby, I'm out of town all the time – and Arceus, do you know how much it'll cost to raise a baby? How is this going to work? What if we don't work out?" I got upset. Hormones? I don't know. I got upset that he didn't seem concerned about, well, me. I was the one carrying our child. He didn't ask how I was doing, if I needed anything. I know he cares ... Just ... All that time alone, you need some attention.

He offered to marry me. He had obligations now, he knew that. So he offered. And, desperate, I accepted. I knew I loved him, don't get me wrong; there was love. There is love, somewhere.

We made adjustments. Had a quicky marriage ceremony at city hall. I settled into his apartment. I quit school. We only had so much time, and we needed money, so I had to work full time. School will always be there, I told myself. What's important now is to create stability. Dan took more jobs at sea, whether it was to get away for a bit or because we needed the money, I don't know. He cares. He's a good man, don't get me wrong. But while I was pregnant, I felt so alone when it shouldn't have been that way. It should have been a special time, my first pregnancy.

Near the end of my pregnancy, Dan was assigned to aid the locals of the Sevii Islands who had been hit with a hurricane. I told him to take it – he was going to refuse, take sick days, vacation days, what have you, because he knew I was going into labor soon. We needed it, though. We needed the money. The trip should only be a week, ten days tops. I wasn't expected to go into labor.

You know me by now. Everything spirals out of my control. My family–my mom, my dad, my siblings–live in Kanto. So I was alone, holding that little baby boy in my arms. Crying.

The expectation is that your mother is perfect. That she can do no wrong. That she holds little to no fault, no negativity running through her body. And I get it. When you shatter that illusion, then who do you turn to for stability? For strength? That person who makes you feel safe?

It's hard, though. Sometimes she is resentful. Bitter. I'm not talking about being angry about, let's say, her child trespassing into a rundown shanty. She's just bitter about ...

Okay.

I'll stop pussyfooting around.

Sometimes, late at night, when I'm lying in bed, I think about what could have happened to me if I hadn't gotten pregnant at the age I did. I could have been so much more than a housewife. I blame Dan. It's terrible. And sometimes I get angry with Lane, too.

It's just the situation, really, not the people. I can't blame the people involved; they had no say in the situation either. I can't help it, though. I can't control things. The one thing I thought I had a good handle on–that one little boy I had a substantial influence over–was so suddenly ... ripped from my hands, and no one can figure out the reason why, and I get so mad.

Then my thoughts trail back to what I think about at night, and I get madder.

A mother's greatest desire is to tell her child that everything is going to be okay. That, despite the hardship and the things we can't control, we'll make it through. You never want to tell them a "I don't know" to the things that truly matter.

Some people are born to be mothers. The rest emulate. A few fail.

Something grabbed at her shoulder. She recognized it as Eldritch's calloused hand. "Aly, what the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Alyson, about to press a slender hand against the glass window, bit her lip. She watched as nurses hurriedly ran to and fro in her son's hospital room. Lane's heart monitor was beeping crazily. She felt his hand tense up on her shoulder. She wanted to cry.

"I don't know."


The sidewalk was still damp from last night's storm.

"It is quite the chilly day, Darach." Lady Caitlin shivered and wrapped her fur coat tighter around her petite frame. She ran her fingers through the soft, white pelt.

Darach gave her a nod. He took grander strides to be slightly ahead of his mistress and gently wrapped a hand around her slender forearm. "Be careful with the puddles, Lady Caitlin. I would hate to see you slip."

She laughed. It wasn't loud and overbearing but quiet and sweet. It left a delicate ringing in his ears. "You are being ridiculous, Darach. I do not slip no matter what the terrain." To prove her point, she stepped over a puddle, her pink high heels clicking on the concrete. "You worry about me too much."

"I would hate to see you hurt, my lady," he replied.

Lady Caitlin patted Darach's hand reassuringly before locking arms with him, her other hand playing with the folds of her pink dress. She looked up, gray sky reflecting in her eyes. "I do hope it does not rain before we get there." An umbrella blocked her vision. "Oh, Darach." She smiled.

"It is never too late to be careful."

"I suppose so."

They approached the library and entered. The two sat down at a couple of computers and turned their chairs to face the glass wall. On the other side of the glass were tombstones barely lit by crackling, swinging light bulbs hung from the ceiling.

"I hope he burns," she whispered maliciously.

"We must move the crayon boxes first, my lady," said Darach.

Darach helped Lady Caitlin pick up her box of crayons, and they moved to another set of computers. He placed each set on the top of each monitor.

"Burn the clown!" were the cheers.

"He has done nothing but rob us of our burgers!" yelled another.

Flames. Flames licked the glass panel. The cheers were deafening. The words etched on the clown's tombstone stood out against the fire.


Lucas slammed his notebook shut, hearing his pencil clatter to the linoleum floor but not caring enough to run back and pick it up. He heard screams. If there was one thing he knew, it was that screams–especially girly screams–coming from the middle of nowhere late at night meant something horrible was happening. Of course running to the problem area was indeed moronic, but he couldn't help it. Actually, no, that's a lie. But who doesn't like a good damsel-in-distress story? So burst through the glass doors, Lucas. Run into the cold, bitter Sinnoh night like the moron that you are.

He sighed, the frays of his scarf twisting behind him.

You know, there was a sociolingustic study (that's there sociology and linguistics merged into one handy, possibly made-up, word. Useful to know, yes?) Lucas had read in attempt to learn better communication skills. It had to do with the way men and women speak. If he remembered right, it boiled down to the general personality of boys versus girls. Boys tend to play more competitively, girls more cooperatively. When there's conflict within a girl group, the group splits in order to avoid argumentation. Boys, on the other hand, rank in hierarchy.

Break it down through your pants of breath. Communication is the balance between level of involvement and level of independence. Given what we know above, the woman is more likely to lean to the involvement side of communication while the men is more independent.

Draw more conclusions. The "fairer" gender is more cooperative, which leads toward a tendency for more involvement–more back and forth between the two conversing parties, more than "simple storytelling." They listen to tone, timing, intonation – it's not just the words. Meta-messaging is what it's called if he recalled right. Take "mhm" for example. "Mhm" doesn't mean they agree with you. No, it might mean she doesn't agree with you, but she acknowledges what you said. It's an easier way, at least to the woman, to say, "I acknowledge your argument, but I think it's an idiotic argument."

Men don't do that. They just want the story. They say what they mean. Women are more indirect. She picks up on things in the actual phrasing and delivery.

It's all "dramatize" versus "summarize" really. Barry summed it up best:

"You see, Lucas, when you text a question to a girl who you recently had a fight with, and she texts back 'Okay.', that really means she's not 'okay.' That one word holds all her RAGE. She pounded all her anger into that period ...

"No pun intended."

Anyway, that was a good time killer. He stopped a few feet behind the screaming source, a hand wrapped around one of the pokéballs clipped on his belt. The wind swept down the beaten path, combing its way through the trees' foliage.

It was the girl, the stupid girl with her piplup clinging onto her ankles and looking up her skirt.

"Sweet Arceus," he muttered. He walked over, stood next to her, and looked down, staring at what she was so wide-eyed about. The three-foot high bibarel was growling at her, teeth bared (not that it could hide them), and heavy tail smacking the dirt trail. Goddamn was he annoyed. "What did you do?"

She didn't respond and turned her head, hair brushing past her shoulder and falling behind her back in black, layered waves.

Lucas scuffed the dirt with his sneaker, sending up a dust cloud that floated toward the bibarel. Bibarel were common, known for their sharp teeth and their ability to cut through trees in a matter of minutes. They use these trees to create dams. It's a versatile pokémon, given its ability to walk on land and swim in rivers, and it is usually a gentle, quiet breed. The sound of unknown footsteps usually make them scurry away. Someone gently kicking dirt at them was a sure fire way to make them run as well. The time made no sense either; bibarel are diurnal. But this one stayed, glared at Dawn with its beady, little eyes, and snarled.

"Nothing," she finally replied.

Nothing means something. Pick up on the tone. Irritated, with a gasp of exasperation after she said the infamous word. Definitely something.

"Well, at least move."

She move back, and the bibarel growled louder and stepped forward, making Dawn and Pip stop.

He noticed the splintered wood to the side of the road. She probably stepped on the pile the bibarel had gathered which probably woke up the sleeping creature who was nestled in ... that crushed bush over there, and he refused to leave until he could have Dawn's thin, knobby, wood-like legs for his pile. At least that's what Lucas thought.

Well, if the thing wasn't going to leave, and she refused to do anything, he would have to take it up another notch. Lucas unhooked the pokéball grasped in his hand, pressed the button, and felt the ball enlarge to the size of an orange.

"I'm fine," she muttered. A low tone. The "f" sound (labiodental, if he remembered right) was extended longer than usual, her front teeth pressing against her wind-chapped lips.

He didn't believe her, so he released the creature within the ball to the side.

"I said I'm FINE!" she screeched, pounding her boot into the ground.

The torterra, a peaceful breed. A stationary creature, one who enjoys sunlight. The starly often make nests within the make-shift shelter on its heavy shell. His, in particular, was lazy. A daydreamer. Liked to stare at things. Questioned said things. They held many a philosophical conversation through intense staring and rapid blinking. They made an odd duo, given Lucas's down-to-earth persona and his torterra's lofty, dream-like state, though he figured something more eccentric, like Dawn's piplup who currently was trying to paw up his trainer's leg, would have driven him crazy.

Lazy, indeed. His torterra started his assault by glancing at the bibarel before looking up toward the moon, obviously not interested and obviously not threatened by it. A questionable gaze of "What?" A "You woke me up for this?" A "Goddammit so much, Lucas." A turn of the head. "Who's the chick? Your girlfriend?" Whether or not his torterra actually thought those things, he didn't know. Lucas imagined he was pretty close, though.

"Mind escorting this bibarel out, Torterra?"

The torterra grunted. He could imagine the "Why?" in his eyes.

"Just do it."

The beast lifted a heavy foot and stomped. It startled the bibarel, but the beaver stood its ground, switching his attention toward Lucas's pokémon much to Dawn's dismay (but secret relief, he imagined. Women need their secrets in order to meet their daily crazy quota). The torterra shook his body, and a few leaves dislodged themselves from the tree on his back, spiraling gently toward the ground like feathers in a pillow fight. The bibarel stared at them as the foliage landed in front of his feet and, with another beat of his tail, turned around and brushed through the growth.

They stood there quite awkwardly (well, not that she's awkward or anything. Lucas is the awkward one. She was the beauty in the beauty-geek dynamic. Had this been one of her fabulous stories she fantasizes about in her head all the time, he would be hiding his deep, eternal love for her, and she, coy and sweet, would pretend not to know that she knew that he liked her (though she did know, but that's besides the point. It's cuter when you pretend you don't know. She figured it was some sort of defensive move, like just in case the guy actually didn't like her. But that's silly talk; who doesn't like her?), and, at the end of her fabulous story, he would, in that stuttered, muttered tone he uses, confess, and she would confess she loves a geek, and they would skip into the sunset. She would also steal his hat and wear it because teasing is cute, too. AND THEN, many years later, they would have three kids, two boys, one girl, the girl being the youngest – and you've heard this before, right?) for a while. Dawn looked at Lucas, Lucas looked at Torterra, Torterra looked at the moon, and Pip, who Dawn had picked up after a few unsuccessful attempts at clawing up her leg, looked down her shirt.

"I was fine, you know," she muttered.

"I know. I just thought I'd help out," he murmured back.

Dawn wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as the nippy wind blew. "What was that move anyway?"

There was a small pause before he responded. "I invented it. It's a mixture between Sweet Scent and Razor Leaf. Think of it as a two-step attack. The pokémon sends out a few leaves that entices the opponent with its sweet-smelling aroma and the alluring way it twirls toward the ground. The pokémon has the ability to then make the leaves shoot up toward the unsuspecting opponent. Lucky for the bibarel, Torterra didn't have to initiate step two. It probably would have made it more aggressive."

"I ... really?" she asked curiously.

"No. Don't be stupid. Torterra shook his back, leaves from his tree were loosened and fell down, and lo behold: It ran away." He returned his sleepy torterra and sighed, clipping the ball back to his belt. "Really, battling a wild pokémon, specifically one who is timid but was putting on a show in hopes to make you run–which you didn't for some reason; god only knows why–is quite a complicated procedure."

"Well, I thought battling back would further agitate–"

"You thought wrong."

Dawn didn't reply. She was too angry to respond. He didn't even deserve a response after that.

Lucas translated it as being completely dumbfounded. "What are you doing here anyway?" he asked.

"I was going home before I stepped on that ... twig pile the bibarel had piled up." Ah, ha. He was right. "I live in Sandgem, remember?" She looked past Lucas and down the grainy path toward the seaside town. "You came from there. You don't live there. Why?"

"Why don't I live there?" he repeated slowly. "Well, I figured my mom was all, 'I hope my future son holds this awkward conversation with Rowan's other, more annoying, apprentice years later down the route between Twinleaf and Sandgem. But we can't live in Sandgem in order to initiate that conversation, so Twinleaf it is!' All purpose, all meaning, revolves around you if you really try."

Bitter much? "Stop being such a smart-butt. You know what I mean."

A ... smart-butt? "I was there for business. I was heading back to Twinleaf."

"Right," Dawn murmured, eyes cast to the side. "Well, I won't stop you. Good night."

"Good night."

And there it was. The subtle brush against his shoulder that ALMOST made him step backward as she walked past him. He heard it, the huff, that gasp of breath. Then there was the scuff of her boot on the sand.

Translation: You're an ass. Or a smart-butt to use her lingo.

Lucas spun around and stared at the girl's curvy figure as she traveled toward Sandgem. She walked against the wind, shivering. Pip nudged the top of his head against her chin and chirped sympathetically. She found her feet dragging, her knees tightening up, and then she just ... stopped. After sitting alone at the café for a good thirty minutes or so, she realized that, okay – maybe it wasn't such a good idea to accuse Lucas of becoming the younger version of the most diabolical man in Sinnoh history. But at the same time ... darn, she was mad at him. Who just ... gets up and walks away in the middle of a conversation?

She wanted an apology, and she wasn't leaving until she got one.

"I'm not apologizing if that's what you're waiting for."

Mind reader! Besides his ability to change the alphabet, Lucas could also read minds! If only he would use that power for good ... or had the additional power of turning things into chocolate. She would be all over that.

Dawn unhooked a pokéball from her bag's strap. There was a flash of red; she returned her piplup. "I know that," she replied. With her free hands, she reached behind and laced her fingers behind her neck. It was a nonchalant position; she wanted to look cool despite the anger building up inside her.

"So go home," he added dryly.

Ah. Haaaa. "Now wait. I think I get it now."

Sigh. "Yes. Going home is a difficult concept to grasp."

"Bear with me. It took me a while, but I think I get it. It could be because you're tired but ... I don't know. Just bear with me."

His response was an eye roll.

Dawn crossed her right foot over her left and twisted her body in order to face Lucas. Her hands were still behind her neck, elbows extended out. It was actually kind of creepy how she made a complete 180 without really moving, like a bad, bad, horror movie except the deranged lunatic wielding the fiery chainsaw was also the scream queen who died second to last ... and/or survived and became the star of the direct-to-DVD sequel.

Oh, shit. She's talking again.

"You know," Dawn began, dropping her arms and letting them swing back and forth. She looked up, examining the sky filled with winking stars. "My intention behind that conversation earlier wasn't meant to hurt you, or to 'experiment,' or whatever you said. All day I could tell you were just some lonely boy who, as brilliant as he is, was confused about the situations he was thrown into."

She held out her hand as soon as Lucas started to open his mouth. "Let me finish. Because of what you went through, you find it hard to trust people, and you hate it when people try to get close – and trust me; I can tell. I had never felt so ... so repelled by someone."

Closer and closer she inched toward him. The swing of her hips, the crunching of pebbles underneath her size five and a half boots, the almost sultry way she licked her lips. She poked her pointer finger into Lucas's chest. "You became hardened from your journey to the top. That cute eleven year old who forgot to rip out the tags of his favorite hat up there, and who I personally remember so fondly, is long gone. He's almost robotic now in order to protect himself. He'll complete the missions set out by others without being emotionally invested. Yeah?"

Lucas felt a smirk come across his face. He had no idea why he felt cocky all of a sudden. "You think you have me figured out that easily?"

"Oh, pretend all you want. Keep thinking that you're this cynical, calculating, sarcastic person that no one understands if it helps you feel superior. I'm good at my study. It took me a while, but I think I have you figured out now." Dawn started to walk around him slowly, hands clasped behind her back, her back slightly hunched.

He watched her circle him like a bird of prey, arms crossed. Maybe it was his fatigued state, maybe it was intrigue, dunno – all he knew was that something seemed attractive – no, that's a horrible word in regards to Dawn. Something about the conversation made him want to stay, feet firm on the ground. Yes, it was the conversation that made him stay. Nothing else.

"Do you now?" he asked. "Enlighten me."

She stopped in front of him. "You intrigue me, Lucas. You are a complicated person with an even more complicated past. Honestly, I felt sad for you. I can't imagine what it's like to be near friendless. I wanted to help you. There's something about that hurt, wounded puppy look you send out that makes a girl want to hug you, even if you don't like it. I want to make you happy."

Dawn looked him up and down. She stepped closer; he could feel her hot breath against his face. "Instead, I think you should hop off your pedestal, join the rest of the world for a quick minute, and maybe try to not make it seem like everyone is against you. Maybe, I don't know, remember that there are people on your side. Maybe, just maybe, you'll realize that not everyone is trying to rip you apart or use you or something." She felt a slight sense of pride in the startled look that graced the boy's face. "This shield you put up ... it's not only to protect yourself, is it? It helps you garner attention. Like a few minutes ago. You could have easily just walked away, but you didn't. You threw up some sarcastic comments in order to get a response from me. It's kind of a two birds, one stone sort of thing. A passive aggressive tactic. I dunno. Maybe you truly are this sad, sad little boy. But negative attention is better than no attention, right? How classic. You're like a two year old."

There was no response, only bewildered blinking. "Well?" she said. "Am I right?"

Lucas pocketed his gloved hands, wiggling his fingers around the balls of lint. "You talk a lot," he finally said.

"Yeah." She smiled. Their faces were only a few inches away from each other. She looked up at him through thick eyelashes. He noticed her slightly wrinkled nose and her tiny, but smug, smile. "You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, you know."

"But who wants to attract pests?" He grinned back, blinking back tiredness, concentrating on shifting the tension in his body to the balled fists in his pockets. "I think we're done here. Go home."

A slight cock of her head – her left barrette caught the light of the moon and glinted. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow at the hospital."

It took him a while to gather his thoughts, opening and closing his mouth. "I said I wasn't coming back," he finally managed to mutter out loud. His voice cracked at the end, and he visibly flinched.

This only made Dawn's grin widen. "Oh, we both know that's not true. You see, because of this conversation, I'm in your head." She pulled off his hat and twirled a finger around a lock of his hair, making him frown. She tugged on it and pulled him closer, making his breath get caught in his throat. "Not that I wasn't already, I bet." Her breath was hot on his lips. "And if you don't come tomorrow, I'm not going to be leaving your head, and I know that's going to drive you crazy. There – an excuse to stay, if it makes you feel better. So I'll see you tomorrow, hmm?" She released his hair from his grip, recapped his head, and turned on her heels, sand gritting underneath her feet. She headed toward Sandgem, her right hand lazily waving goodbye. "Good night, Lucas," she said in a dreamy voice.

That manipulative ...

He pulled a hand out and firmly pulled on the lid of his hat, letting the brim partially hide his eyes. No, she was wrong. He was leaving. He didn't need her. She's just some annoying, little brat who made quick generalizations based on one day. She's just some girl who ....

Who ...

Goddammit so much.

With that, Lucas threw his hands up, resting them on the top of his head, and watched Dawn's figure become a black silhouette, and then nothing.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he finally muttered.

I didn't sleep well last night. You think I would have crashed since I got home around one in the morning, but I spent most of the night trying to get comfortable. First it got too hot, then too cold, then too hot again. It was a series of drifting in and out, like the tide. Soothing relief followed by the sharp, awakening chill of its disappearance.

Yesterday was stressful, unnecessarily so. Today might be better.

You have to roll with the punches sometimes. It sounds like you're giving up, but sometimes the best defense is to make your enemies your close friends. I'm positive Barry would comment about my situation. To channel my inner Barry: "Bring that girl down." And maybe something about fining. I miss him. I wish we didn't drift apart.

I forgot to buy milk. I blame the girl.
…

Possible ability: Arena Trap – this prevents the foe from leaving. Further research required

~ ~ ~
Chapter Eight
~ ~ ~

Hospitals reek of disinfectant.

If you need more description, they're also very … boring. The flooring was carpet, trekked over and flattened into the ground, the synthetic fibers a hardened mesh of blue and purple. There was a brown streak on the wall to the left of Lucas' head. He didn't question what it was. It's better not to question streaks on walls, especially brown ones, when you're in a hospital. Streaks, like rope, are things that should be fought against. An undeniable truth.

What else is there? The lights are fluorescent. If you look down the hall, the entrance's sliding doors have fingerprints of all shapes and sizes smudged on them. That made no sense considering you didn't need to touch the door to exit. Whatever. Sunlight streamed through the door, a translucent liquid gold. The benches were made out of some weird vinyl material.

There was a half-circle counter stacked with paper and clipboards and charts. It was white, the counter. T'was the nurse's station or something like that. There were nurses there. That's stupid. A mass collection of persons of the same occupation in one general location doesn't make that area that group's area. You can't just claim property like that. Chaos would ensue if that was true! Oh, god he was tired. Did that even make sense?

Oh, that girl was here, too. She was reading that myths book. Stupid myths. Lucas turned his head toward her, and he caught a disorientated version of his reflection in her barrettes. He looked funny, his nose too big, his eyes too small, and his hair pointing out in different directions (well, that was probably the only truth in the reflection). She turned her head slightly, noticed him looking at her, and she smiled. He smiled back. What the heck?

Dawn looked back down toward the text she placed so snuggly on top of her thighs. "'There once were pokémon that became very close to humans,'" she read out loud after seeing how bored the poor boy looked, her index finger following the words. "'There once were humans and pokémon that ate together at the same table. It was a time when there existed no differences to distinguish the two.' Know what that means?"

"Hmm," he pondered. An interesting conundrum. How to go about answering it? He snapped his fingers. "There once were pokémon that became very close to humans. There once were humans and pokémon that ate together."

"That's exactly what I said."

"Fantastic."

She rolled her eyes. "Still bitter from last night, hmm?" She affectionately rubbed her palm against Lucas's hair and ruffled it.

Bitter? Please! He scooted over, quickly throwing on his cap over his unruly strands. Ha! Take that! You can't rub hair with a hat on! Who's not bitter now? Wait, what?

"Whatever," he murmured. "Your little myth here could mean a variety of things. It can be about the evolution of pokémon, specifically those who are considered 'humanoid.' Pokémon, according to history, were more ally than beast. Much more than your 'household pet,' your partner-in-training. Relationships between human and pokémon were formed that would be frowned upon today. This myth implies that these relationships formed the humanoid pokémon."

"So you can read past the literal. Good to know."

"You should have known that."

"Probably." She grinned. She flipped back and forth between the thin pages, a loose strand of hair brushing past her face. "This myth stood out to me. Humanoid pokémon and their origins have always been a mystery. I know it isn't your specialty, but I'm sure you have an opinion on it. What do you think?"

He considered the question thoughtfully, scuffing a foot across the carpet. "From a very basic viewpoint, I would consider adaptation. Those who are humanoid–machoke, kadabra, lucario, and so on–live in rocky terrain, and having the ability to walk on two legs while using your forearms to pull you up is much more useful. You'll be able to trek further in such areas."

She nodded, so he continued. "Likewise, the quadruped is more common in forest areas since it is relatively flat terrain. It makes them more agile to avoid predators – or catch prey."

"So ... You think pokémon that lived in rocky terrain were once quadruped but evolved into bipeds out of necessity?" Dawn closed the book lightly and ran a finger down the well-worn spine. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

He glanced down the hallway where a couple of nurses were speed walking from room to room. "I think they evolved, sure, but from what I don't know."

"But consider other bipeds in the pokémon world. Chansey, for example, do not live in rocky terrain but in the meadows."

"I wouldn't consider chansey humanoid."

"Still." She turned her head and opened her eyes, the pale white light of the hospital reflecting in her eyes. She stared at the side of Lucas's head, watching him fidget with the pokéballs clipped to the side of his belt. "I'd like your input."

There was a pause. Move your head slow. Look slow. Look slow so you don't seem alarmed by the request because you're not. Eyes to the side. Eyes on the peripherals – wait, would that look shifty? Like you're annoyed? Like you thought the request was stupid? Because you don't think it is. Shift your body instead. Why must vinyl be so loud when you move against it? Position your feet to the left. Grip your pokéballs tighter if you're nervous. You're nervous; your nails are digging into your palm. Why are you so nervous? Stop being so nervous. Now move the rest of your body. Your torso needs to move slightly to the left too, you awkward robot. There. Now look at her. Look. Really look. Take her in and look.

Light acne covered in makeup; he could see the few bumps on her forehead. Her eyeliner–or mascara, or eye shadow, or whatever it's called–was smudged at the corners of her eyelids. Was that on purpose? Cheeks were rosy. Was that natural? What do they call it? Blush? The term used for both the makeup and natural glow? How neat. Her lips were shiny, almost sticky looking. Fancy, fancy, sparkly chap stick. Or lip gloss. Something. A few thin strands of dark hair escaped her barrettes and brushed against her cheek, bouncing up and down with every move she made.

And her smile–white teeth visible between slightly parted and sticky lips–was lovely. Ugh, what the heck again?

"Chansey," he murmured a few seconds after she asked. "Well, they are rare to begin with, or they are well at hiding. I'm not sure if they are hunted down – I would think so because of how nutritious and beneficial the egg it carries is. That's besides the point, though."

"I guess," she said, nodding her head. "Go on."

He racked his brain. It amused him to think of his brain like a filing cabinet sometimes, the file drawers opening and an invisible hand flicking through manila folders until it stopped at the right one. He pulled it out and details on chansey filled his mind. "Let's see ... Despite their odd shape, chansey are actually quite good at escaping foes. Their shape, I believe, has more to do with the ... what is it called? The maternal, nurturing state of the chansey. Given the position, I suppose being biped makes travel easier while keeping their upper arms free in case of threat. They're able to hunch over, protect their egg, if under attack."

"Makes sense," she replied, gripping the book between her hands. "But back to humanoid pokémon. I understand the adaptation aspect of it, but I'm stuck on the origins. Data only goes back so far. Do you think pokémon were once humans? No, that isn't what I meant to say. Did … interbreeding–" Dawn's face scrunched up in confusion when she said the word. This made Lucas raise his eyebrows, amused. "–between pokémon and human create the humanoid type? Fighting types are extremely humanoid. Are they just super-powered humans? Psychic pokémon also have human-like qualities and seem to have better cognitive processes. Are they an expansion of the human mind?"

He noticed her nose crinkle at the thought. "An interesting question," he replied.

"I was going to specialize in it but ... I don't know. Is it even possible for human and pokémon to breed? Different sets of genes and all that stuff."

Lucas looked at the clock mounted on the wall above the automated doors. Six minutes past eleven. He had called Eldritch and Alyson earlier–around seven or so–and, from what he could piece together from Eldritch's incoherent statement, they were told to meet at eleven o'clock in front of the nurse's station–or doctor's station, or juggler's station, or whatever mass collection of persons of a certain occupation were gathered there at that very moment. At least that's what he thought he heard. "Meet us at that one ... that one counter thing. You know, that big counter thing. You remember right? It was that big counter thing in that big thing in front of that thing. You know now? And bring Sunny or Dawn or Sparky or whatever her name was if you're not mad at her anymore. Okay, Lukey Lu?" can only get you so far.

"I know it sounds fishy," she said as Lucas stared at the clock, unaware that he had dazed out, "but I do think that the essence of that myth is, to an extent, true."

He blinked rapidly a few times. "Well …" he let the word drag on. "Let's throw you a hypothetical. If pokémon truly are descendants of humans, why did they lose their ability to communicate in human language?"

"The stronger psychic types are able to communicate in any human language telepathically," she said. "Slowking and lugia are a couple of examples."

"Vocally, I meant."

"What if they lost that ability because it was unnecessary to learn the complexities of speaking human language? Pokémon have larynges, tongues, teeth, lips. Consider the wailord. Its skeleton reveals that it has a pair of pelvic bones buried underneath the skin. It has the bones that have helped it walk, even if it doesn't need to now. What makes this any different from the pokémon's inability to combine its vocal muscles to create human syllables?"

"You can't really compare the wailord's pelvic bones to all of pokémon's vocal organs. The former is not used at all and the latter is used in a distinctly different way from how we use them. Pokémon in no way have lost their ability to speak – their trainers just don't specifically understand the combination of syllables they use."

She didn't say anything, but he felt like he should pause. "As far as we know," he continued, "pokémon language could be more complex than human speech given they're able to communicate across various species. I don't think human speech is an indication that a pokémon evolved from a human – I guess that's my own fault for bringing it up. What makes a human a human anyway?"

"Wit? Ability to create something grander through simple means? Technology? Fear of death? Our love-hate relationship for crappy reality T.V.? Morality?"

"Maybe."

"I think morality." She leaned her head against the wall again, facing Lucas this time. A finger wrapped itself around the loose ends of her scarf. There was the brown streak in between them, the referee. "Perhaps the manipulation of thought. Humans are able to manipulate their thoughts so what is deemed 'bad' is seen as 'good' in their eyes."

"I don't know about that. I don't think anyone is really trying to be 'the bad guy'. Some people, despite how evil others see them, believe they're doing good for the world because that is truly what they believe. I think the complexities and various definitions of 'bad' and 'good' are a human quality in itself."

"I guess." She shrugged. "How do you think humanoid pokémon came to be then?" Dawn asked, crossing her legs. "Did they evolve from something simpler even if it wasn't a human? Or have they always just been like that?"

"It's a little too early to get into a philosophical debate."

"I know. I'd just like to know your opinion. I'll drop it after that."

Lucas noticed the hospital door open, and the stocky figure of Eldritch and the petite form of his wife entered. The young sailor had a slight ... swerve in his step as if tipsy on one or two or ten bottles of beer, while his wife gracefully stepped forward with her strapped sandals, swinging her hips back and forth gently. "I think," he said, "that you need to be in order to be. But some things just are."

"Are you still talking about pokémon?"

"I'm talking about anything." He grabbed hold of the brim of his hat and pulled it down. He stood up, greeting the couple walking toward them. "Good morning, Mr. Eldritch." He nodded at him. "Mrs. Eldritch."

"Aly," Alyson replied with a warm smile, brushing locks of wavy brown hair behind her shoulder. She nudged her husband with elbow after a few seconds of silence. "Danny–"

"Eldritch," he grumbled, wiping at his bloodshot eyes. "My name is Eldritch." He scratched the top of his head, fingers running through his greasy, black hair.

"It's um–" Dawn quickly stood up and placed the myths book on the bench. She wiped her hands on her skirt. "It's nice to see you again. How are you both doing?"

"We're well considering the situation," Alyson answered. She sidestepped and nudged Eldritch again so a nurse wheeling a patient out could pass by. "It's reassuring to know that Lane is stable and healthy at least."

"It's the 'why' and 'how' really." Eldritch stifled a yawn. "Sorry. I managed to catch a couple more hours before you called, but I'm still pretty worn out." He turned his head toward the boy in front of him and grinned, rubbing his chiseled, but stubble-adorned, jaw. "I'm glad you called, Lucas."

"I'm glad, too," remarked Dawn.

Lucas shifted his nerves into his fists, shoving them into the pockets of his jeans. He balanced his weight on the balls of his feet. "I'm ... Um, anyway, you told me there was some new revelation? At least that's what I think I heard."

"Come." Aly took a step forward and motion the rest of the group to follow. "Let's visit Lane first."


Lance, being the ever popular figure, had a cartoon show based on him.

"Based" is such a loose term. "Inspired" would be the proper word had the cartoon been about Lance's triumphs and hardships. Add some romance, a little drama, someone pushing someone else into a pool ... series gold. But the cartoon was about Lance and a bunch of talking pokémon living in Goldenrod City. Crazy situations occur. Crazy solutions are the answer. Then you wrap it up with a moral, like bacon around a hot dog. It's kind of unnecessary, sure, but everyone loves bacon. Lane lapped it up like a hungry kitten after a bowl of milk. It was the reason why he got up at six-thirty in the morning on a Saturday.

But you knew all this already, didn't you?

Anyway …

Was he a girl for a minute?

Everything was cartoon. Lane wasn't sure if he was watching the cartoon, or if he was in it. He couldn't see himself. Maybe he was a ghost. OoOooOooh! Is that the noise ghosts make?

He was standing on the street corner of a bustling city. It was animated, too. Everything was bright but at the same time mundane. The buildings were kind of blurry and colored the same golden brown. The glass windows had the same glint in them despite being drawn at different angles. The sun gave light to everything; the only shadows, in the shape of dark gray blobs, were beneath the pokémon's feet,

There were other cartoon beings. Most of them were pokémon standing on their hind legs. They were looking up toward the two-toned sky – no, the top of a building. "The Goldenrod Department Store" Lane read on the sign. He was standing near a quacking psyduck.

"What's going on?" he asked. Maybe the psyduck could see him.

"Look!" it quacked, flapping its wings. He wasn't sure if it was talking directly to him or just stating the obvious.

He looked. His vision panned forward somehow. Closer and closer and closer. It was the elusive gabite Lance was seeking and was secretly rivals with. Its blue and red scales were shiny in the cartoon sun. Beady, yellow eyes were narrowed. In his hands was a shotgun, cocked and pointed toward the wide-eyed civilians on the ground.

"Get out!" it snarled. "You shouldn't be here! Any of you! Go home!"

Where was home? He felt sadness overwhelm him as he stared at the gabite, staring at the sharp points on its back that stood out so threateningly against the calm, two-toned blue of the sky.

There was a loud CRACK! The pokémon began to scream and run around as more wild shots were fired. Lane couldn't see any of the shots being fired, or smoke, or anything, and he didn't join in the panic. As soon as he turned his head to the right, there was the psyduck. It was dead. No blood, though. He couldn't imagine a pool of blood. That's too much. Lane knew he was dead though, the way it looked so endlessly into the sky filled with fluffy clouds. The characteristic "tongue-out-of-mouth" was in place, a sure cartoon sign that the psyduck was gone.

More bodies hit the floor. Still no blood. Too much to imagine.

"Get out of here!" was the most predominant scream. "Anywhere but here!"

Lane looked around again. Near and far were bodies. Where could you run? Nowhere. He could find you anywhere, that deranged gabite. Bodies lined the exit. Bodies decorated the plaza, the entrance of the department store, in alleys, in open daylight. But he couldn't find him, Lane. He wasn't being shot at. But as a flaffy fell in front of him after being shot in the back, baaing and gasping at his shoes before it died, he couldn't figure out why he didn't run just to avoid the horrific scene. He guessed he didn't know the way out. He wasn't from Goldenrod. Maybe he couldn't run. Ghosts don't have feet.

Then how did he have shoes ...?

He missed something because everyone was cheering, and the gabite was gone. All the bodies that littered the ground disappeared, and death was replaced with dancing. Lane turned his attention toward across the street. Lance! There was Lance, the greatest dragon tamer in Kanto–no, the entire world! He was standing across the street, gripping his arm. Lane didn't move, just watched, as his hero slowly lifted his hand. Drops of blood rained toward the concrete. His hero's hand was soaked in it. Lance cringed and tightened his grip on his wound, slowly sliding toward the floor until his knees were curled up to his chest. He was hurt, obviously, but still alive. Something was just wrong with his arm. Maybe he got shot.

And then came Lina, that silly, bumbling pichu that ruined all of Lance's plans (though meaning well, of course). She noticed, with her head cocked to the side, the hero in pain, particularly in the arm region.

"I'll help!" Lane heard her cry, and she hopped on top of Lance's knees, pulled at his arm that maybe got shot at, and twisted and pulled at it. Something cracked, sickeningly so. She brushed her hands before wiping them on her tiny frame; a job well done. Lane noticed the streaks of red on top of her once shiny yellow coat, but she didn't seem to notice – or care. Then she left.

There was a loud yell from Lance before he slumped to the ground onto his back, comical X's in his eyes. Like he died. His dragonair flew by and rested her long body against Lance's, nudging his face with hers. Shift to nightfall. Everything fast forwarded to night, like all cartoons have the ability to do. Crickets chirping. Dancing long gone – creatures gone, too. There was the silver, pale moon above along with a vast arrangement of stars. An airplane buzzed by. Lance was unmoving, and so was his dragonair, patiently waiting.


Dawn couldn't help but jump back as Lane's body twitched, followed by a sharp exhale, like a gasp. He squirmed a little, disturbing the sheets on his bed. His face scrunched up, his small lips in a frown. But then he relaxed. It was odd, like sleep constipation.

She swore he heard him talk, sweet Lane, but no one else seemed to notice. It was a whisper, floating in the airspace above before being swept away like dust. She stared into his face, drinking it in.

Dawn wanted to be a teacher once. In the end she realized that it was more about the human connection that interested her, so she quickly ditched those plans. But teachers, especially those who are called to that field by destiny or God or whatever, create bonds with their pupils. They get to know a little about their students – their life, their history. She liked stories. Teaching seemed like a good way to know other people's stories. Basic questions and answers weave stories.

What is Lane's story, Dawn?

An eight year old, she answered. An eight year old living in Canalave. He has a mother, a housewife, and a father, a sailor, and they live in a quaint one-story house in the suburbs. Blue eyes. Black hair. Big ears that stuck out. A younger, skinnier image of his dad but with the cool blue eyes of his mama. According to his dad, he has a fascination with Lance. Somewhere along the lines he fell into some ... "sleeping spell" to use simple terminology.

Meaning?

Think about it. If he's eight and into Lance, it must mean he has some sort of interest in pokémon. In two years, he'll be able to register as a trainer. He must be excited about that.

A solid household in the suburbs ... that probably means a stable childhood. A mom that's a housewife indicates that she is quite invested in her child, which could translate into the mother being overprotective. His father would be seen as the less disciplinary one, seeing as the father is often out at sea. So there might be a more ... stricter element when it comes to Lane's and his mother's relationship while his relationship with his father is looser. A relationship you feel at ease with is the relationship you're more often to tell your secrets and truths to.

Life is kind of funny like that.

So a mother who may be overprotective, and an eight year old child who may be excited about becoming a trainer in two years, plus factor in the adventure-loving father, proven by the mere fact that the father is a sailor ...

That can't be good. Conflict. By no means disruptive, but she could see how it could make the household stiff.

"I know I already asked before, but do you mind telling us what Lane was doing the day before he fell into his slumber?" she heard Lucas ask.

A good question. Dawn found herself taking a step closer to peer into the sleeping Lane's face. She saw his nose twitch which made a small smile tug at her lips.

"He was playing at that old Harbor Inn with a couple of his friends," answered Alyson from the opposite side of the bed. One hand was holding onto Lane's hand, her thumb stroking the back of it. Her body position was slightly slumped.

Their shape, I believe, has more to do with the ... what is it called? The maternal, nurturing state of the chansey. They're able to hunch over, protect their egg, if under attack.

Definitely protective, she read through the simple body positions. But the loving stroke of her thumb was tender. Delicate. Sweet.

"I was walking home from the grocery store when I saw Lane try to climb through the window. Luckily, I managed to stop him."

"And later that night?" asked Lucas. She felt him brush up against her bare forearm accidentally, making the hairs on her arm stand on edge.

"He was playing in his room, pretending to be like Lance as he often does. I had Eldritch talk to him about what happened earlier," said Alyson. "He's more open with him than with me."

Knew it. Dawn held back a grin.

"We had a little talk, Lane and I. He told me something strange. I told you about it earlier," piped in Eldritch.

Lucas nodded. "Something in the Inn, right?"

Dawn thought about Lance. What a handsome man that Lance. But why would Lane like Lance? He had dragons and he was a heroic figure. Definitely something a little boy would look up to. Was she reading too much into it? Was the fantastic life of Lance was an escape from the drama of home?

She looked toward Eldritch and Aly. The two seemed comfortable with each other. Aly's other hand was wrapped around Eldritch's muscular arm. Maybe she was wrong. All pairings have disagreements but that doesn't mean a household in the midst of a breakdown. Besides, all little kids like to imagine regardless of the situation at home.

But why enter try to enter the Inn, Dawn?

To impress his friends of course. You could tie in the overprotective mother again, and most kids do the complete opposite of what their parents say in order to rebel but all kids do stupid things for their friends.

"Did he tell you about anything he saw? Any noises, smells?"

"Eyes," was Eldritch's answer.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Can you be more specific?"

"He just said he saw eyes."

Lucas turned toward Dawn. "Hypnosis?" he asked.

It flattered her that he was asking her opinion for once. "You told me that those who fall under a hypnotic sleeping state awaken in a few hours naturally," she replied, feeling ever-so-smart even if she was repeating what he said before. "You also said that it was highly inaccurate, especially if you factor in distance, the length of how long the spell was cast, and how long the prey was looking." She saw Alyson flinch near the end of her statement. Prey was for animals, for pokémon, and Lane was no pokémon. She bit her lip at her insensitivity. That wasn't like her. Too much analysis. Too much indirectness. Too much Lucas.

Lucas turned his head back toward the Eldritchs. "Do you know if Lane looked long?"

Alyson shook her head. "I saw him just when he was about to climb in. He couldn't have looked in for more than five seconds."

And there it was. She was sure of this time. "Watching ..." passed the little boy's lips. She was sure because everyone else looked toward Lane at the same time.

"That's the new 'revelation,'" Aly murmured, gripping her son's hand tighter. "He's been repeating something along the lines of 'Dar is watching me.' Maybe it was 'dark'? I was here the first time he said it – Eldritch was getting food–"

"That's when I ran into you, Lucas," remarked Eldritch.

"–And after he said it, his heart monitored started to beep like crazy. He calmed down after a while but it was still bizarre. And scary."

Dar (or Dark) is watching me. What did that mean? Dawn gripped her myths book tighter in her left hand. A dark type? A spirit? Maybe "dar" was someone. Dad, maybe? It sounded ominous. A warning of sorts. Maybe it was part of a dream. If you're sleeping, you're dreaming, right?

"Then I suppose our next step is to check out Harbor Inn." Lucas laced his hands behind his head. Dawn noted his body language. His right knee was popped out as he placed all his weight on his left and his elbows were pointed forward instead of toward the sides. It was a relaxed position, a contemplative position. Hands laced behind your neck could range from anything, though, from complete ease to high stress and frustration. She liked to think the former. Maybe he was finally comfortable with her. Maybe there was hope for this relationship after all.

"Maybe there's a pokémon lurking inside that is capable of using powerful sleep-inducing spells," Lucas explained to the parents. "Or maybe there's proof that Lane hurt himself on accident." It was a series of rapid-fire maybes, one after the other. You're not exactly sure if they're hitting or missing but all that matters is that they're being shot. Points are still addressed, even if they're wrong.

"He was hanging out with his friends the day before?" asked Lucas.

"Yes. Their names are Julie Edmund and Francis Miller. They go to the same school. Their homes aren't far from here."

"Maybe we should talk to them, too," he suggested.

"Maybe," she added. She felt like she added nothing in contribution. Her "maybe" was just to talk, really.

Dawn's eyes cast toward the window. Sunlight poured through the blinds, leaving horizontal streaks of light and shadow. She followed the path toward the adjacent wall where the light angled. The walls were painted blue, but there were drawings on the wall. Cute drawings of pokémon: dragonite, gyrados, wingull, pikachu. On the table next to Lane's hospital bed was a vase of flowers with petals that were starting to droop. The table was littered with trinkets. Toy cars. A bag of marbles. Pokémon cards. Empty pokéballs. They were lined up so neatly. The pictures on the wall were taped in straight rows of three.

Decorations, she thought as Lucas and the Eldritchs continued their chitchat. An association of the familiar, to make the hospital room more comforting rather than a place of fear. That's the basis of his parents adding Lane's drawings and toys to the room, she figured. But they were tidy. A sense of control. A desire for stability. Taking hold of the situation and having some sort of say in it. You may have put my child in here, but I have the power to make what his room looks like. The flowers? That's because all hospital rooms need flowers.

Someone had pulled the blinds up and opened the window. The cool ocean breeze entered, first in slow, tentative puffs than grander gusts that made the drawings flap. She shivered, strands of loose hair dancing about her shoulders.

"Ready?" Lucas asked, turning toward her.

"Huh?"

"We're leaving?" he answered slowly, followed by an inflection in his voice. "Where are you today?"

She blinked rapidly a few times. "Thinking," was her simple reply.

"Well, pack it in a to-go box. We have some research to do."

I've only read Chapter One, and I thought it was great.

Just two little nitpicks:

Once upon a time in a not far off place lived a boy in Canalave.

You're vaguely describing the place, then you say it's in Canalave. Awkward, don't you thing?

"For arceus' sake,

Capitalize Arceus.

Twiggeus said:

Once upon a time in a not far off place lived a boy in Canalave.

You're vaguely describing the place, then you say it's in Canalave. Awkward, don't you thing?

Click to expand...

I think it originally was "Once upon a time in a not far off place lived a boy" but I think I merged that sentence with the "Canalave" bit just to trim it down. Though looking back, it kind of looks better like that. That and I don't think knowing it's Canalave straight away is entirely important.

Anyway, thanks for pointing that out. It certainly made me think about revision. =P

Twiggeus said:

Capitalize Arceus.

Click to expand...

Will do, since "Arceus" seems to be acting as a proper noun in this case. (Yeah, I follow the common noun idea when it comes to pokemon and only capitalize their names when it's a proper noun. =P)

Thanks for reading and reviewing. =)

I'm trying to deal with it. Arceus knows I'm trying.

I said earlier that I like to be alone. That's true. But I also know I'm better off that way. Everyone else is better off that way. Over dramatic? A little.

It's just ...

I know what I went through. It's taken me quite some time to understand what happened two years ago. In some ways, I still can't wrap my mind around it. I still have a lot of issues to work out. I understand how detrimental other people can be. I don't want to do that to others. I refuse to burden them with my problems. I don't want to recreate the ill-effects the people I trusted did to me.

In a strange way, it's me caring for others by not caring for others.

...

Possible ability: Inner focus – the user is protected from flinching.

~ ~ ~
Chapter Nine
~ ~ ~

They lived in a house in a tropical location. It was either Hoenn or the Sevii Islands. All Lane knew was that he had to jump on the tops of large, flat stones that rested in the river to get to his house made out of shiny planks of dark wood. The water was freezing, making his toes turn into raisins.

... Not literally, of course.

He distinctly remembered the waterfall in the background complete with rainbow above as he went inside. The air was humid and hard to breathe. They were having some sort of family party. Aunt Beatrice was there (blech!) with her hairy mole on the right side of nose, and she went over, wrapped her arms around him, and smooched him on the cheek. He broke free and skipped toward the backyard's porch where his dad was preparing the grill for a barbecue.

"Your cousin is in the house. See if she has the meat ready," he told him.

He ran back in and somehow ended up at a laundry room. He pushed the door open a little, hearing it squeak, and saw his older cousin crying and fussing over something.

"Is the food ready?" he asked.

"I can't do it," she cried. "Tell Uncle that I can't do it!" She ran off, brushing past him.

Lane looked down the hallway toward the glass doors where his dad was flipping a few hamburger patties onto the grill. He walked into the laundry room, standing on tippy-toe to peer into the open washing machine. A ponyta was in it, folded and curled around the center. Two of its hooves stuck out above the top. He saw the horse's eyes, two brown, round things. They blinked back at him.


"You go in first," she urged.

He looked back at her. "Are you nuts?" he muttered, facing forward again.

"Chicken," was her quick reply.

Lucas and Dawn stood in front of the rotting fence that bordered Harbor Inn.

"Well, you go in if you're so brave," he retorted.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because in the movie of life, I am the wise character."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, that one girl who changes the life of the protagonist by pushing him to do idiotic things."

"I'm the protagonist?"

"Yes."

"You must have some sort of self-confidence issue if you diminish your role to supporting character in the movie that is your life."

"Prolly." She smiled.

"So you go in first."

"I am 'l-o-l-ing' from your command. Really."

"Please don't Internet acronym around me ever again."

"Fine, as long as you don't turn nouns into words again."

"Words?"

"Verbs. I meant verbs."

"Then what about words like 'cook?' Or ' judge?'"

"You know what I mean. Stop being a meanie."

He rolled his eyes, resting his hands on the fence's gate. He gave it a slight push, and the gate opened slowly with a squeak, the bottom getting tangled in the weeds as it scraped backward into the lawn. "What's the big deal anyway?" he asked more to himself than the girl next to him. "It's just some old building."

"Supposedly haunted," she added, crossing her arms. "With ghosts."

"Compared to other spiritual beings?"

"I think ghouls haunt buildings."

"Which are ghosts."

"No, silly. A ghost is, like, the soul of someone departed that lingers around for the 'lulz'."

"I thought you were going to stop that."

"I lied. Anyway, a ghoul steals bodies or something."

"So why would a ghoul be in a building that is empty?"

"To wait for stupid people to go in. But like I said, ghosts. Not ghouls. No worries." She gave him a thumb's up and clicked her tongue.

He sighed. "Come on."

Lucas took a step forward, sneakers squashing ants. Dawn was on his heels, her head turning left and right in paranoia. Dandelions grew up between the cracks of the concrete pathway. He kicked one down, and the white seeds released themselves from the stem and twirled around his ankles. Dawn let out a small giggle.

"They tickle," she said, bending over a bit to brush her bare legs.

The porch's wooden steps creaked as the two climbed up. Lucas examined the door, the jagged lines that zigzagged across the ancient wood. He focused in on the rusted knob. "Locked," he assumed. He stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around it. A jiggle. A nudge. "Yep." He gave the door a light kick, making it thud.

Dawn jumped off the porch to the side, standing ankle deep in weeds. She kicked them down with her heavy boots and approached the broken window. "Here. Maybe you can enter through here." She brushed a broken shard off the windowsill and it fell near her feet, shimmering in Sinnoh's hot afternoon sun. She looked up, her eyes squinting, and gazed at the sky. It was a deep blue touched by a puff of white. The hot air was suffocating in a way, making her sleepy.

Lucas ignored her par usual as he fumbled with something in his pocket. She sighed. Another brilliant idea wasted. She looked back toward the window. The wind was light today, barely making the thick, red curtains in front of the window shift, so she moved them for nature, the cloth feeling oddly sticky and wet under her fingertips.

No ghosts. No motion. Nothing.

Inside was dark. From what she could make out from the sunlight that streamed in was old furniture – the form of a sunken couch, a kitchen table standing proudly on four legs, a wooden staircase with broken posts. Lots of broken glass. Lots of splintered wood. It smelled like a public bathroom.

And then there was Lucas. He blinked a couple of times, staring at her in bewildered expression.

"What the heck?" she asked more to herself than the boy standing inside the inn. "How did you get in?"

He nudged his head toward the entrance, the door wide and open, letting the cool ocean breeze blow in and out. It was like the inn's first exhale after a long time of holding its breath.

"You said it was locked!"

He held up a pocket knife and folded it back into its base, slipping it back into his pocket.

"You think something so simple would have been done by other people trying to enter and fix this place," she murmured, an eyebrow raised up.

"Or maybe no one cares," he replied.

"Something like that." Dawn left the window alone and took one huge step to get back onto the porch. She tentatively approached the door, the hair on her arms pricking up, and entered slowly, one hand grasping the solid, wooden door frame. Her hair swung around her right shoulder as she leaned in, inhaling and exhaling in quick, short breaths. "See anything?" she asked.

He turned his head. "Dust," he said.

"And?"

"Furniture."

"And?"

"Rope."

"The fiend."

Lucas took a step back from the window and gave it a good look up and down. I saw him just when he was about to climb in. He couldn't have looked in for more than five seconds. His brow furrowed. He turned around, narrowed his focus. In direct line of sight, the view from the window to the back of the room was unobstructed. Nothing seemed ... odd, out of place. There was the long kitchen table that fed many a sailor; the lumpy couch used as a place for achy feet to relieve themselves; and the clock on the wall, long dead, its bronze roman numerals catching the light depending on what angle Lucas looked at it. They were your typical items seen in any bed-and-breakfast setting.

The floorboards under his feet groaned as he walked past the kitchen table. Soon enough he reached the other end of the Inn. He looked down. A collection of mold was growing from the bottom of the wall. There were droppings, dry, round, and hard, scattered here – everywhere really. Pokémon had taken habitat in the old inn but not for a while; they were most likely rodent types given the shape and size of the fecal matter. As far as he knew, rodents had limited attacks that used their eyes besides the common Leer to scare away predators and Foresight to help them see in the dark. Hypnosis wasn't one of them.

"Anything?" Dawn asked from the door. "Anything, you know, unusual?"

Lucas didn't like to be believe in the unusual. To be more specific, the truly unexplainable–rather, the answers to the unexplainable that are created out of thin air–are things that bug him the most. They tell him that the unexplainable answer–the myth–has a basis of logic, but do these answers truly appear for these people? Or do these people look toward anything for an answer?

Eldritch was so adamant about "eyes in the inn." This was a man who, too, knew stories but did not necessarily believe in them, and yet he was sure that his boy and his mention of eyes had something to do with something.

He shook his head, his right hand tightly holding the brim of his hat. He turned his head, his chin resting on shoulder, and looked at the window again, its curtain slightly flapping, letting in the sun. Yawn, however accurate it may be, would be hard to see from such a distance and from the limited light. No, it couldn't be Yawn. And what about birds, pokémon that commonly use sound-based attacks to lull their foes? Well, it's not very likely they would take solace in such a cramped and damp area, especially if rodents were living here, too.

What the heck was he doing here? It's obvious that this location has nothing to do with Lane's state. He had to have done something else that day ... Heck, he had better things to do today.

"The Harbor Inn," Dawn said as she slowly crept in, releasing the door frame from her grasp. The floorboard creaked and ached underneath her feet as she walked toward him. "You've heard about this place, right?"

He nodded.

"Were you around when it was open?"

He gave her a look, his lips in a small frown and his eyes rolling to the side.

"Oh, don't give me that," she muttered. "Maybe you're actually fifty instead of fourteen. The bags under your eyes certainly tell me you're old." She grinned and stood on tippy toe, patting his hat down, making him wrinkle his nose. "You know, sailors back in the day used this place as a makeshift home. You know, between trips."

"Obviously."

"And one day it just closed down."

"Just closed down?"

"Like the owner died or something like that. He had no kids or a wife or any sort of family nearby, so I guess they just closed it."

"Awesome." Lucas shoved his hands into his pocket par usual his fidgety self and shifted his weight from the heels to the balls of his feet. The floorboards groaned with each rock back. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well ... Maybe it's because the building is so old and run down, but people believe this place is haunted."

"You told me that earlier. We got into a debate about ghosts versus ghouls, remember?"

"I know, I know." She waved this off. "But I was reading that myths book – stop giving me that look, Lucas. I was reading that book, and it went into the story about this place. I didn't finish it, but I read how when there is a new moon, people sense that there is some sort of spiritual thing inside."

He sighed. "So?"

"Soooooo it went on to say that when people cross paths with this place around new moon time–like really close ... like look into the window close–they say funny things happen to them."

"Such as?"

"I dunno. It never really detailed it. Just things. Kind of sounds like what Eldritch told you, doesn't it?"

"I'm sure he picked up that story from someone else, who picked up that story from someone else, and so on. It doesn't make it true that it's known throughout the locals."

"Just sayin'. That's not my point. Both stories relate to the moon. Can you think of any pokémon that respond to different moon patterns? Maybe the pokémon that attacked Lane is active during the new moon phase which explains why we may not be able to find it now."

He racked his brain. "Clefairy, but they are associated with the full moon. Same applies to the lunatone species in Hoenn. I'll have to look into it. Interesting development, though. It could help explain things." Lucas looked at the girl and, with a loud exhale, said, "Nice find, Dawn."

She beamed. "Thanks."

"Yeah. Well." He turned around (out of embarrassment or because he was still looking for traces of pokémon, who knows) and examined the wall. There were scratch marks cut into the moldy, now brown, plaster. There was a pile of dead leaves and sticks in the corner that managed to remain relatively untouched by the sweeping winds – he thought too soon. The ocean breeze brushed through and stirred up the dirt and droppings in small circles around the floor. "At least we have a lead up on something. Let's go look out–" A loud creak caught his attention, so he snapped his head to the right, noticing that the girl was scurrying up the stairs. A sigh. "Get down here."

Dawn looked back, one hand gripping the stair rail, and said, "No," quite cheerfully before starting her ascent. Lucas lost sight of her when she got further up, her mud-caked boots the last he saw of her. He could hear her loud thumps from downstairs, the way she hurriedly walked to and fro from room to room without caring that she was disturbing something so ancient and sleepy. That and she could easily break something with her questionable ("I am not fat!" he imagined her screeching) weight.

You drive me nuts, he thought bitterly as he followed after her, noting how some steps seemed caved in and how the rails of the stairs were splintered or completely broken. Every step he took made the stairs below him groan, so he was careful, delicately tapping the step with the balls of his feet. He didn't bother holding the rail; it shook harder the further he got up, the wood-on-wood making a hollow sound, like plastic wind chimes.

He pitied her in a way. She was smart–kind of, in her own way–but still so incredibly naïve about everything. She trusted so much, she believed in so much; she thought the best of people. It truly was pathetic.

He made it upstairs and crept into the first room on his right, standing in the doorway. It was a bedroom filled with a pair of bunk beds. Between the two beds was a window with faded lace curtains, thick with dust. Dawn was there, one knee perched on the small mahogany dresser drawer between the beds. Her other foot was planted firmly on the wooden floor. Her hands were holding the curtains open as she gazed upon the outside world.

Her amusement in things was so simple – folk stories, the view from a window ... people. Why was she so interested in people? Why did she care about the bonds between people and pokémon, between people and people? What was the point of trying to get to know someone? They're bound to hurt you. You're bound to hurt them. Why do it? Why risk it?

She turned her head slightly and smiled. "I knew you'd follow, chicken," she teased. She turned back around. He watched as she arched her back, her hair draping behind her, the sunlight casting her body in its radiance.

Most people are malevolent. That neighbor down the block who used to give the best Halloween candy is now on trial for attempted murder over something so unbelievably superficial. The doctor of a pokémon center stole pokémon from the trainers who trusted him to "heal, not harm." Your best friend, who tried so hard to be the best he could be, had his spirits crushed down by a person he hadn't even met because "he was an annoying pest in the way." And that woman–your supposed mentor, that one person you should be able to trust out of anyone–just ... just threw the world onto your shoulders so she could be concerned with other things. That pathetic girl, the one so stupidly staring outside the window, would tell him that woman meant well, that the woman had faith in him, that the woman knew he was responsible and powerful and smart. Dawn would tell him that the woman trusted him one-hundred-and-one percent.

Why couldn't she see that life isn't all smiles? Why couldn't she see that people are out for themselves? Why couldn't she see that the hidden motive behind action is selfishness, not the good of the other human?

It bemused him. He hated it.

"Come here, you. This place has an awesome view of the sea. You can almost see those islands."

As he approached and stood behind her, breathing in a mixture of her sweet, flowery shampoo and dust, he couldn't help but wonder why she bothered sticking around. Try as he might to not get close to her–to be as repelling as possible, to be her antithesis, someone who she couldn't stand to be around–she was still here. And she still cared for him.

(Granted, he had only been back in the area for three weeks or so. That surely couldn't be enough time to fully repulse a person, right?)

He wouldn't do the same for her. He couldn't care for her. Things are better off that way. She needed to grow up.

The sea met the sky in glorious shades of blue, two vastly different things that looked like one individual piece sewed together. One was stable, the other dependent on wind and gravity. There were the islands, green and brown beacons that stood sturdy in the ocean's flailing waves. He figured there was symbolism (everything is symbolic if you try), but his thoughts were on other things. On her. Goddammit.

"One is Fullmoon. The other is Newmoon," she said, her body rocking back and forth slightly, her hair brushing against his crossed arms. "I forget that other one near it." She pointed, smudging the already dirty glass. "Named after a metal, I think."

"Iron," he replied.

"That's it." He saw her smile in the reflection. "Why do people go there?"

"Training," he answered. "I went there for training."

"I think I read something about them in my myths book." She patted her bag hanging from her shoulder. "I'll look when we're back at the library. Wanna leave now?"

"Yeah."

She dropped her knee and stood back on her two feet, twisting around to face the boy and looked him up and down. Bags were under his eyes. His posture was slouched. His clothes were wrinkled. He looked so ... tired. "I'm ... sorry, Lucas." She had no idea why she was apologizing. It just felt like the right moment to say it.

Of course he would ask, his head slightly tilted: "For what?"

"For ... I dunno. I just noticed how tired you look. I mean, just when you were about to leave for that battling thing after doing all of Rowan's work ... well, you know. I know you just want to have relax." Her nose wrinkled. "I know you don't really like me."

He stared at a few seconds. "I never said that," he said slowly, carefully.

"No, but I know I'm not your most favorite person in the world either." She gave him a weepy grin, forced and sympathetic. "So I'm sorry. And thank you. For staying, I mean."

Another awkward, "Yeah," came out of Lucas's mouth after a few seconds of contemplative silence.

Never underestimate silence. It says so much without saying anything at all. For Lucas, it told the person he was talking to how awkward he felt ... which he was most of the time. In other instances, it was a forewarning of things to come. The tension in the air, the shallow breaths … Your sight somehow becomes clearer. All sounds are magnified.

And as her face came closer to his, her once sticky, lip-glossed lips now dry (though there were still remnants of glitter), he couldn't help but notice how freaking loud his heartbeat was. Could she hear that? He noticed how her head tilted slightly to the right, her eyes starting to close. Why was his head doing the same? Why was she leaning in?

Did time suddenly slow down?

What was going on?

"What." Lucas quickly took a step back, making Dawn open her eyes, snap back, and regain her composure. What a stupid thing to say. What did that even mean, what?

The two stood there in silence for a few seconds, quietly reflecting on what the heck almost happened. For once it was Lucas who broke the awkward silence.

"Library?" he asked.

The look of disappointed she had last night flashed across her face again, and she blinked, and it was gone. "Yeah," she said, once again uncharacteristically quiet. She gave him a weird face, something he couldn't really place a finger on–kind of worried, curious, and disgusted at the same time–and brushed past him, her shoulder hitting his, making him move back a bit. "Let's go."


She should have known darn better than that. You spend so much time studying a guy, and you know he doesn't like you (at least in the way you like him), but you, being the stupid girl that you are, think otherwise. You think, for some split second in a moment of weakness, that he's going to kiss you back. Dawn, what the heck? You just ... you just tried to kiss him, didn't you? Are you insane? What good would that do you? Oh, my god. You're ... oh, my god. But he was going to kiss back! You saw it, the way he leaned in, too, before quickly pulling away, alarmed. Isn't that more important?

She refused to look up from her book, the setting sun her reading lamp. The concrete was the only way she could tell if she was going to walk into anything. She guessed Lucas would say something but–

Oh, my god, you just tried to kiss him. Idiot!

The concrete underfoot changed from plain gray speckled with dry gum to cobblestone that felt pleasant underneath the soles of her boots. They were approaching the library (she could hear the water fountains that decorated the outside of the building). She heard the glass doors opening and someone walking past them. She felt the cold of the air conditioner mix in with the warmer autumn heat around her. She smelled the distinct scent of aged books with thick, yellowing paper in them. Ah, the library. A place of solace, quiet. A place to get away from your thoughts–

Dawn, why the heck did you do that? She mentally smacked herself in the forehead. Repeatedly.

At least the book was interesting. As they entered the library (she noted the rough welcoming mat followed by the library's polished wooden floors from underneath the book), she started to re-read that one myth she told Lucas earlier.

He almost kissed back, right?

She had to look up from her book, but only slightly, to make sure she didn't trip over her feet while climbing up the stairs. Lucas (oh, god, she made things more awkward between them now. Good job, Dawn) held back and let the girl climb up first, one hand lightly sliding up the handrail and her other hand held out flat so she could balance the open book on it. They skipped past the second floor and then the third before finally stopping on the fourth. The books Lucas (god, you're such an idiot for doing that, Dawn!) had pulled out were still on the table sitting in its nice, neat stack. She felt him move from behind her before walking past to take his regular seat, the wooden chair on the right. She let her eyes wander up, watching as he took off his backpack and hung it around the chair's back before plopping himself in the seat. And then ...

Sighhhhhh.

Okay, so she over exaggerated. Big deal. Still, the boy's sigh made her roll her eyes. "Look," she said, "I'm sorry for that, too. Maybe I just wanted to create a situation in which saying 'sorry' was applicable."

He said nothing to her obviously sarcastic comment as he twisted his body to open his backpack, pulling out the old red notebook he dragged around with him everywhere. The familiar sound of pages flipping filled the air. She watched as he pulled a pencil from his pocket, tapping it in the familiar beat he did yesterday. Two quick taps, then a pause, then another tap. Repeat.

Dawn tentatively walked to her seat to the left of Lucas, placing the myths book delicately on the table. "Do you not want to talk about it?"

"Not talk about what?" He looked up and raised an eyebrow.

It caught her off guard. "What just happened ...?" she said.

"Not really." He shrugged. "It's not important."

Not important. Right. That's what she was to him. She frowned. "Well, I'm glad you're not ..." How could she phrase it? "... Bothered."

"Yep." His head went back down, continuing to flip through the pages of his notebook until he found the next blank sheet. He dug into the back pocket of his jeans this time and pulled out a red, square device. A pokédex, she noted, as he pressed the center button to open the device and reveal the shiny screen. He touched the screen and flicked his finger up. A series of quiet beeps followed.

It was so sudden, and she didn't expect it. All she worked for came crashing back down the square one. Three weeks of trying to reestablish a friendship was just ... gone.

"Anything I can do?" she asked helpfully.

"You can be quiet," was his familiar answer followed by the familiar smirk. He didn't look up, though.

Wish granted. She didn't reply and instead stared at the book, skipping over the myth her book was open to and toward the analysis at the bottom of the page. Get that stupid kiss–or almost kiss or whatever it was–out of your head. Concentrate.

Fullmoon Island and Newmoon Island are considered to be parallels to each other not only geographically but within legend, too. It is rumored that two legendary pokémon reside on each island. Cresselia, a pokémon that appears to be more active during the crescent moon phases (or is at least symbolized as such) supposedly makes home in Fullmoon Island, though there is no evidence to support this. The "pitch-black beast," as the myth describes, most likely belongs to cresselia's counterpart, a dark-type named Darkrai. It is told that he is the most powerful during the new moon phase, thus ...

Wait. Darkrai?

Dar is watching me, she remembered. And then it clicked in her head.

"Darkrai is watching me," she said out loud to no one, though Lucas heard her. She felt his gaze on her, so she snapped her head up and looked back. "Darkrai is watching me," she repeated, eyes wide. "It's gotta be darkrai, Lucas. I know it."

He gave her that same look from earlier. How slight his eyes rolled in their sockets and the nose flare that held back his sigh. "And what makes you think that?" he murmured.

"Well, the myths book–"

"Exactly."

"Lucas, what else–"

"It's not darkrai," he said firmly. She noticed that his fingers wrapped tighter around his pencil, his fingernails digging into the wood. "No one has seen darkrai in decades. There is very little research on it."

"Of course there isn't because the myth says that it's active when the new–"

"Dawn." He didn't raise his voice nor did he sound annoyed, but the simple single-syllable pronunciation of her name made her stop talking.

Dawn frowned, fingers lightly resting on the pages of her book. "Why don't you believe me? You believed me earlier about that new moon thing I read. Even if the myth isn't true, surely it's based on something that is true."

"It's just not." Lucas stared down at his pokédex.

"Can't you just–"

"Stop." He curled his toes in his sneakers to fight back the agitation building up inside himself.

"But look, Lucas." Goddamn she was determined. "It says here that darkrai is powered by the new moon, and he's a dark type, and Lane. Remember what Lane was saying in his sleep? 'Dar is watching me.' That could be him trying to say 'darkrai,' Lucas. And look at this part!" She used her pointer finger to keep track of where she was reading. "'Darkrai is rumored to be fueled by nightmares.' It makes perfect sense."

"No, it doesn't." He slammed his pencil down and glared at Dawn. "Listen to yourself. 'Rumors.' 'Myth.' Do you not get how stupid you sound right now and how pathetic it is to resort to what most likely are tales told to children because, for some goddamn reason or another, we can't find the solution to what's wrong with Eldritch's kid? It's not helping that you keep stopping me to tell your little riddle that you found to be 'soooo' interesting–" She looked about ready to kill him when he mocked her, her face in a scowl. "–and it certainly isn't helping Lane. Myths explain nothing except how unexplainable something is. People form myths, believe in them, research them, because they are too lazy to find the source of truth. The fathom any freaking reason so they can direct their fear toward something. So stop it, for Arceus' sake. You're not helping. I don't need you."

What was weird was that it was this little rant that finally got her. Forget him trying to ignore her for the past three weeks, then trying to brush her aside and treat her like useless crap the day before, then being a complete smart-ass to her last night, and then pulling away from her trying to kiss him less than thirty minutes ago. It was this, his little "myth on myths" (if that's not ironic in itself), that got her to stare at him bewilderedly, widen her eyes, and then, subsequently, cry.

Hell, that little "snap" of his wasn't even entirely directed toward her. She caused it, sure, but it wasn't toward her.

He didn't say anything as she scooted the chair back angrily, tears angrily building up in her eyes, as she swiped her bag off the table. He didn't even look up from his notebook when she stomped off toward the staircase and half-walked, half-ran, down them. There was no time for that. He had plenty of other things to occupy his mind. Dawn couldn't be one of them.

I must say, I'm liking what I've read so far (read: chapter 1). One small hang-up: I dislike the use of "orbs" to mean "eyes" - I find it rather archaic and pretentious, to be honest - but that's just me, and it doesn't distract from the writing at all, which is superb.

Jabberwocky said:

I must say, I'm liking what I've read so far (read: chapter 1). One small hang-up: I dislike the use of "orbs" to mean "eyes" - I find it rather archaic and pretentious, to be honest - but that's just me, and it doesn't distract from the writing at all, which is superb.

Click to expand...

I agree, and there's probably a more kiddish word to describe eyes (circles!). I'm not sure how I missed that. I think because I didn't look at it as an analogy for the word "eyes" ("She looked up, the sky reflecting in her bright green orbs" and the works) but as a description of what the eyes actually looked like, which were, at least in my head, literally glowing blue orbs/spheres floating in some sort of blob-like shape.

Glad you enjoyed the first chapter. =)

Common sense tells me that I should be mad at myself. Or guilty. Or both.

I'm not.

Possible ability: Run away – enables sure get away.

~ ~ ~
Chapter Ten
~ ~ ~

Nighttime is a time of solace. It is where you put all the stress from the day into a tight, neat thought and look over it, put away on a shelf, and try to forget about it, only to take it down, look over it again, get annoyed, put it to the side, turn your back to it, but continue to think about it even if you don't want to.

It was a confusing state, Lucas noted, his mind in a constant shuffle between articles on pokémon comatose and the stupid brat that ran off on him. No matter what he wanted to do, which was to go home and get lost in pokédex data under the flannel covers of his bed, some sort of invisible glue kept his butt cheeks planted firm in his seat. It felt like there was a magnet in his hand that was stuck to an opposing magnet in the book's page. It was like a tiny alarm clock beeping "WHAT DID YOU DO, WHAT DID YOU DO, CUCKOO!" in his head. He wanted to flip the book over and repel it away. He wanted to smash his head in with the flat of his palm.

Okay, not really.

Was it guilt he was feeling, that twisted, knotted feeling in his stomach? Was it this that made his breath shallow, his mind race, his brow lightly sweat? Was this why he couldn't go home? He felt, dare he say, bad for what he said earlier?

He scooted back, lifting his legs on the table and crumpling pages of his notebook beneath his calves. He looked toward the window. Black. The glass was starting to frost over near the edges. It is late, he mused, and cold. He took off his hat and threw it onto the table only for it to slip over the edge and fall to the floor. Where did she go? Why did he care? And goddamn, what the hell is wrong with this kid?

He leaned his head back, letting out a yawn while staring at the fluorescent lights above. He snapped his head forward back toward the desk, the wooden panels under him groaning tiredly. He contemplated. He was lost. He had no idea where to go, what to turn to. There was nothing he could use to connect to Lane's state? No other cases? Nothing?

Near his feet was Dawn's book. That myths book. Pardon, that stupid myths book. It was open to the same page she left it on. If he squinted, he could make out the small text from here. Darkrai, darkrai, blah, blah, blah. There was a small sketch of the dark-type on the upper left page. He pulled his legs off the table and sat up properly. And then, again because of the stupid magnets in his hands, he reached forward for the book only for logic to step in heroically and block him from doing the evil deed, making him pull his hand back to the nape of his neck.

"Psh," was all he could muster, wiggling his cold fingers against the warmth of his neck.

It'll do you no good, said Logic.

But what harm will it do? questioned Guilt.

Don't. There's no point in it.

But what if you learn something?

You won't. You know that. We both know that.

He imagined Logic glaring at a sheepish Guilt.

With his hands tucked in the warm crevice of his stinky armpits, Lucas leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, letting out another yawn. His head soon followed, collapsing into his folded arms. He could feel the coldness from the air conditioner enter the opening of his t-shirt, creating goosebumps on his chest.

When you're finally able to lock away that tight package of thought, you're awarded with sleep. Or, at the very least, a half-dazed state where real life merges into something dream-like. You start to envision what you want to happen, or what you expect is going to happen sooner or later. He kept envisioning Dawn walking back in, sitting next to him. She would, while his head was still down, pull that stupid myths book in front of her, flip through the pages, and when he finally looked up, she'd give him one of those smiles that made him feel uncomfortable. He kept hearing noises – feet pounding, chair legs scraping, pencils tapping, pages flipping, but he knew it was all in the imagination.

Now to figure out what category to shuffle that particular thought in ...

He pulled his head up a bit to look at the bulky blue pokétch strapped to his left wrist. Almost eight o'clock. Holy hell. Had he been here that long? What was he doing?

You should look for Dawn, said Guilt.

She's fine, argued Logic. She's fourteen years old. If she can't take care of herself by now, then all hope is lost.

But imagine if something did happen to her, replied Guilt. Could you live with it?

Depends, replied Logic.

For example, what happens if she runs into that same bibarel? Wouldn't that be ironic? said Humor with a chuckle.

That's not funny, muttered Guilt, nor ironic. And who invited you into this conversation?

Yeah, butt out, chimed in Logic.

No, you butt out! yelled Humor.

Stop the maaaaadness! sung the rarely heard Drama.

Lucas sat up and rubbed at his temples. "Why does Drama have an opera voice?" he murmured, bending over to scoop his hat off the floor. He brushed the top of it for dust before throwing it back on his head, letting it sit crookedly. That stupid myths book caught the corner of his eye again. It taunted him. Read me. What are you, chicken? C'mon. You want me. You know I'm in your head.

He looked back and forth between his notebook and that stupid myths book. His notebook was glaring at him. If you touch it, warned his notebook, I'm not going to be your friend.

"Why do I keep filling in voices for things?"

Why not? his notebook replied.

He shook his head and closed his notebook (he imagined muffled groans) and, with hesitant fingers, reached forward for the book – er, that stupid myths book. The pages felt old and dusty beneath his fingertips, though it couldn't be older than a few years. The print was small, the spacing narrow. How Dawn didn't strain her eyes reading this, he didn't know.

"Darkrai," he read out loud, "the pitch-black pokémon. Folklore has that on moonless nights, this pokémon ..."


He turned twelve today. Veilstone City wasn't much of a city for a kid to celebrate his birthday in. He was too young to gamble at the Game Corner and shopping at a department store could only amuse someone for so long. At least he was here instead of some forgotten dirt trail.

But still, he thought, hands shoved deeply inside the pockets of his jeans, it sucks being alone on your birthday. He raised his head slightly, the brim of his cap protecting his eyes from the bright rays of sunshine. It sucks being alone period. He needed the break, though – no, his pokémon needed the break; they had worked so hard for so long. It would be nice to relax and maybe buy a small cake to celebrate his birthday with. Tomorrow he would run back to the chaotic world of pokémon battling. He was really getting into the whole pokémon battling thing. It wasn't about the flashy moves, or the glory that comes with winning. So many styles. So many moves. So many techniques. So many ... pokémon. (Yes, really.) All the different outcomes piqued his interest. What if this trainer used this move first? What is that pokémon was of an adamant nature instead of a timid one? Would a different ability help?

Ick. It wasn't the time to think of that. It's cake time! But where to buy cake ...?

He wandered about the city aimlessly though his eyes were observant. The cheery activity of Main Street was replaced with the eerie shrieking of whistling wind between tall, shiny buildings. He could hear the traffic of downtown and their meaningless honks and screeching, but none of that was here ... wherever he was. The business district, he assumed, slowing down to take a look at his surroundings. Most of the buildings were, well, tall and rectangle. However, one building across the street had its entrance covered in bushy but spiky planters. That's no way to grab attention.

Or maybe it was. Lucas looked back and forth for cars before darting across the street toward the building. He tucked his fingers into the palms of his hands, the leather of his gloves stretching over his knuckles, and tried to push the thick branches away to get a better view. The building looked kind of old from what he could make out. It had no windows. Maybe it was a warehouse? Oh, who cares? He wanted cake. Chocolate cake. He kicked it up a notch.

He stepped back, repositioning his hands inside the warmth of his pockets, and started to walk toward the corner. He heard something: the hurried footsteps of someone's shoes slapping against the concrete. The sound got louder the closer he got to the corner, and before he knew it, a girl, her eyes wide, would have rammed him down had he not quickly stepped to the side. The girl turned around and murmured a quick, "Sorry!" before running in the opposite direction, her hair streaming behind her. There was hesitation in her steps. She slowed down and stopped. She turned back around. Then she asked,

"Lucas?"

How do you respond to that? "Um, yes?" he replied tentatively, the corner of his mouth pulling upward so one eye was squinted.

Her eyes lit up. "You! I remember you! Remember me?" The crazy girl stepped forward with a grin that made his stomach grumble ... or maybe that was because he was hungry.

She did look familiar. He remembered the hat, some sort of beanie cap except white and girly, that was pulled over the top of her hair. "You're ..." He snapped his fingers. "You're also one of Professor Rowan's assistants. Right?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Dawn. It's nice to see you again."

"Yeah, you too," he replied immediately. During his journey, Lucas learned how to spit out after certain phrases out of politeness. He never really meant it, but maybe he did this time. Dawn was under the same apprenticeship that he was. That had to count for something, right?

Lucas looked up, admiring one of the tall buildings, the corner of it glinting in the sunlight. "What are you doing here anyway?"

The girl's smile started to fade. She stepped closer. "You promise not to tell the professor?" she whispered. He didn't know why she bothered whispering. No one was around.

He nodded.

"I think my pokédex got stolen." Her face cringed, her nose wrinkling. "Of course my data is backed up on a computer back at the laboratory, but those devices aren't cheap, you know?"

He shifted the contents of his right pocket to feel for the square device that was currently pressed between his thigh and an empty pokéball. "Stolen? How?"

"I'm not sure. I was eating lunch at the department store, and I had my pokédex clipped to my bag's strap." She lifted the yellow strap where some sort of black hooking device was clipped to it. "You know, for easy access?" She rolled her eyes at this. "Anyway, I hung my bag over the back of the chair. I did notice some ... some guy with a blue bowl cut walk back and forth behind me a few times. I think he did it. I guess I should have been suspicious but ... eh."

"Why are you here if it happened at the department store?" he asked, pulling his hands out of his pockets along with a few coins that clattered to the ground. He bent over to pick them up before they could roll into the bushes. "Wouldn't you be better off ... well, not here?"

"Yeah, but I think that guy was ..." she trailed off, twirling a finger around a few strands of hair. "I think they're called Team Galactic. They've been all over the news lately for something. Dunno if you've been watching the news since you've been all over the place."

"Team Galactic," he repeated. It sounded familiar.

"They're known for that blue hair that I talked about earlier, and they all kind of dress alike. Uniforms, I guess," Dawn continued. "Anyway, their headquarters are around here. I figure if that kid with the bowl cut took my 'dex, he has to be there somewhere." She stared at him, eyes curious. "You busy?"

Hungry, he thought. Must get cake.

"Think you could help me out?" she continued.

"I ..." He was about to say no, tell her that he had things to do, people to see, pokémon to heal, any excuse he could muster so he could eat delicious slices of cake, and that he could help her later if she still needed help–maybe, if she was lucky–but her eyes suddenly snapped up towards his and quickly swept back and forth, reading his face. And like that, a light hope disappeared into heavy disappointment. "Yeah, okay," he finally answered. The look on her face made his stomach twist in a funny way. "Why not?"

She squealed happily. "Goody!" She grabbed at his wrist and pulled him down the sidewalk. "C'mon! The headquarter is this way!"


"According to one theory, Mt. Coronet is where the Sinnoh region began," said the man.

Lucas wasn't really paying attention. He was too busy staring at the strange man who appeared out of nowhere in his long, black trench coat and fedora. Plus he had other issues to worry about, like peeing. God, he had to pee. He managed to finally find an exit to this stupid mountain after a hour or so, and of course some strange man had to come along and tell him some boring ass story about Sinnoh. All the small ponds and streams of water weren't helping alleviate his bathroom situation. Damn you, pleasant tinkling noise.

He struggled, slightly bouncing back and forth with his thighs pressing together tightly.

"In a newly created world ... A world where only time flowed and space expanded," the man began, "there should have been no strife."

Lucas nodded, legs still squirming, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. He had no idea what this guy was talking about. Mom said when dealing with the crazy, you let them do their thing and leave as soon as you have the chance.

"But what became of that world?"

Did he expect him to answer that?

"Um, lack of bathrooms?" he said half-jokingly, half-seriously.

"Humans," the man growled, eyes narrowing, focusing on something behind Lucas's head. "Because the human spirit is weak and incomplete, strife has appeared. This world is ruined by it."

He didn't get it. Without human spirit or humans period, he wouldn't even be here, right? And holy crap, did he just pee a little? He brought his closed fists to his face, digging his knuckles into his cheek, and bit his tongue lightly.

"I find the state of things to be deplorable ..." he trailed off in the same venomous tone from before. He held the brim of his fedora tightly and lowered it over his eyes. "Pardon me. Stand aside."

Lucas didn't bother going after the odd man and his odder ramblings as he brushed past him. Although he wondered why the man bothered to stop him on his way out to speak about his feelings on the "horrible human spirit" (or whatever he said), he tried to push it out of his mind. He had encountered some weird people on his adventure–trainers that crawl alongside their pokémon, trainers that eat pokémon food, trainers in general, really–but that man ... that man had to be the weirdest.

Right. Bathroom. Right.

He darted out of the cave, running pigeon-toed.


"This cave painting. It's always been described this way," said the woman, pressing a hand against the stone panels and dragging her hand down lightly, feeling the bumps and the grooves.

"Uh huh," replied the fourteen year old behind her. She didn't bother looking back. She knew the boy was slouching. She knew he was rolling his eyes. She knew he was trying to focus on anything other than what she was talking about. It was just the child's way. She had no idea why he acted like this around her. When they first met, he was such a sweet boy, but after the entire Cyrus fiasco, the poor thing had changed. He was so ... cold. Maybe it was a stage. The transition from simple trainer to champion of a region was a big jump. Maybe it overwhelmed him. Different people react differently to different things.

"The light in the center represents either dialga or palkia appearing at the Spear Pillar," she continued thoughtfully. "The three lights around it were thought to be uxie, mesprit and azelf."

"Fantastic," the boy replied dully. She heard him scuff the flooring of the sacred cave with his foot.

"May I continue?" she replied back coolly, turning her head and brushing her long strands of blonde hair out of her face. She raised an eyebrow, her gray eyes sparkling even in the dim light of the ruins. Her hand remained on the stone panel.

"Whatever," was the boy's blunt reply as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his right leg.

She turned back around, the folds of her long, black coat sweeping around her legs. "But, then, I realized that there may be another way of interpreting this. Could this triangle of lights actually represent a different trio? Could they be dialga, palkia, and giratina instead? And the large light at their center. Does it represent something else? Could it be what created this world of ours?"

"Cynthia, why are you telling me this? It's over," he remarked bitterly. "I don't care."

"May I continue for a little bit longer?" she asked. She didn't bother turning her head this time, focusing on the picture.

Lucas sighed. "Fine."

"Thank you for listening to my theory." She did mean that, somewhat. He should know, after all, even if he didn't want to hear it. "Do you know of the ancient plates they find all over Sinnoh? One of them had this engraved on it. 'Two beings of time and space set free from the Original One.' I think this quote, too, points to the presence of another pokémon. A pokémon even more powerful than dialga or palkia. Does this sound plausible to you?"

There was a pause before he answered, "I guess."

"I'm not quite sure how giratina fits into this scheme of things, but ..." She paused.

Another sigh. "But ...?"

"It's said that in the Distortion World, neither time nor space were stable."

"Cyrus told me that. Why are you tell me things I already know ... and fixed? Kinda."

"I think that tells us something about giratina, the only pokémon there." She ignored Lucas's snide comments and focused on her theory. "It must be have been as powerful as dialga and palkia, the rulers of time and space. In some way, though, giratina has to have a power opposites of theirs."

"Cyrus told me this, too. They're parallels. DNA strands. Without one, the other cannot exist."

It was Cynthia that sighed this time. "I'm sorry this is so long." She walked along the wall, her fingers brushing the dirt off the panels. "May I say one last bit?"

"Fine."

She smiled wistfully to herself, her eyes creasing at the edges. "A long time ago," she began, "I wondered what sort of person painted this. Dialga's Roar of Time ... Palkia's Spacial Rend ... To the people back then, those pokémon really must have appeared to rule over time and space. Seeing them must have shaken the people to their very core." She felt the heels of her shoes sink into a particularly wet patch of mud, but she didn't care. "This painting represents those feelings of awe, wonder, and everything else. It passed that memory to countless people, eventually becoming a myth ..." At this, she turned around to face the boy who had a completely bewildered look on his face. It amused her; she finally snapped him out of his bitter state, even if it was for only a little bit. "That's what I believe as a researcher of myths."

It was silent for a while. She watched his face carefully while fiddling with the fuzzy sleeves of her jacket. It went from bewilderment, to contemplation, to more bewilderment, before finally setting on anger. Distraught. Pure, unadulterated unhappiness.

"It must be nice to be you," he murmured. He was physically shaking. "You get to observe phenomena that must have been eye-boggling but emotionally and physically draining from a safe distance, and in retrospect, all for the sake of 'preserving history.' All you get to do is look at it from someone else's perspective, and somehow people think you're an expert on it? Awe? Wonder? Those people were scared, Cynthia. They had no idea what was going on, or what to do, or if anything was going to be okay in the end, and you think you have the right to say how they felt without being there? Without having a first person account?"

She simply gazed back into his hurt-filled eyes as he raised his head. Her right hand raised itself to brush the blonde bangs away from her eyes. "You can try to imagine, you had the chance to figure out what these people felt – no, what I felt a few months ago, but you never came after me. So, no, Cynthia. I don't appreciate you dragging me here while I'm trying to goddamn figure out this whole 'pokémon champion' thing that you, for some reason, don't really want to help me with either." He let out a laugh, short and resentful.

She raised an eyebrow, amused a little. The slight change in her facial expression seemed to anger the boy more. "I'm trying, Lucas," she said calmly. "I'm trying to help you understand why I didn't–"

"Stop it!" he yelled, cheeks flushed. His voice echoed in the tiny but well-kept chamber. "You keep telling me that you understand, that you get me, that you know what it's like, but you don't! You keep relying on stories, on pictures, on myth, but how accurate are they? How can you really know what's going on from just that? You just ... can't. I don't get how you can do that. People's memories alter throughout time. How can you rely on something that is so fickle?"

"Mmm." She pursed her lips in response. She wanted to really respond–badly, too–but it was better off if she didn't. "I think I let myself get carried away and talked for far too long. I'm sorry ... and thank you."

He let out a weird growl and opened and closed his mouth, like he wanted to say something else but couldn't. "You can do your own thing," he finally said, "and I'll do what everyone expects me to do. Like always."

She gave him a small, awkward smile. "Let's meet again, Lucas."


As he sat in the lobby of the pokémon center waiting for his pokémon to heal, he couldn't help but reflect on what Cyrus told him. It was disturbing.

"I see. You must be the trainer I've been hearing about. The foolhardy one that's been trying to stand up to Team Galactic."

All he wanted to do was the right thing ... whatever that meant.

He fiddled with the straw of his soda, making the bubbles from the carbonation pop. He didn't really understand Cyrus and his ideas. Heck, he barely understood what he was suppose to do. He knew that whatever he was against was something bad.

It all started in Jubilife, if he remembered correctly. He was heading back from Oreburgh, and he saw some freak in a space suit harassing his mentor. He wasn't sure why Professor Rowan wasn't able to take care of the freak himself; he was, after all, an excellent trainer. And then, a few weeks after that, some little girl came running into Floaroma, screaming about the Valley Windworks being taken over by the same freaks.

He supposed it was his fault that he got wrapped up into the entire mess. He didn't have to help the little girl, but no one else seemed to have the guts to investigate. It was this event, he believed, that caught the attention of Team Galactic. It made him something of a threat even though he only had a couple of badges at the time. And all the while he still didn't know who they were, what they wanted, or why they were here.

So when Cyrus told him that he was "the foolhardy one that's trying to stand up to Team Galactic," it kind of ... offended him. That wasn't his mission. He didn't want to be a hero. He didn't want to vanquish the evil off the face of Sinnoh. It was just that no one else was doing anything. They kept telling him, "This is bad, Lucas! Someone has to do something!" ... but they themselves wouldn't do anything. It felt like he had to step in. He got so deep into it that people started to expect him to stop it without being told to do it, and he already knew that they wouldn't do anything about it anyway.

It shouldn't be this way. Thirteen year olds shouldn't be here, hoping for the best for the pokémon that almost died in battle against some man with a god complex. The most he should be worried about was whether or not he'd make it into the pokémon league.

He placed his drink on the floor and doubled over, resting his head in his hands, his fingers digging into the top of his hat. The ordeal and its aftermath left him sick it; his gag reflex was agitated and sore. Salty saliva was building up on the insides of his cheek and dripping down to the corners of his mouth, some of it escaping. He slurped it back up, provoking the back of throat even more.

He didn't know. Maybe he wouldn't mind being forced into these situations if he didn't feel so alone and used. People expected too much of him and do nothing for him in return. Why did he bother to keep pleasing them?

"Lucas, you may now see your pokémon," he heard on the speaker system.

He got up, leaving his drink on the floor but picking up the backpack he placed next to him. As he swung his bag around his shoulder, another thought formed in his head.

"Such emotions are but mere illusions. And, like all illusions, they fade over time until death banishes them forever. That is why I have abandoned all emotions as useless sentimentality. But that doesn't matter. I doubt you will ever understand my position."

Cyrus was a creepy man.

He walked down one of the barren hallways of the center, feet slapping against the plastic tile, and stopped in front of a wide window. He stared at his tired, slouched reflection before peering inside. Inside were rows of beds with pokémon sleeping. His riolu was one of them, the third bed to the right, hooked up to some weird, square, mechanical machine with lots of buttons that occasionally flashed. Even from here, the pain in his pokémon's face. From under the sheets, its tiny body was squirming. It was just a runt – it shouldn't have been in such a hardcore battle. But he needed all the help he could get.

He reflected on his position. He enjoyed being helpful. He enjoyed making others happy. He tried to be the most caring, compassionate, understanding kid because that's how Mom raised him. Rewards come to good boys, she told him.

What had he been rewarded with?

Quite grimly, he realized he would be better off if he did understand Cyrus's position a little better.


"...Thanks," she said meekly, holding her pink pokédex in the flat of her palm. She used her other glove-covered hand to rub the grimy fingertips off the glossy casing. Her piplup hopped at her heels and cheered, chirping his name repeatedly.

Lucas scratched his forehead, watching as the kid with the blue bowl cut retreated down the street. "No problem. Glad I could help." He returned Grotle back into his pokéball and gave it a smile before re-clipping it to his belt.

Saying goodbye to someone you don't really know was something Lucas always found awkward, especially when he wanted to leave in a hurry to get cake. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, um ... It was nice seeing you?" Why did he say that as a question? Dumb. "I'll see you later?" Another question. Great.

The girl clipped the pokédex back onto her bag's strap with a satisfying click. "Thanks again." Dawn smiled as she scooped up her piplup, petting his head with her free hand. She flicked out a pokéball and returned the penguin in a beam of red light.

He gave her a nod and turned on the balls of his feet, heading back in the direction he came from. He took a few steps, careful not to step on any of the jagged cracks (for the sake of his mother's back) or the dry, black bubblegum (because stepping on gum is gross period). Time for cake!

She let out a call after a few steps: "Is today maybe ... your birthday, Lucas?"

He turned his head, looking over his shoulder. How would she know that? "It is ...?" he answered slowly, confusingly, questionably, to the weirdly-phrased query.

She giggled. "Congratulations, Lucas! And many more happy returns!"

"Er, thanks."

She ran after him, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around her own. "I am sorry I made you stick around to help pathetic me." Her eyes caught his, and it left him breathless for a second. "Come on. I'll make it up to you. I'll get all of us cake to celebrate, and I'll throw you an awesome birthday party!" She began to walk forward, causing Lucas to walk forward also. "What do you say?"

He stared at her, listening to their steps as they hit the sidewalk at the same time. They walked around the corner, facing the sunlight. His eyes squinted. He felt a tug at his arm.

"Well?" she questioned again. "My treat! It'll be fun!"

Here he was, alone on his birthday with no calls, no letters, nothing, and some girl that barely knew him wanted to spend time with him? And pay for the cake?

"Chocolate cake?" he asked hopefully.

"Whatever you want, Birthday Boy!" Dawn replied, patting his hand gently.

"I'd like that, Dawn," he answered. "Um ... Thanks."

She smiled wider. "Anytime."


Lucas drifted out of his thoughts and put that stupid myths book back down on the table. He had to admit (he guessed) that maybe this myth is onto something. Maybe you couldn't take what it said at face value but ...

"But why?" he asked to no one in particular.

The stupid myths book didn't really explain why Darkrai did what it did ... er, if it did it anyway. It is a dark type, so it doesn't really need a motive; it does whatever it can just because it can. According to myth, it has the ability to make people see horrific nightmares once it lulls them to sleep. Data from other sources told him that Darkrai has a move set that consists of sleep-inducing attacks. It did make sense ...

"But why?" he repeated, this time in a firmer tone.

It's the most powerful during new moon phases – or when it's "moonless." The timing matched up, just like Dawn said. He tapped the eraser side of his pencil against the table, making it bounce. "But ... why?" Why pick on Lane? Why lull him into a sleep that lasted days? Did Harbor Inn have something to do with it? Did he gain energy somehow from it?

Is it something like Mega Drain? he thought. Maybe Darkrai is using Lane as a source of energy. Since Lane is just a kid, he would be an easier target.

Lucas leaned back in his chair, making it creak. "Can Darkrai do something like that, but with his opponent sleeping? Or is it the nightmares that he's interested in?" He thought back to Lane. His parents told him that he was stable, albeit the whole sleeping thing. Maybe it wasn't draining energy from Lane. "But why do it?"

He turned the page and focused on the illustration before him, exampling the sort of nightmares that Darkrai would (allegedly) broadcast in the minds of his prey. Bones, skulls, streams of blood ... cliché nightmare things. Not everyone dreams or fears this stuff. What would an eight year old dream of?

Of course – becoming a pokémon trainer. That's what he dreamed of at that age. It made him grin, but he frowned soon after. If they really are nightmares, then it must be the complete opposite, like not getting your license or ... something.

He flipped the page again, but there was nothing more on Darkrai. That couldn't be it ... could it? Even the storytellers couldn't think of a solution to their made-up problem?

You need a break, he thought, yawning again, running his tongue over his teeth.

No, you need to find Dawn, said Guilt.

"Yeah, yeah ..." He rolled his eyes. Quickly shoving both his notebook and that stupid myths book into his bag, the boy got up, almost falling over since both feet seemed to have fallen asleep during his reading. He stumbled over to the staircase, grabbing onto the greasy metal handrail to stabilize himself.

"You're here awfully late," said the librarian at the front desk as Lucas stumbled to the ground floor. She looked up from the book she was reading and pulled her reading glasses down to the tip of her nose to get a better look at the champion. "I thought you would have left by now."

"Have you seen Dawn?" he asked, ignoring the librarian's earlier statement and heading over to her. He placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit.

"Dawn?" the librarian repeated. "Oh, that one girl you came with earlier? I haven't seen her since she left hours ago, dear. I remember her looking upset, though. How come?"

"No reason," he murmured, shifting his eyes to the side. "Thanks."

Lucas darted toward the exit, the automatic doors sliding open, and was greeted by the cool night air. He adjusted the straps of his backpack around his shoulders and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. He looked left, then right, then left again, glancing at the marble water fountain. He stared at the statue on top, an ampharos whose tail was lit up and changed different colors every few seconds.

"Where could she have gone?" he asked the wind. "Home?"

"You looking for me?"

Lucas turned his head quickly, his neck whiplashing painfully, and saw the girl sitting on a bench nearby, her legs tightly crossed. Next to her thigh was a cup that was slightly wobbling in the wind. Cringing with one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, Lucas made his way over and stood in front of the girl. He didn't look at her but the street post above her head, the light catching his eye and making them glint. "Yeah, I was," he finally muttered after a few seconds of silence, dropping his hand and letting it swing by his side. A particularly strong bout of wind blew, followed by the loud crashing of a wave hitting the cliff, sending up ocean spray that made both researchers shiver.

Dawn used the ends of her scarf as makeshift sleeves, wrapping them around her lower arms and holding the frays between her fingers. "What a stupid idea to come here without a jacket," she murmured, her legs trembling. She used the top of her left boot to rub against the back of her right leg, trying to generate warmth to her lower half.

Lucas pulled his hat down firmer over his head. "Why are you still here, then, if it's so cold?"

"I don't know. I didn't know Canalave was this ridiculously cold."

"Try going to Snowpoint then. Going over there told me a few things about being prepared for any type of weather." He was about to sit next to her, but she glared at him, making him snap back up. "Well?"

"Well what?" she murmured, eyes looking past him.

"Why are you here?"

"I told you. I don't know. I just am, I guess. It was nice sitting here and staring at the moon until the weather started acting up."

He paused. "Were you waiting for me?" he asked delicately.

"No," was her quick, agitated reply, frowning. She sighed. "Okay, maybe. I wanted to see if you would come after me. You kind of took a while, so I got hot chocolate and stuff." She motioned toward the cup that was now laying on it side, rolling back and forth on the wooden, flaky bench. "But, well, here you are."

"Yeah."

"Yep." Dawn turned her head to the side, staring at the lit up homes down the street. She bit her lip, trying to fight back the cold, her left boot rubbing harder into the back of her right leg.

Lucas finally built up the courage to drop his eyes from the street post and down toward the shivering girl below. "I ... I read that stu– that myths book you were carrying around lately," he said, pulling his backpack to the side and unzipping the back pocket. "I brought it with me."

This raised her eyebrow, though she kept her head pointed toward the houses, watching smoke spiral from the chimneys and dissipate with the sharp breeze.

"I think it might have something useful. I'm not going to take it word-for-word, but ... maybe it's onto something. Some of the things it says makes sense," he continued, digging around his backpack. He sat down next to her, still digging around, but Dawn refused to face him, her back turned toward him.

"I told you," she murmured.

"I know. I should have trusted you."

"I've given you no reason not to."

"Yeah," he said.

She picked up the cup rolling near her thigh and set it up straight, running a finger around the plastic rim. "I guess I did overreact," she said after a while, staring at the empty cup. "Just, you know, with earlier today–"

"Yeah."

"–plus the last few days have been pretty stressful–"

"Yeah."

"–I just ... I don't know." She tugged at her scarf and sighed. "I wanted to help you so badly, and for you to push what help I did have back in my face made me upset at both me and you. Rowan is so proud of you, Lucas. I don't know if you know that. I know he's happy for me, too, but ... I only wish you could hear the things he says about you when you're not around. I hope he says the same stuff about me when I'm not around."

Lucas gave whatever he was pulling on a final tug and successful got it out with a grunt.

"I don't know where I was going with that," she continued. "I guess I wanted you to know. I know life's been hard on you lately. I'm trying to understand what it's like to be you, but I don't think I ever will. We're not all bad, Lucas."

Dawn felt something soft and warm drape around her arms and upper torso, making her turn around to face the boy. "I know, Dawn," he replied, looking her straight in the eye, one hand still holding onto the jacket he covered her with. "And I'm sorry."

"Um ..." She looked back and forth between the jacket and Lucas who was still intensely gazing at her. "No worries, Lucas," she replied, gently touching and wrapping her own hand around Lucas's. "And thanks ... for your jacket, I mean."

"Yeah," was his reply. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

Dawn stood up and pulled the jacket over her shoulders, its length longer than her entire outfit. It was still a bit cold; the wind managed to slip into the jacket since it was so big on her. Lucas, being the mind-reading fiend that he is, comfortingly wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close, sharing his warmth.

"So you really read that book, huh?" she said, grinning, looking up at him.

"No, I read the page you left it open on," he corrected, his eyes focused on the path ahead.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to help yourself."

"If you say so."

"I'm always right, Lucas. You should just learn to deal with it."

Her smile widened at the boy's snort. As they walked, admiring the nighttime life, Dawn heard something crinkle next to her hip. She looked down to where her bag swung gently back and forth and noticed the pastry she bought earlier, still wrapped in its plastic wrapping. "You didn't eat dinner, huh?"

"Just lunch from earlier, yeah."

"Yeah, me neither. Maybe you can stay awhile and I can make us soup or something, yeah?" She used her free hand to pick up the pastry. "Anyway, I bought this earlier, but I forgot about it 'til now. Want it?"

"What is it?"

"Chocolate cake."

I can't explain it, but I'm really entranced by this story. Just by reading the first two chapters, you've set up a rather directionless but still fascinating story. But I presume the most interesting stories are exactly that - the ones without a real direction, the ones where you can never really figure out where you're going to go next.

But then again... that's only from the first two chapters. After reading your synopsis, the sudden formation of a direction (and with canon characters? How could you >:P) spoiled my interest in it a little bit. But perhaps by reading just a little more, I'll be a little interested in it again.

The little blurbs at the beginning are a good little bonus, I believe. Somehow, I feel like they should be italicized. But that's just me.

Lane really loves his dragonite cards, doesn't he. Enough to actually consider jumping off a bridge for them. Imagine what he'd do for a garchomp or a salamence.

(And yes, that's "dragonite", "garchomp", and "salamence" with a lowercase D, G, and S respectively, even though personally I use the Context-dependent Meta method. I figure I'll address people with their own conventions, because that's another context on which I depend. :P)

Also, I just found this little bit of awkwardness:

He grabbed a magikarp by its tail and threw it at his dad's head, and he ducked. His dad, not him.

Click to expand...

Why not simply say, "He grabbed a magikarp by its tail and threw it at his dad's head, and his dad ducked"?

*edit* Now that I'm reading Chapter 3, I'm surprised (pleasantly, of course) at the way that you've depicted Eldritch's confusion due to sleep deprivation. It blends into the text and all.

*edit2* This (from Chapter 4):

Oh, sweet mespirit, no ...

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You know you have a problem when you're leaving actual proper nouns (in this case, Mesprit, which you also spelled wrong :P) in lowercase. Unless you were referring to the plural? *edit3* And again in chapter 5! Both errors! "mespirt" indeed. XD

Dragonite Ernston said:

I can't explain it, but I'm really entranced by this story. Just by reading the first two chapters, you've set up a rather directionless but still fascinating story. But I presume the most interesting stories are exactly that - the ones without a real direction, the ones where you can never really figure out where you're going to go next.

Click to expand...

Kind of like a chicken running around with its head cut off? Lol. It's horribly fascinating for some reason, but you can't explain why ...

Directionless is a new one, though I'm glad it's not a bad thing in your eyes (I think lol). I know the story starts off pretty slow before picking up the pace.

But then again... that's only from the first two chapters. After reading your synopsis, the sudden formation of a direction (and with canon characters? How could you >:P) spoiled my interest in it a little bit. But perhaps by reading just a little more, I'll be a little interested in it again.

Click to expand...

Tech-tech-technically (idk the stutter), the Eldritch family is canon. Eldritch is based off ... Eldritch (the sailor that takes you to Newmoon and Iron Island). Likewise, Lane is based off the boy sprite that is plagued by bad dreams. The mom is based off the mom inside the Eldritch home. All of them are just given a personality/a life.

Ah, so you're more of an OT reader? =P I'm kind of the opposite of that; I adore reading stories about canon characters, especially if they're gameverse.

The little blurbs at the beginning are a good little bonus, I believe. Somehow, I feel like they should be italicized. But that's just me.

Click to expand...

I can't tell you why there there (I'd rather not risk spoiling it), but I will tell you there's a structural/formatting reason why they're placed there and look like that, especially before the chapter "headers."

Lane really loves his dragonite cards, doesn't he. Enough to actually consider jumping off a bridge for them. Imagine what he'd do for a garchomp or a salamence.

Click to expand...

Kill. *shot*

(And yes, that's "dragonite", "garchomp", and "salamence" with a lowercase D, G, and S respectively, even though personally I use the Context-dependent Meta method. I figure I'll address people with their own conventions, because that's another context on which I depend. :P)

Click to expand...

Lol, you don't have to do that if it makes you feel uncomfortable.

Why not simply say, "He grabbed a magikarp by its tail and threw it at his dad's head, and his dad ducked"?

Click to expand...

I intended it to be awkward, actually. It's one of my geekier English running jokes of people confusing pronouns for other people. There's probably a better way to go about doing that, though. I'll edit it so it flows better. =P

*edit* Now that I'm reading Chapter 3, I'm surprised (pleasantly, of course) at the way that you've depicted Eldritch's confusion due to sleep deprivation. It blends into the text and all.

Click to expand...

Thanks. T'was fun stuff to write. This story was my first attempt at free indirect speech. I've used it before in other stories, but I never knew what it was called and never really intended it until now.

*edit2* This (from Chapter 4):

You know you have a problem when you're leaving actual proper nouns (in this case, Mesprit, which you also spelled wrong :P) in lowercase. Unless you were referring to the plural? *edit3* And again in chapter 5! Both errors! "mespirt" indeed. XD

Click to expand...

>_>

<_<

...what errors?

Bahaha. Thanks for reviewing! =)

Breezy said:

Kind of like a chicken running around with its head cut off? Lol. It's horribly fascinating for some reason, but you can't explain why ...

Directionless is a new one, though I'm glad it's not a bad thing in your eyes (I think lol). I know the story starts off pretty slow before picking up the pace.

Click to expand...

Mm hmm. And that's perfectly fine for a characterization fic like this one.

Tech-tech-technically (idk the stutter), the Eldritch family is canon. Eldritch is based off ... Eldritch (the sailor that takes you to Newmoon and Iron Island). Likewise, Lane is based off the boy sprite that is plagued by bad dreams. The mom is based off the mom inside the Eldritch home. All of them are just given a personality/a life.

Click to expand...

What the... okay, I totally did not know this.

Ah, so you're more of an OT reader? =P I'm kind of the opposite of that; I adore reading stories about canon characters, especially if they're gameverse.

Click to expand...

Yeah, I specialize in OT fics. Even if the kind of stuff I include while writing mine would make Thesis want to chop my head off >_>

I'm the kind of guy who would put a gun and a Zubat in the same story with Team Yin.

I can't tell you why they're there (I'd rather not risk spoiling it), but I will tell you there's a structural/formatting reason why they're placed there and look like that, especially before the chapter "headers."

Click to expand...

Ah, alright. Well, the shopping list one was pretty easy to pick out.

Kill. *shot*

Click to expand...

Or a Sazandra, for that matter. I bet he'd commit genocide for one of those. XD

Lol, you don't have to do that if it makes you feel uncomfortable.

Click to expand...

Well, no, it makes me feel uncomfortable reading it like that too, so it's no big deal. :P

>_>

<_<

...what errors?

Click to expand...

>_>
<_<
Yes, what errors?

Bahaha. Thanks for reviewing! =)

Click to expand...

Bahaha! You're welcome. =D

I'm taking a break today.

I'm also taking her out to lunch later.

Crap.

...

Type: Psychic/Bug

~ ~ ~
Chapter Eleven
~ ~ ~

You are lost, aren't you?
I have been watching you for a while.
Follow me.


Night. Day four. Lane had a soccer game today. They didn't go, of course. Lane certainly wasn't playing, and by the time Eldritch and Aly realized what time it was, the game was already over. Eldritch sometimes helped coach. Aly sometimes baked cookies for the team. Not today. Everything ordinary, everything normal, was put on pause until this abnormality–to put it lightly and in one, neat word–was settled and solved.

All Eldritch knew now, besides his unshaven beard and bloodshot eyes, was the hospital. Once you enter through those sliding glass doors, you're greeted with the information desk where a couple of nurses or receptionists or nurse receptionists were working. Then there were multiple hallways. One hallway led to patient rooms. The other led to the E.R. Another to surgical wards. One was pediatrics. So many facets of life were contained in the hospital's hallowed halls. Life, death ... and the things in between.

Eldritch knew the cafeteria well (God, he must have gained some weight digesting all the crap he couldn't help shove down his throat) snug between the information desk and one of the gift shops that sold stuffed animals. It wasn't that he was hungry all the time, but it was somewhere to go that wasn't Lane's room but was still nearby. For a few minutes every few hours, Eldritch wasn't that troubled father worried for his son but ... nothing. He was nothing except a man staring at a jiggly cup of orange Jello.

Alyson had joined him tonight. She rarely did; she was often in the hallway on her cellphone, talking to relatives, friends, other doctors–anyone, really–and if she wasn't there, she was guaranteed to be in Lane's room, sitting. Waiting. Hoping. But she joined him tonight, a mug of coffee in front of her. It had lost its steam a long time ago. He didn't question it – er, her being here.

"I'm tired," she began as he poked his plastic spoon into his dessert. Alyson rubbed at the corner of her eyes, smudging the tips of her fingers with black eyeliner. "It feels like we've been here for years now. Did you know it's the twenty-first?"

"I know it's Monday. Does that count?"

She gave him a light but awkward laugh, staring down at her coffee cup and rubbing her eyeliner-smudged finger along the white ceramic rim. He stared at the side of the cup. "Canalave General Hospital" was what he read in the dark red print. "You're not in trouble with work for taking so many days off, are you?"

"No. They're pretty understanding about the situation. It is taking away my vacation days but ..." he trailed off. "But even if I did get in trouble, I wouldn't want to leave you and Lane alone to deal with this."

He noticed her staring at him for quite a while, almost alarmed (he thought of stantler), before snapping her head back down, wavy, brown hair falling over her face and hiding her eyes. She tucked the rogue strands behind her ears. He saw tears build up in her eyes, making watery blues more watery.

"What's wrong?" he asked tentatively, reaching across the table to place his calloused hand over Alyson's slimmer, smoother one.

Her hand retreated into the folds of her jacket at his cold touch, wiggling her fingers against her stomach. "Nothing," she replied, sniffling and shaking the tears away. "I'm just on edge over ... you know." She pointed her head up, staring at the dim fluorescent lighting. The cafeteria had closed shop for tonight, though the dining area had remained open. She sighed, switching her attention to the vending machine filled with brightly-colored snacks. "I wish this whole ordeal was over with. I wish someone knew something. Four days. Four days and we have nothing?"

"Lucas says he might be onto something," Eldritch murmured. "He's going to investigate it tomorrow. That's what he told me anyway."

"Our hope resides in another child?" she chided.

"He ain't your typical trainer, Aly. He's sharp. I trust the kid."

"I suppose I have to, too." She sighed again, picking up her spoon and dropping it delicately into her mug, letting it clink. "God, I hate this." She propped her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands, digging her fingernails into her scalp. "What did we do wrong? Could we have prevented this from happening to him?"

"These things happen, Aly," Eldritch replied, staring at the top of her fallen head.

"They shouldn't," she grumbled back. "Not to us. Not after all we've been through. Mortgages and shaky work schedules and–"

"You say it like we're the only people in the world with these problems."

"I know we're not. But we finally seem to have come to something that resembles a stable livelihood, and to have this thrown in our face after we settle in is just ... it's just bad luck. All we get is bad luck."

She lifted her head. "And I get it, Eldritch," she interrupted as Eldritch opened his mouth to speak. "I get that ... that this sort of stuff happens to everyone, but I'm always reminded about how unfair it is anyway. I'm not trying to blame anyone for our current predicament, but ... there must have been something we could have or couldn't have done. What if I didn't yell at him that one afternoon? What if I came earlier before he even got close to that inn? Or what if I talked to him about it instead? I knew he was mad at me, but I should have at least tried."

"Aly, come on. Blaming yourself isn't going to get you anywhere."

Alyson dug her fingernails into her palms, imprinting crescent-shaped marks on her skin. "Or ... was it you? Maybe you were too rough with playing with him or something."

"Blaming me won't get you anywhere either," he replied coolly, scooping up a small bit of Jello onto his spoon and slipping it in his mouth.

She ignored him, staring past his head, the low light from the vending machine reflecting in her eyes. "Maybe if you were around more, he wouldn't need to go out and try to find 'adventure.' Or maybe he wouldn't want to be so adventurous if you weren't so adventurous."

"This again?" He suppressed his urge to glare at her, channeling his energy into his grip on the plastic spoon. He heard it start to crack. "You know I have little control on when I'm shipped out and where. And I never know how long I will be out at sea."

"I know that," she snapped. "I can't help how I feel, though."

"That's always your reasoning. 'I get what you're saying but I'm going to be irrational anyway,'" he mocked while his eyes rolled, placing his spoon in his half-eaten cup of Jello. He wrapped his legs around the metal legs of the chair. "Please."

"Please, what?" she asked dryly.

"Please nothing," was his quick retort. He turned his head to the left and stared at the counter where lunch was served, school-style. Slanted glass protected the food from the people – or was it the people from the food? "What do you want me to do about it, Aly? I can't do anything about my schedule. And it hasn't bothered you before, not for a while. Why is it bothering you now?"

"It's not," she lied, drumming her long fingernails on the table. Her left eye twitched a few times.

"Really."

"Really what? I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"I just said I am."

"Well, okay."

She huffed, nose wrinkling. "If I have to tell you what my problem is again, then I'm not sure what the point is in telling you again."

Eldritch gaped for a bit but quickly regained composure. "When did you ever tell me ... anything?"

"All the time! Every time we talk!"

"Now you're just being contradictory. We don't talk about this all the time."

"You know what I mean!"

Eldritch rocked back and forth a few times in his chair out of frustration, hearing the plastic seat from his chair squeak and crack. He rubbed the sleeves of his polyester jacket against his chest. He was putting on a musical, an annoying musical of squeaking and cracking and rubbing and scratching. "Look, we both know you're here for some reason other than lecturing me about work." He stopped moving, the symphony coming to an abrupt end. The silence surrounded them with its tension. He stared her straight in the face. "So why don't you come out and say it?"

She dug her teeth lightly into her bottom lip, red lipstick tinting the tips of her front teeth as her eyes darted left, right, anywhere that avoided the vicinity of his face. He watched her hands as they played with the sleeves of her jacket, the ends of the table, before finally resting around her lukewarm cup of coffee. She let out a small sigh, inhaled sharply, then released slowly. "I'm pregnant."

He just ... stared at her after that. He heard her right, right? This wasn't a dream, a trick of the mind, right? He asked her a dumb question: "With what?"

"With a ... child?" she replied, dumbfound, blinking rapidly a few times.

The onslaught of dumb questions continued: "Is it mine?"

"For the love of Arceus, yes."

He sat back in his chair, bending the back a bit, and crossed his arms, rubbing his fingers against his chin. "Another kid ..." he said softly, slowly. "What does this mean?"

Alyson raised an eyebrow. "That we're going to be parents for the second time? That we're going to have to go through diaper duty again? That we get to wake up at three in the morning after one hour of sleep to tend to a crying baby? What do you mean by, 'What does this mean?'"

"Well, what are we going to do, Aly? We are already cramped in that house as it is. I mean, imagine our apartment a few years ago but two times as worse. We can barely afford our current lifestyle as it is – and you're bothered by me being gone for long periods of time because of work. And then we still have Lane to worry about – granted, he does want to go out on a journey once he earns his license – why am I even thinking about that now when he's still in that coma or sleeping spell or whatever the hell it is?" He exhaled deeply, eyes alarmed.

"Shit," he summed up simply.

Alyson stared down at her coffee, barely making out her reflection in the brown liquid. The conversation sounded oh so familiar. "In normal families, people rejoice about pregnancies," she murmured quietly.

"It's not that, Aly. I mean, I'm hap–" He paused. "Well, I just ... I thought we were ... 'careful' this time. We both knew we couldn't afford another kid, even with my recent promotion."

"It's been eight years, Dan. Things happen."

"It's not like ... we've been ... you know." The poor sailor was fully stammering now, and if Aly looked close enough, she could see the sweat starting to form on his forehead. "We haven't ... yeah lately."

"Well, we did have 'yeah' a month or so ago. It's still early enough for it to be a possibility."

"So ..." Eldritch scrolled his eyes back and forth across the ceiling. He always wondered why most major facilities–schools, hospitals, what have you–always had those tiny holes in their tile ceilings. "You're positive you are?"

"I took a take-home pregnancy test a few days ago, and it tested negative–" She suppressed her snort as she heard Eldritch exhale loudly in relief. "–but I really think I am. Womanly intuition, I don't know. You know my luck with those tests." She sighed this time. "I scheduled an appointment with the OB/GYN tomorrow afternoon. I know you missed a bit with my pregnancy with Lane, but since you are around now, I thought you might like to find out with me."

Eldritch stared at her so she continued. "I know it's bad to think of Lane's ... 'illness' like this, but I think it's a blessing as well as a curse. Of course I want him to get out of it as soon as possible, but at the same time, it's been nice to have you around knowing that you'll be here tomorrow. You know?" Alyson released her death grip on her mug and reached out toward Eldritch, placing her hand on the table. "Are you going to say anything?" She waved her hand across Eldritch's face. "Dan?"

He didn't respond and continued to stare. At least he didn't faint this time.

"I ..." Eldritch opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again only to close it slightly, running his tongue against his bottom lip. "I ..." He grunted, shaking his head a few times before gazing into Alyson's distraught face. "Look, I know things will work out, and I will try to be there for you when you need me. I know I'm being a complete pussy–" He ignored Alyson's cringe. "–right now, and I'm sorry for that." Eldritch scooted his chair back, the metal legs scraping against the polished linoleum, and stood up, pressing his hands against the table and leaning his weight into them. "But can you just ... can you just give me a minute to process all this? I need some fresh air."

It was Alyson's turn to say, "I ..." before trailing off. She nodded. "Yeah, of course. I suppose it is getting late. I should go see Lane before heading home. I'll see you there?"

"At home? Yeah."

"Aaand ..." she looked up at him, tucking her hair behind her ear out of nervous habit, "you're coming with me tomorrow?"

He didn't ask why she asked it so breathlessly. "Yeah," he said, trying to hide the unsureness in his voice. "I'll ... see you soon."

"Yeah," she replied softly with another nod. "I'll see ya."


Do you know what an abyss is, child?
It is bottomless, the gulf of chaos in the ancient cosmos.
It is space; it is nothing but, at the same time, everything.
It is also endless.
Do you understand, child?
This is before your time, of course.
Before the Creation.
Before intellect.
And morality.
Some call it hell.


"Why are we here tonight?" asked Lucas briskly, pocketing his hands in the folds of his jacket, shifting his head so the brim of his cap wasn't blocking his vision. "I thought we were taking a break from all of this today."

Dawn had to skip a bit to keep up with Lucas's long strides. "Well, yeaaaah," she replied with an eye roll, slipping her hands into the sleeves of her red pea coat to protect her nimble fingers from the nippy cold. The frays of her scarf blew past her shoulders. "But if we plan to get to Crescentmoon–"

"Fullmoon."

"–Fullmoon Island tomorrow night, we have to have some idea about how to get there – ew! I think I just stepped in gum!" She immediately stopped walking and headed over to the railing, wiping the bottom of her boot against it, a disgusted look twisted on her face. Lucas headed over toward her, hands still snug in the pockets of his jacket, and looked up toward the moon, the silver glow casting his skin in a pale, peculiar light. The people of Canalave were quiet tonight, though maybe that was because of the sea. The waves were crashing loudly into the wooden pillars of the docks and sending up a light, salty, ocean spray.

Lucas was glad for the stop as Dawn continued to grumbled about the gummy substance that was half on her shoe, half on the railing. His stomach was still full from lunch earlier. Apparently a restaurant in Sandgem was holding an open buffet, and you can't take buffets for granted. You just can't. It's the law ... at least for a boy. Dawn, watching all twenty pounds of her weight, only ate two plates, one of them being completely desserts. The shame! The shame!

He shook his head and focused his attention on the ships past the railing. They, too, reflected the pale moonlight, reflecting the light back at him. They were bobbing rather wildly, the ropes– evil fiends–that anchored the boats to the docks stressed from all the manic tugging. "I suppose we could charter a boat," he answered. "There were sailors that use to ship trainers back and forth between here and Iron Island."

Dawn gave her boot one final scrap against the railing before dropping her foot. She grabbed the cold railing in her covered hands and pressed her body against it, looking at the bobbing boats. "A boat, huh?" she repeated. "Guess that would be the best way. Was thinking we could use our pokémon or something ..."

"Yeah, let's go swimming in freezing cold water in waves that will surely rip us apart to an island that is an unknown distance away." Lucas grabbed both ends of his scarf and pulled on them, trying to warm up the back of his neck.

"It sounded like a good idea in my head!" she whined.

"Even if it were calmer weather and the water wasn't so icy," he replied dully, "you only have a piplup for a water-type. He wouldn't be able to carry your weight for long."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"No, I'm calling your piplup scrawny." Lucas immediately sidestepped after this comment, missing Dawn's swinging fist with a small smirk. "I have a few water-types that may be able to make the journey, but it's too risky. You know, the whole freezing-your-balls-off thing."

"Lovely imagery," murmured Dawn with a grimace, releasing the railing from her grip to pull down on her hat. She rubbed her legs together, trying to rid them of goosebumps. "Gah. This weather. Why is it so chilly here but not back home?"

Lucas looked the girl up and down. "The ocean," he said. "Plus you're wearing a skirt still. What is the point of bringing a jacket if you refuse to throw on pants?"

"I have fabulous legs that need to be showed off," she answered as if it were obvious. She motioned toward her legs. "Helloooo? Besides, it wasn't that cold earlier."

"Ah." He pursed his lips and nodded a couple of times, eyes rolling to the side. "Right. Anyway, boat it is."

Dawn flipped over and leaned her back against the rail, Lucas following suit. "So how do we get someone to take us there? Do they ship there?"

"I figure not en masse since it's not a popular destination." Lucas sighed, catching sight of a wooden building that was snuggled between the sets of docks that dipped down toward the sea. He slowly walked toward it, stepping into a puddle and kicking water into his shoes. It was hard to ignore the mushy feeling that seeped through his socks and into his toes. He heard Dawn follow him, stepping in the same puddle and kicking droplets toward the back of his jeans much to his dismay. They stopped in front of the booth.

"Hmm," he said, stepping closer and lightly pressing his finger against a board that had an engraved list of names on it. "... Yeah, Fullmoon isn't on here." He looked toward the glass of the booth, noticing the sign placed inside it. Closed.

Dawn spotted the sign as well and scuffed her boot across the concrete. "Now what?"

"I guess we wait until tomorrow and ask around." Lucas ran his tongue across his dry lips and turned around, facing the girl. "I can't believe you talked me into this."

"Hey, we have no other leads except this," she argued, poking him in the chest, which made him step back. "You told me that cresselia is the counterpart of darkrai, and the book says she's protector of those who fall under darkrai's spell, and according to the 'dex, cresselia is rumored to take rest at Fullmoon Island, so if we want to have a fighting chance of curing Lane, we gotta at least investigate it."

"Use more than one sentence to speak," he muttered.

She ignored his snark. "Besides, what can it hurt?"

"Even if cresselia is supposedly there," Lucas brushed past Dawn, and Dawn walked beside him, "what do you except us to do? Talk to her and tell her about Lane's situation?"

"Don't be stupid. This isn't a fairy tale." Dawn sighed, noticing that it was cold enough for her to see the water vapor in her breath. "You're going to catch it!"

Lucas made a weird choking noise before coughing a few times, his eyes starting to water up. "You want me to what?" he asked, bewildered, rubbing at the corners of his eyes.

"Catch it."

"Are you ... Woman, you are insane."

"Are you not pokémon champion, pokémon champion?" She nudged her elbow into his arm, sneering. "Come on, pokémon champion. Be a pokémon champion for once, pokémon champion."

"Stop saying that, and no, I'm not catching it. It's powerful, according to data, and there's only a few of its kind. Either way, I wouldn't feel right about catching something near extinction ... even if I could. You look into your little Fairy Tale Book," he nudged his head in the direction of Dawn's bag that swung from her shoulder, "and see if there's another way to use cresselia without her actually being there. This is your brilliant scheme after all. I'm just being your bitch for now."

Dawn pouted. "Fine. But you find us a way to get to Fullmoon."

"Fair enough."

The two walked down the sidewalk that lead toward the bridge and stopped, listening to the cacophony of screeching wingull and crashing waves. Dawn gripped the strap of her bag and looked in the direction of the library, its four-story height a dark silhouette against the moonlight. A few of the windows were lit gold; people beside her and Lucas stayed in libraries past eight o'clock? Freaky stuff.

The scent of something burning made her nose crinkle, and she turned her head, her hair whipping around her shoulder. It was a man smoking a cigarette while he leaned against the railing, the smoke from the glowing orange tip rising hazily into the night before being swept away with a sharp breeze. The man was fiddling with his lighter, opening and closing its lid with a click. He must have felt Dawn's disdained look on his side as he turned his head, stopping.

"You two are here awfully late," the man said gruffly, shifting the cigarette to the side of his mouth so he could speak. He pocketed his lighter into his jacket. "I thought you were taking a break today."

Dawn looked at Lucas, confused. The streetlights cast the man in awkward shadows; she could make out his shape but couldn't see the details of his face. "Yeah. We got a little worried about how we would continue tomorrow, though," replied Lucas, unfazed by the smell of smoke. "We need to get to Fullmoon, so we were looking around for ways to get there from here."

The man pulled the cigarette out his mouth and threw it on the ground, stomping and grinding it into ash against his heel. "Fullmoon, eh?" The man walked closer, and Dawn recognized him as Eldritch, his dark hair tousled from the wind. Brown eyes directed themselves toward the boats before redirecting themselves at the duo. "Yeah. Not a lot of people go there. Maybe for the occasional wedding. Gorgeous place. Desolate, though. Why do you have to go there?"

"We think darkrai had something to do with what happened," answered Dawn, "and Fullmoon is the host island of cresselia, darkrai's counterpart."

Eldritch rubbed his chin, feeling up his five o'clock shadow. "Ah, right. I heard stories about darkrai. Fearsome beast, ain't he? Induces nightmares or something like that. And cresselia tries to protect those who are inflicted by his attacks. Popular tale at Halloween around these parts. Of course, I thought it was just a story ..." He shrugged, directing his attention toward Lucas. "What about you? How do you feel about this?"

"As skeptical as you, sir," replied Lucas, shifting his weight between his feet, "though I suppose data can support it. Darkrai has been reported to use hypnotic-type moves, though I've never heard it using its attack on people. I figured it was a solitary breed. Can't say I know much about cresselia either. But why not? I'll just blame her if we're wrong." He nudged his head in Dawn's direction.

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, do you think we'll be able to find someone to ship us there tomorrow afternoon?"

"Why tomorrow afternoon?"

"I have a battle presentation in Jubilife in the early afternoon," Lucas piped in. "I also figured cresselia would be more active at night. Though maybe it would be better to find her if she were dormant ..." He shook his head. "Either way, doesn't matter as I won't be able to get out until at least three or four." His brow furrowed together in thought. "Hey ... Uh, I know you're busy with Lane and all, but I remember you shipping me out to Iron Island years ago. Do you think you could help us find someone who can take us to Fullmoon tomorrow?"

"I'll give you one better, kid. I'll ship you both there myself."


"Heck," he corrected.

Pardon?

"Heck," he repeated. "Mom told me that the h-word is a bad word, so she tells me to say 'heck.' Even when I use 'heck,' she gets mad at me. She tells me there's no reason for me to use that word. Maybe I have a real reason to use it now." Lane smiled, scrunching his cheeks so the dimples in his cheeks showed. "But, um, I guess she's not here. So ..." He looked around the dark space. "Hell, hell, hell, hell!" His voice echoed, and he laughed.

Child?

"Lane," said Lane. "Call me Lane."

It means nothing to me.

"What?"

Lane. The name. It means nothing to me.

"I thought nothing was everything here," he said, spreading his arms out and spinning. "Isn't that what you told me earlier? So I am also everything to you. I think I'm the only thing here from the looks of it." He stopped spinning and looked up. Black. Down. Black. Left and right. Black and black. "How come you're here, whoever you are?"

I have been since the beginning, since time started ticking, and perhaps even before. This is how it should be.

"Oh." The child's voice was simplistic; it held no pity, no fear. "You don't get sad from that?"

What is the meaning of this word, sad?

"You know! When you feel ... I don't know. Sad?" Lane brought his hands up to his face and inserted his fingers into the corners of his mouth, tugging down on them to the point where he revealed the inside of his lower lip. "Like this." He took his fingers out. "When you get a frown on your face. That's when you're sad usually."

Then no, child. I do not get sad.

"What about happy? Do you know what happy is?"

No.

"Mad?"

No.

"Lonely?"

I do not know.

"Oh," he said again. Lane did back flips in the dark open space, spreading his arms wide again. "Have you run out of things for me to think of?"

This bemuses me, child. Are you aware of where you are?

"Not really. I know all the weird stuff suddenly stopped happening. I know it's not home. Can you let me go home?"

No.

"Oh. Mom, always gets me for this. May you let me go home?"

No.

"Why not?"

I do not know the meaning of this word. Home. Describe it for me.

Lane stopped flipping, flattening his hair back down to his scalp. "I live in Canalave on Dark Water Drive. It's, like, three blocks away from the library on the west side of the docks. Know where that is?"

I do not. Continue.

"Canalave is in Sinnoh. Sinnoh is north of Kanto. Kanto is where Lance is. Do you know who Lance is?"

No.

Lane grinned. "He's the greatest. He has three dragonite and a charizard. Isn't that nuts?"

I am not sure. Continue with your definition of this "home."

Lane wrinkled his nose as he thought. "I live with my mom and my dad. Mom stays at home and Dad's a sailor. He brings me back neat stuff from his trips! One time he brought me home a moon stone from the Kanto region! It was awesome! I lost it, I think. Don't tell Dad." He paused, resting a finger on his chin.

"Mom is bossy," he said thoughtfully. "She tells me to not do this, or do that, or eat this, or don't eat that, or stop being so noisy, or speak up, or sit down, or stand up." He sighed, hooking his thumbs on the belt loops of his jeans while looking down at his untied shoes. "But she does make the best chocolate chip cookies! And she taught me how to blow bubbles out of bars of soap! One time she took me to Kanto to meet Lance!" He paused, looking around. "So where's home for you?"

Child, if I were to use your definition of "home," then I do not believe I have one.

"No! That's my home, stupid! Everyone's home is different! Is this your home?"

Perhaps.

"You must get bored here. You don't have any TVs or video games! What do you do for fun?"

I read into others.

"Read?" Lane's face twisted in disgust. "Bleh! You should get a TV. What good do you get from reading others? Sometimes me and Julie sometimes go to Francis' house because he has this big TV, and we watch pokémon battles. It's awesome. I think it'd be funner than reading others."

Who are they?

"Who? Francis and Julie?" Lane blinked a few times. "They're my friends from school. Julie lives next door. Francis is a few blocks away. Francis sometimes bugs me because he calls me short and 'Dumbo', but he has the best pokémon cards, and he keeps the bigger, older kids away from us. Julie is cool. She always has her hair in these two pigtails. I tug on them when I want to make her mad."

Continue.

"We have lots of fun. One time we had a water balloon fight, and I hit Francis so hard with a balloon, he fell backward into some mud." He laughed again, keeling over and clutching onto his stomach. "It was funny." He recomposed himself, containing his laughter. "Do you have friends?"

No. I have no idea what those are either.

"So you must get lonely sometimes, right? Is that why you do it? You pick pokémon or people and poke around in their head so you're not alone?"

I do it for energy, child. It sustains my health. It keeps me going. I harbor no feeling toward my prey. I do this because it is how it should be. It was how I was created.

"You know, I can be your friend," Lane said, tilting his head to the side. "I have no idea who you are, but you sound sad – even if you don't know what that means. I'm lonely here, too. But if we're together, we're not alone anymore, right?"

Enough of this, child. You have amused me far enough. You are nothing but an energy sack. Go back from where you came.

"I'm trying," Lane replied sadly, lowering his head to stare at his feet. And then he was gone.



* Note: Part of the "abyss" definition came from Merriam-Webster. Lulz. Also, narrative for everyone else's scenes were more straightforward since I think it would have been too much with Lane's scenes. Or maybe I was lazy. One or the other. Thanks for reading. =P

I like the word "maybe." It's a nice word.

...

Diet: Sweets

~ ~ ~
Chapter Twelve
~ ~ ~

Lucas was a fantastic battler, Dawn realized. Actually, she always knew that, but today was the first time in a long time that she saw him battle, and darn he was impressive. It was the only time the guy opened up. Dawn didn't think he was aware of it; he was too caught up in the excitement of battle. It was the only time Lucas was, well, Lucas. Not Lucas the champion, or Lucas, Rowan's apprentice researcher, but Lucas, the original Lucas that got him where he was today. It was here that she saw him smile on his own, a smile that wasn't forced. She wished she could make him smile like that. Sometimes she saw something glimmer in the guy's eye whenever she did something stupid (so rude. Amused by her clumsiness), but it was far from the look on his face when he battled.

Now they were walking back to Canalave from Jubilife, Lucas staring down at his pokéballs and Dawn staring at him, unclipped hair brushing against her cheek. She tossed it behind her, which was in vain as the strands came back to taunt her again, then said, "You were awesome, Lucas."

This caught the boy's attention. He looked up from his pokéballs. "Hmm?"

"In your battle demonstration, I mean. You're an amazing trainer."

"I try," he replied honestly. "It wasn't a real battle. Just a demonstration of moves."

"Still. Why must you fight my compliments?" she groaned, scuffing the ground with her boot and kicking up dust, letting it swirl and dilute the air in front of her.

Lucas wrapped his hands around each backpack strap and shifted his attention from the girl to the mountains past her, their peaks capped with snow. "It's true. That wasn't even close to my real style," he said, hands roaming down and gripping the loose ends, swinging them back and forth in timing with his walks.

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "And what does your real battle style look like, oh great one?"

"If you're lucky, you might be able to witness it one day." Had Dawn not known Lucas for a while now, she would assume the boy was being a cocky smart-butt. But no, he was being truthful. A cocky truth teller ... or something.

Dawn skipped a bit, pebbles grinding underneath her feet. Canalave was nearby; she could already see the library from here, its windows reflecting the glint of the afternoon sun. "It's not late to go, is it?" she asked worriedly. "I mean, we are heading out late in the afternoon." She motioned toward the sky. The sun was heading for the western hills in a brilliant orange blaze, fading into the crisp night the further east she looked. She could already see a few stars, flickering and winking – or were those airplanes?

"Cresselia is a nocturnal pokémon according to reports. I figured we'd spend the rest of the today trying to find where cresselia rests during the day while its out and approach it in the morning when it's dormant. Now, I'm trusting you with this; your stupid – er, myths book may have some info on cresselia that we can interpret into something plausible. Have you looked into it yet? It might have ..."

Lucas hadn't notice that Dawn had stopped in her tracks a while ago, not only amazed that the boy had spoken for more than three sentences straight (and apparently was still babbling) but by what he said. Afternoon until next morning had a nighttime thrown in there, right? They were going to stay overnight? Together? In the same five foot radius? Together? She ... together?

The boy finally stopped talking and turned around once he noticed Dawn wasn't next to him. He raised his eyebrows, pocketing his hands into his jeans.

"So we're staying overnight?" she voiced her thoughts.

"I said that last night, remember?"

She tried to. When did he tell her? Was it when they were getting ice cream? She popped her hip, placing her weight on her right leg, and rested a finger on her chin. Yes, that must be when. She remembered him babbling about the boat ride, and it caused her to daze out. Or was it because she was trying to pick the toppings she wanted on top of her cake batter ice cream? Gummy bears were good, mmm ... So were sprinkles. Ooh! White chocolate chips! ... Oh, he was talking again.

"... bring anything, did you?" was all she heard once she snapped out of it.

"My what?" she repeated.

He sighed. "Figures. I should have known given how light your bag looks." Dawn patted her bag, feeling the hardcover of her myths book and nothing else.

"You could have reminded me," she argued feebly.

"You're not four years old. You didn't bring anything?"

"Not much," she admitted. "Well, besides the stuff I drag around daily."

"You have ... nothing?"

"I have a ..." she looked down at her bag and grabbed her jacket, waving it in the air, "jacket!"

Dawn heard him sigh and turn back around, heading toward the city. Dawn hung her jacket on top of her bag and chased after him, inhaling the sharp air that almost make her gag. "Well, what am I suppose to do?" she asked once she caught up with the boy, the strong scent of wet grass leaving a burning sensation in her nostrils.

"Stay behind."

She gaped. "I can't stay behind! You need me! You just told me you did!"

"I told Eldritch we would leave at four. It is a quarter 'til four. You think you have time to go back and get stuff?" They hit a concrete path; Canalave was close.

Dawn sighed and looked at the pokétch wrapped around her bag's strap right above her pokédex. The bold font told her it was 3:47 P.M. Oh, if only she could had a hidden teleport power. Then she could teleport to her room, race around, and gather her sleeping bag and other stuff. After, she would teleport back to Canalave at the docks waaaay ahead of Lucas, much to his chagrin. Oh, perhaps she could find some sort of power that slowed time. Yeah, that's it. Actually, wouldn't that slow her down, too, making the power pointless? So she would have to have the power of speeding ahead of everyone else ... or something. That's just the teleport power, isn't it? This is why all powers should relate to chocolate, darn it!

He wasn't going to leave her behind, was he? She had all the answers. Without her, he wouldn't know what to do. Technically, she didn't either; the book had little – okay, no information on how to "wake" someone up from darkrai's spell. Cresselia had something to do with it, though. Did cresselia have to be there in order for Lane to wake up? Or maybe just a part of her? Would she do a move or something they could copy later? Was it like ... spores? Some sort of sound byte they could record?

Dawn brought both her hands up to her hat and tugged down on it in frustration, letting the material rub against her forehead. There was a slight stamp in her step, her stomps making loud thunks against the concrete. She gazed at the buildings of the seaside town, shops with walls embedded with sand and seashells. They were particular beautiful now; the setting sun was able to catch some sparkle in the grains, making them glitter like diamonds.

"You're really gonna leave me behind?" she whined.

"I can't make you do anything," he replied airily, eyes set forward toward the wooden docks where resting boats bobbed up and down in the water. "That's up to you. But let's see how long you last without supplies because I don't think I can support two people with what I brought."

"Please. It can't be that bad."

He rolled his eyes.

"I've gone camping before," she added.

"I'm sure you had supplies then," he muttered.

"Nuh uh! Well, besides a sleeping bag. We caught fish and everything!"

"And I'm sure you brought fishing rods for those fish."

Dawn wrinkled her nose. "It's true! We were there for two whole days."

"Only two days?" he asked, eyes glistening in amusement. "We might be on that island for much longer. Overnight was just an estimate. Could be a week for all you know."

"Excuse me?"

Lucas laced his hands together behind his head and placed them against the nape of his neck, extending his elbows out. "We don't know if cresslia is even there. It could take a while to find her, depending on her big the island is and how fast we travel." He stopped at the railing, releasing his grip to take hold of the cold metal. He gazed onward. Down the wooden ramp were a few of the ships, their sails lowered. Dawn opted to lean against it, resting her chin on her collarbone.

"I'm not saying this to scare you out of it," Lucas continued. "I'm just trying to warn you ahead of time. Even if you were thoroughly prepared–" He turned his head slightly to look at her near-empty bag. "–or prepared at all, there could be things you might not be able to handle."

She crossed her right leg over her left and folded her arms, pressing them against her chest. "Such as?"

"Wild pokémon attacks, hunger, thirst, lack of privacy, tall heights, low heights, dark caves, open spaces, the list goes on."

She remained quiet, watching people walk by. Her eyes rested on a mother-daughter duo. The mother was holding the hand of her little girl, and clutched in the little girl's hand was a red balloon. It hovered above her at a tilt as it dragged behind. A strong bout of wind blew. Dawn flinched, squinting, her hair brushing against her face and obscuring her vision. Through the dark strands, she saw a ball of red fly by and take toward the skies, followed by a high-pitched yelp.

"Mama!" she heard. "My balloon!"

With one hand, Dawn gathered her hair in one clump, watching as the mother got on her knees to get to her daughter's eye level, gently cupping her face while she said something that made her daughter hug her. Dawn suddenly missed her mother, and then her heart leaped to her throat and made her eyes water as she her thoughts derailed toward Alyson and the scared but protective look on her face as she stood near Lane, holding his hand.

She got the both of them into this; she'd be damned if she didn't follow through. "I don't care. I'm in this until the very end," Dawn said firmly, nodding.

"Well, okay." She heard the skepticism in his voice. "It's not too late to change your mind, though."

"I'm not going to."

"All right then."

Lucas turned around and hoisted himself up onto the railing, sitting on the top bar and resting his feet on the middle bar. He looked at his pokétch to check the time before gripping the railing tightly with both hands. Dawn was tempted to push him backward, but they were a good few feet above the sea, and there was a chance he would hit the docks below instead of the water, and if he did hit the docks, he could land head first, breaking his neck, and that would kill him (or something), and she would wind up in prison; and let it be known that she looked absolutely, one-hundred-and-one percent horrible in an orange jump suit (she wouldn't know by experience; she just assumed); and if, by chance, he did hit the water, he would be pissed at her, and that's no way to get a boy to like you (or is it? She could pull it off as a joke. Then she would help him dry off (because that's what the girl character does in romantic comedies (or was this a plain romance? Lucas wasn't that funny (well, not intentionally). Maybe romantic suspense? Will they end up together or not?), which consists of, but is not limited to, poking fun at the guy protagonist), and as she would reach up to wring his hat of water, she would brush her dainty fingers against his cheek, and he–yes, he–would grab her hand gently and pull her in for a kiss – and oh, my goodness, this is just too cute. She should write this down somewhere once she had the chance. And several, several, SEVERAL years from now, they would get married and have kids, two boys, one girl, two years apart in age, with the girl being the youngest. Also, she wanted to live near Hearthrome, and it'll be the most amazing thing ever!) because who likes to get wet? Definitely not her.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"3:55."

"Oh. And he's coming at four?"

"Around there, yeah. Change your mind yet?"

She huffed. "Do you not want me to come or something?"

"It's not that," Lucas argued. "I just ..." He pursed his lips and looked to the side shiftily. "Never mind."

She smiled cheekily. "What? Are you worried about me?"

"No," he quickly replied, his voice in a higher pitch for some reason. He cleared his throat with a grunt. "I could give two shits about you. Three of them, even."

She nudged him in the arm with her elbow, smirking. "Admit it. Admit you care about me!"

"No. I don't."

"Fine." Her grin widened. "But I know you do even if you're too manly to say it. And you know what? I care for you, too!"

"Lord," he murmured. He looked at his pokétch again, pressing its buttons to flip through its many screens. "Look. I just don't want to deal with your plethora of whining."

"I don't whine!" she whined.

"Okay."

She huffed. "You're so infuriating. You know that, right?"

"Flies catch more honey with vinegar or whatever you said that one night."

"It's 'you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar,' and that idiom isn't even applicable to this conversation."

"Ah. Okay."

Him and his stupid "okays." Ugh, she hated that word with a passion now. How did he get her so riled up with a stupid four letter word in that stupid, dull tone of his? "Is Eldritch here yet?" she asked, annoyed.

Lucas looked down the sidewalk. "Not from what I can see," he said, looking at the people.

Dawn lowered her head and focused her attention on the gum on the ground, trying to connect them together to make a picture. "I could have ran to the store and bought stuff," she grumbled.

"Yeah, but you didn't."

"You said I didn't have time!" Her eyebrows furrowed.

"No, I asked you a rhetorical question. 'Do you think you have time to go back and get stuff?' was what I said. I remember because I was there."

"That's pretty much saying what I said!"

"No, it's an entirely different thing." He picked at the dirt in his fingernails and flicked the dirt off his thumb. "One is a question. The other is a statement. Punctuation is key."

She felt her nose wrinkle in anger, the back of her throat rumble, and her cheeks start to flush. "I'm going to smack you I swear."

"Okay."

She had to fight back the urge not to, gripping the metal railing behind her and taking a few deep breaths. She twisted the ball of her right foot back and forth, listening to the gravel crunch under her feet. Why did she have to like the most annoying, most vexing, most cynical boy on the face of Sinnoh – no, the entire planet? Good question. Why did she? Dawn looked the boy up and down, the way his hat always seemed to sit askew on his head, slightly cocked over his blue eyes. His scarf, the ends gently swaying with the breeze, was wrapped tightly around his neck. He was slightly slouched over, relaxed.

She guessed she liked him because he was smart, and, on occasion, nice, but he had to be a complete jerkwad before that. Maybe she liked the challenge of trying to pry open and enter through the boy's tightly guarded mind.

Dawn grabbed for the frays of her scarf and twisted them around her pointer fingers. She did like Lucas when they were younger–not in the same way now, of course–and, as strange as it was, she liked him the way he was now, too. She didn't know why. She always pegged herself as someone who would go for the sensitive type who liked to talk and have fun and watch romantic movies with her. Lucas was, like, the exact opposite of that, blunt but quiet at the same time. He was a riddle that didn't want to be solved. It's weird. She wanted to solve it, of course, but leave it untouched so he'll remain the same Lucas that she started to feel funny toward a few weeks ago. That's impossible, of course.

God, he made her brain hurt.

She never answered her question, though. Why did she like Lucas? Was it really just for the challenge? What a terrible reason. Or maybe because she just ... did. Some things just are, like he said. It was unexplainable–lots of things are–but she felt it, that warm feeling in her stomach. It wasn't cliché, the beautifly that would flap in her stomach when a cute guy would talk to her; it was just ... warm, and different, but nice. It didn't make her giddy like her other crushes. She just ... She just knew she liked it. She knew she liked him, but don't tell him that. He probably secretly knows, the jerk, and he's probably waiting to use it against her because that's what jerks do. They do jerky things. That sounded funny.

Lucas looked at Dawn who was still staring at the ground. "Hey," he said softly. "Can I ask you something?"

She looked back at him, curious. "Ask me something?"

"Yeah."

"If it allows me to ask you anything once I think of it later."

He groaned. "Fine." He paused, licking his dry lips. "Why are you still ... here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean in Sandgem. You've been a trainer for years now. Longer than I have been, I think."

She started to fidget uncomfortably, still playing with the ends of her scarf. "Well, yeah," she replied quietly, looking down.

"So why are you always around here whenever I come back home?"

She had been asked this so many times before, and her answer had remained unchanged. "I don't really need to go all over the region to do my study," she said monotonously, the answer sketched in her brain. "Jubilife is nearby and is a central town for people and pokémon alike. If I want to observe people and pokémon in interaction or get interviews, I can think of no better place. And, you know, Professor Rowan needs me." Dawn laughed lightly, awkwardly. "When you're not around, who else will get him coffee and run his errands?"

The boy didn't seemed amused as she looked at him through the corner of her eye. "Yeah?" he finally responded, head tilted. "Well ... okay."

"Mm." Dawn turned her head. "There's just no need for me to go around the region like you do. I was never interested in being a battler and competing in the league. There was a time I was interested in being a coordinator but ... I don't know. I suppose that was short-lived." She felt her throat tightening up, tears on the verge of spilling and messing up her make-up. "I like what I do, honest. I love my study. I love what I do." She had to pause, trying to straighten out her shaky tone. "It's like you, Lucas, the way your face lights up when you battle. That's how I feel when I'm doing what I do."

She heard the boy clear his throat, state a, "But," before closing his mouth.

"Why do you ask?" Dawn questioned, trying to discretely bring a hand up to her face to wipe at her eyes.

"Curious, is all. Was wondering if you, you know, leave."

There was the bluntness again. It was one of the first insults Lucas picked up whenever she was getting on his nerves. You COULD leave Sandgem, you know. Of course she knew that. But she couldn't. She didn't have to. She didn't want to.

She guessed he picked up on the harshness of his tone was and quick to tack on a, "Not that there's anything wrong with that" in that same airy tone from earlier. He didn't mean it.

"I know." She managed to blink back the remaining tears and straightened her head once she felt Lucas's gaze bore into the back of her head. "It's not like I haven't thought about traveling. I mean, really traveling. Not taking a train or a bus from one major city to the next." She snapped her attention toward him, startling the boy. "And say it."

"Say ... what?"

"What you were going to say earlier."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"'But,''" she quoted. "But what?"

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "But okay," was his simple reply. "I don't believe you, you know. 'I don't leave because I don't have to; everything is here for me.' Unlike you, though, I don't pry into territory where I know I'm not wanted." His face had remained stern which made Dawn mad for some reason.

"It's none of your business," she said.

"Same goes to you when your prying into my life."

"That's different!" Dawn glared back at him, cheeks scrunching up. "That's totally different! I do it because I worry about you and want to be your friend! You're doing it to me because you're a jerk!"

"I'm doing it because I was curious," he replied in his usual calm demeanor. "Like you."

She huffed, squeezing her folded arms with her hands.

Lucas lifted his arm to check his watch: 4:05. "It's fine doing what you're doing. If you're comfortable with it, then, well, okay. But I think you could learn so much if you do travel around a bit more and throw yourself out of the box. Understanding concepts mean nothing without application. And ..." he sighed. "You're a ... nice–" She saw Lucas's face crinkle, "–person. It's not like you would have trouble meeting people outside this area."

"I'm not scared of that."

"So you're scared of something."

"I never said that either."

"I won't pry. I just thought it would be a thing you would have adored doing, going out and meeting people from all over the region." Lucas kicked his legs out to stretch them, staring at his shoes before putting them back on the railing. "But okay."

Dawn twisted one of her golden barrettes out of her hair, letting her bangs tease her forehead, and rolled the clasp in her hand, smudging the sheen with her fingertips. Something was burning inside her chest. It wasn't the same warm sensation she got whenever she thought of her and Lucas together. This was entirely different; this was an entirely new sensation that she hadn't felt in a while. Pain, humiliation, guilt. It had bubbled up to her throat, like vomit – or was it really vomit? She hated it.

Lucas had good intuition; all brilliant trainers do. So when Lucas told her that he didn't believe her, she wasn't surprised. Everyone has a sad story inside them; some are just sadder than others. She knew better than to feel bad, especially when compared to Lucas's history. Perhaps that is the sad part about it – her life is so mundane that it's not worth mentioning to others.

Tell a story. Make it more interesting.

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who had a loving father, a loving mother, and a loving younger sister, and they all lived together in a loving home. When she turned ten, she managed to pass the exams to obtain her trainer's license. Afterward (yawn), she skipped right on over to Professor Rowan's laboratory to see if she could sign up as an apprentice. More boring tests (more yawns) later, she managed to get accepted after an interview. She was his shadow for a while; she followed him constantly, and she helped him the best that she could. Eventually, inspired by the professor's own evolution studies, she decided to branch out and figure out the connection between pokémon and humans and how these relationships sometimes trigger a pokémon to evolve. Yawn, yawn, yawn, yawn. There's an interesting plot point thrown in there somewhere. What, though, she didn't know.

Why didn't she leave home? Why didn't she try to find more adventure if she knew her life was pretty dull compared to everyone else's? Well, she liked the comfort. She liked knowing that everyone around her liked her.

So you're scared of something. Maybe she was. She knew she did well here, but to put yourself on the line once you leave the safety of home ... She didn't get how Lucas could do it on a day-to-day basis; he obviously has issues–big ones–from doing so. And maybe it was pressure from others, pressure to please or whatever, but he was always out there, getting into trouble, getting into adventure. He didn't want to talk about it, but he at least had something to talk about once he did.

She could go into dramatics, this fear, and concoct a reason plausible for her situation. She could say she was attacked by a wild pokémon while walking outside the city one day that made her scared to leave home, though everyone is attacked at least once in their life, and she wasn't scared of that. She had no money. Not true, either. Her family would support her, like they do in all aspects of her life. Professor Rowan needed her. No, he has the great Lucas on his side.

Dawn likes stories, but you should already know that. The beginnings, the characters, the morals, but she always liked the endings the most. The happily-ever-afters. Or the empty, lonely feelings you get after a particularly sad story. But you can never get there if there's no climax, no plot-turning moment where everything falls into place – or more rattled than ever. She didn't know. Maybe one day she'll finally leave, but she was happy and content now. Most people spend the rest of their lives looking for that. Why look for something you already have?

"Why risk it?" she accidentally said out loud.

"Risk what?" Of course he would question back.

Dawn turned her attention toward Lucas (his gaze was intense that it left her breathless for a second), gathering her hair and clipping it behind her golden barrette. "When you're out there traveling, aren't you scared?"

"Of what?"

"Failing."

Something thoughtful crossed his face. "Honestly, no," he said after a while, lifting his hand to rub at the corner of his eye. "To your question ... 'Why risk it?' I ask that about a lot of things. But failure? I'm not afraid of failure."

Dawn nodded. He continued. "I guess I don't think I'll ever fail. It's cocky to say that." She saw a grin twitch on his face. "There's too much pressure on me to fail. I'd be angry with myself if I did."

"Boys." She sighed.

"Maybe." He gripped the railing tight in his hands and leaned back, letting the afternoon sun rays soak through his shirt. "Is that it? You're scared of failing?"

"Yes–no. I don't know. I'm happy with where I am," she said, the wind lifting her hair and grazing it softly against her cheek.

He looked at her so thoughtfully, so curiously, so sympathetically, and she felt her stomach twist again, this time in complete astonishment that the boy actually took genuine interest and concern with one of her problems. "Hmm," he finally said, his voice pleasantly vibrating near the end of his statement.

She paused, waiting for him to say something else, but he didn't. "Is that all you're going to say? 'Hmm'?"

"I'm not sure what else to say."

"You were doing so well."

He rolled his eyes, swinging his legs back and forth. "You're happy?" he repeated, his voice a bit jittery from his leg movements.

Dawn smiled. "I like to think that I am."

"I'm jealous," he replied plainly.

"Same," she said.

Dawn saw his left hand release its grasp around the railing, and she saw him reach out toward her tentatively, but he quickly redrew it, clasping it around the back of his sweaty neck instead. "Maybe one day we'll both get what we want."

She wanted him.

"Maybe," she said, eyes alight.

Lucas noticed the short, stout figure of Daniel Eldritch walking toward them. In between the fingers of his right hand was a lit cigarette, ashes from the tip escaping its confines and floating toward the earth. He jumped off the railing, readjusting the backpack straps on his back. "But anyway, what are you afraid of risking?"

Dawn pushed herself back up as well, quickly grabbing her jacket before it could slip off of her bag. "Happiness," she said quietly, thoughtfully, as the two of them began walking toward the hefty sailor. "What about you?"

He blinked at her a few times. "The same."

Have you ever thought of your life in seconds? How if you were five seconds ahead or five seconds behind, you would be drastically different? I think the consensus is things are up to fate, an undetermined destiny waiting to be found. But I think it's up to timing. I'm not sure what my point is. I think it's interesting how some things are because you were at the right place at the right time. Or wrong. Or whatever.

Barry tells me it is up to decision, the smaller events that turn into significant ones. Of course Barry knows no other time than being late. Maybe it's both. Timing and decision.

Do both of those make fate?

...

Habitat: The city/suburbs

~ ~ ~
Chapter Thirteen
~ ~ ~

The streets were gold that night. It rained earlier, and it was still raining albeit in drizzle, so the asphalt was wet and reflected the lights. Lane remembered because it was one of his rare nighttime drives with Dad. Dad sometimes had to run late night errands, and if it was the weekend, and if he finished all his homework, and if he ate all his dinner, yucky asparagus and all, he would get to go with him. Sometimes they got ice cream. He liked ice cream, specially chocolate with chocolate chips in a waffle cone.

"Dad?" he asked as he reached over to adjust the jeep's air conditioner vents. Hot air blasted him in the face, warming his cheeks and tingling his nose. "What are we gonna get Mom for her birthday?"

Dad let out a soft, "Hmm," through pursed lips, reaching over to turn down the radio. "What do you think is a good present for her?" Lane saw him shift his left hand to flick something up, and the right blinker turned on, sounding a pleasant "click CLICK" for a few seconds. It turned off when they turned right into a business district, tall buildings that bordered the streets.

Lane didn't answer right away. He turned his head and looked out the window, the lights of the street posts flying by in streaked blurs as they drove past them. It was raining lightly, and the streets were wet, and it reflected the gold lights. It made him dizzy if he stared too long.

"A gold necklace!" he shouted.

Dad let out another gruff, "Hmm."

"One that has a M!" Lane continued excitedly, turning toward Dad, the leather interior crunching underneath his rump. "For 'Mom!'"

"How about 'A' for 'Alyson?'" replied Dad as he ran his hands down to the bottom of the leather steering wheel, both pointer fingers resting lightly in its groove. "Or how about one of those," Dad lifted his right arm and shook it back and forth, "you know. Those ... charm bracelet things? One that has both letters?"

Lane beamed. "Yeah! Let's do that! And L, too! For Lane! And D! For you! Er, Dad! Uh, you!"

Dad laughed, and it made Lane smile wider. "Or E, for Eldritch."

"We should put the entire alphabet on it!" Lane yelled, bouncing in his seat. "And numbers!"

"How about we just stick to 'A' and 'L' and 'E,' Lane?" Dad eased on the brakes as they approached a red light, breaking the streets of gold.

Lane scrunched his face up, tying the letters together. "That spells 'ale,' Dad!"

He saw Dad grin. "How 'bout that?" The light turned green. Dad stepped on the gas, and they passed the stoplight, and the streets were gold once more. "We'll just mix the letters around."

They continued driving, him and Dad. He wasn't driving in case there's confusion. He couldn't reach the stupid pedals yet, but he liked to pretend he could – er, drive, not reach the pedals. Or maybe both. He would sit in the driver's seat, and he would grip the wheel and go "Vroom!" which made his lips vibrate and saliva splatter. But that wasn't the point. What was the point?

They were driving down the business district tonight. Lane liked how the streets looked gold because of the streetlamps and rain, and he was gonna comment on them, say how fun it would be if the streets were frozen instead of wet so they could ice skate on them, but there was an abrupt stop. His seat belt did that annoying thing when it latches onto something and pulls you back and chokes you. It probably did it for Dad, too, 'cause he heard him groan.

Lane looked ahead and noticed they were on a single set of train tracks. The single red-and-white plank that served as a barrier between cars and trains was lowered, barely touching the jeep's hood. The bells were chiming, the loud "DING DING DING" ringing in his ears and making his head rattle. Red lights flashed before his eyes.

He heard Dad cuss and saw him turn his head to look out the foggy back window. He repeated the same cuss. "Just drive through it," Dad whispered. "It's only one small track, and if you don't, you might get killed."

"Dad?" Lane asked worriedly, gripping the top half of his seat belt and trying to loosen it from its locked grip-of-death.

"Don't tell Mom," was Dad's reply as he floored it. The engine roared, and they broke the wooden barrier into pieces. The jeep rattled as it crossed the two metal railings.

Then more train tracks. They came out of nowhere–there were at least five more sets–and Dad angrily gripped the wheel, gritted his teeth, and sped up. As they were about to pass the last set of train tracks, there was a flash of gold–the streets of gold – wait, no!–and Lane turned his head toward his wind– DAD, WE'RE GONNA GET HIT BY


"It's not too late to go back, you know."

Dawn stood still on the grassy hill, watching Eldritch's small motor boat leave the shore, its engine rumbling loudly and kicking up water before fading away the further the sailor got. All left was her, Lucas, and the jacket she was so proud of carrying around after that one freezing night in Canalave. But now they weren't in Canalave. They were some on random island.

Alone.

Together.

Wait. How does that work?

The girl shivered, sliding the strap of her bag off her shoulder and placing it on the floor so she could throw the sleeves of her jacket around her bare arms. "Well, he's gone. I think it would be," she replied dryly.

"He's not that far out. One quick phone call away." Lucas waved his cellphone in the air before pocketing it. "Up to you, though."

She picked her bag back up and crossed her arms. "I'm not leaving. I'm sticking through with this."

"Fine."

He turned his back toward her and stared at the trees, most which he identified as olive, their trunks thick and twisting. Despite being in the occasionally heavy gale, the trees had most of their tiny, green leaves, though rotten fruit was resting around its base. Swarms of tiny gnats were flying around them. His eyes swept back and forth across the windswept terrain, the grass long and waving gently in greeting.

Figuring out if a unknown terrain was safe or not to travel through was something Lucas did quite often being a traveler and all. The first rule was to figure out if an area was safe. The second rule was never to talk about the first rule. Or was that only for fight club? Either way, he deemed the island practically desolate given there was enough fruit to rot. The island seemed fertile enough with how fresh everything was (and in such windy weather, he noted for the second time). It left him wondering why pokémon weren't here in the first place. Of course, maybe it was too early to judge. Maybe there were pokémon within the heavily-shaded forest, trying to protect themselves from the winds. (Did Lucas mention it was windy?) So that's where they would be staying, somewhat tucked into the forest but still near the border, like a person sleeping with one leg outside the blanket and one leg in. You're still getting warmth, sure, but if, for some reason, you need to kick a person down, you're more than prepared. (Also, it's windy. Swear to god.)

Lucas doubted Dawn thought of such things when she was admiring the scenery. While his primary concern was the safety of him and her, hers was how pretty the wild flowers were and ooh, look at the birds above, Lucas! And wow, those trees are HUGE!

"Look at them!" she urged, pointing. "You could build such an epic tree house in those things! And the flowers!" She bent down and plucked up a dandelion, the stem oozing sticky goo onto her fingers. She pressed the yellow petals in between her fingers before throwing the weed behind her. "So many flowers!" She balanced herself on her left leg and moved her right leg in small circles, twirling the dandelions and long grass around her ankles.

"Dandelions are weeds," he muttered.

She ignored this, like he assumed, as she stretched her arms above her head and breathed in deeply, taking in the salty air that tingled her nostrils. "So where do we start?" Dawn asked, dropping her arms and letting them swing by her sides, her knuckles brushing against her thighs.

Lucas began to head toward the shelter of trees up the small hill's incline, and Dawn quickly followed after him like the good puppy she was. "We start by finding a safe place to make camp before it gets too dark while Honchkrow evaluates the island," he replied, one hand wrapping around the strap of his backpack. He turned his head to look at the girl. She was already breathing heavily, and the space between the two of them was growing wider; her short legs were no match for Lucas's long strides.

"Honchkrow?" she managed to breathe out.

"The evolved form of murkrow," he explained. "An average height of two feet, eleven inches, weighing fifty-five to sixty pounds, and a dark and flying type, honchkrow are a usually ruthless, terrifying breed of pokémon known to–"

"I know what a honchkrow is!" Dawn snapped. "But what is it going to do?"

Lucas stopped, much to Dawn's relief as she scurried like a squirrel to stand by his side. He shrugged his backpack from his shoulders, pressing it against his chest. With a free hand, he reached around to the small, front pocket, the one that had the pokéball emblem stitched into it, and unzipped it, digging around until he pulled out a black case. He handed it to Dawn as he threw his backpack back on. "Open it."

Dawn blinked a few times and curiously ran her hand down the fine leather case, feeling the cold, metal hinges on the back before working her way to the front and smudging the silver latches. She opened them, the action leaving the tips of her fingers with a stinging sensation, and peered inside. The carefully kept item looked like a collar, also made of black leather, and it had some sort of half-sphere object connected to it in the middle.

"What is it?" she asked, cautiously picking up the collar by the end and staring at the sphere. It glimmered in the bright orange gaze of the setting sun.

Lucas's head was down, gazing at the pokéballs clipped to his belt. He picked one up and pressed the button, letting the ball enlarge in his hand. "Long story short, it's a camera. I can set it to take a picture every minute or so from my 'dex and it uploads the pictures to it. It's pretty handy when you're in areas you don't know. I hook the collar around Honchkrow's foot, and he flies around while the camera takes photos."

"How neat! It takes pictures? How? Show me." Dawn held both ends of the collar in front of her, her nose inches away from the red sphere. "Take a picture!" she exclaimed, noticing her distorted reflection in the glass.

"You heard nothing past, 'It's a camera,' huh?" he muttered, pulling his pokédex from his pocket and flicking open the cover. He held down a button on the side, and the device turned on with a fizzle and crack. He pressed a few more buttons, each press emitting a beep. "There. Now the camera is on 'manual' mode with auto focus, so all I have to do is press this button here and it takes a–"

"Gimme!" Dawn held the collar with one hand and swiped the pokédex out of Lucas's hand with the other. She pressed the button, smiling. The camera on the collar twisted around a bit before it took a picture. Quickly, she looked down at the pokédex's screen, watching as the picture uploaded. "Omigosh, that's a cute one. Send it to me later."

She turned her head and caught the end of Lucas's eye roll. "One more!" she said, wrapping the arm holding the pokédex around Lucas's shoulders and stretching her other arm out. Before Lucas could react, and by react he meant pull away, Dawn had already taken the picture. She released him from her grasp, knocking the pokédex against the back of his head and knocking his beret askew.

"So adorable. You better not delete this," she warned as she closed the lid of the pokédex and handed it and the collar back to the boy.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, readjusting his beret. Lucas flicked the 'dex back open with his thumb while thrusting the pokéball in his hand into the air. The colors on the ball blurred together as it spun around, releasing the creature within. It reshaped itself into the formation of a bird, its two, wide wings spreading out and flapping as the pokémon flew above them.

"Good day, Honchkrow." Lucas gave the crow a nod. "Hope I'm not bothering you."

Lucas found this particular honchkrow–actually, murkrow–late at night in the Eterna Forest. It was the first pokémon he caught on his own, and the first pokémon, out of many, that drove him batshit insane. It didn't strike him as odd that he found his murkrow alone at the time (apparently murkrow like to stick together and follow after a leader honchkrow), but the more he researched the breed, the more he realized that his murkrow was a rebel, a freethinker who liked to disobey the will of his leader and did whatever the fuck he wanted, mostly for the giggles, but the bird was damn loyal when he needed to be.

Today, Honchkrow decided to rest on Dawn's head, his claws digging into the girl's white hat, and no matter how much she nudged her head to get the bird to fly off (or maybe it was so she could see him), he didn't budge. He instead cawed, clicking his beak and staring at Lucas through his beady, red eyes.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

Honchkrow nodded, lowering his head, the crest of feathers preened into the shape of a fedora hiding his eyes.

"Get him off me!" Dawn complained, raising her arms and trying to swipe at the bird. Honchkrow raised his head and smirked (how the hell do birds with beaks smirk? Dawn's piplup gave him that same look days ago), taking a step back and digging his feet deeper into Dawn's hair. "He's pulling my hair out!" she screeched, dropping her arms and tugging at her bottom strands.

Lucas pocketed his honchkrow's pokéball and stepped toward the two. "Stop moving and he'll stop moving," he said, raising his hand and gently brushing his knuckles against the soft tuft of white feathers that adorned the crow's chest. "I have a favor to ask, Honchkrow."

Honchkrow responded by lifting a heavy wing and digging his beak underneath it.

"I need you to fly around with the collar for a while. I haven't been here before, so it would be nice to have pictures to evaluate the island."

Honchkrow lifted his head and dropped his wing, tilting his head to the side. He cawed three times. Sharply, too.

Lucas sighed. "Don't ask me why. Or why we're not at the Battle Frontier."

"GET HIM OFF MY HEAD!" Dawn shouted, rolling her eyes up to get a glimpse at the bird. "He's hurting – ow! Stop digging your stupid feet into my – OUCH! LUCAS!"

The boy ignored her. "Anyway, want to help me? I really need it."

Honchkrow raised both wings and flapped them a few times to fly from Dawn's head to Lucas's shoulder. He felt the crow press the side of his head against the top of his, watching Dawn take a step back and sharply exhale. She looked startled for some reason, her eyes wide, her mouth partially open as the tips of her front teeth scraped lightly against her bottom lip.

"Croooow ..." the bird said slowly, his tongue rolling. He clicked his beak and whistled, looking Dawn up and down which further confused her.

"I ..." Lucas hesitated. "I'm glad you do, I guess. Not that I need it. Why do you even care?"

The bird cawed again.

"I am not. I have you guys for that."

A high-pitched whistle and two sharp caws.

"No."

Another caw.

"No."

The following caw was angrier.

"I'm not – no. You're being ridiculous."

"Um, what's going on?" asked Dawn, taking off her cap and examining it for possible holes the bird could have created with his sharp claws.

Again, Lucas ignored her. "I'm not going to do that. I don't even like – ouch!" Honchrow dug his claws into the boy's shoulder. "Okay, okay. Fine. After this entire thing is over, I will. Happy?"

The bird let out a cheerful caw.

Lucas sighed and lifted his right arm which the bird hopped onto. He clipped the collar around Honchkrow's left foot. "Now get outta here, you stupid bird. You drive me nuts." He thrust his arm up, and the bird took off, circling around the researchers' head before taking off, crying out his name a few times. Dawn didn't take his eyes off him, holding her hat tightly between her fingers. Even when she couldn't see him anymore, she didn't take her eyes off the sky, admiring the soft pinks and oranges that made up the sunset at the horizon and the sharp purple that took over the sky above her head.

She looked back down. After finding her hat undamaged, Dawn placed it back on her head and pulled down on the edges firmly. "What was that all about?" she asked curiously as Lucas toyed around with the settings on his pokédex.

"I guess a picture every twenty seconds should be enough," he muttered to himself before he closed his pokédex and pocketed it. He felt Dawn's gaze on him, so he looked up. "What?"

"That conversation with your honchkrow. What were you talking about?"

"Annoying stuff," he said with an eye roll. "C'mon. Let's find somewhere safe to make camp for the night before we head out. It's going to get dark."

Dawn nodded in agreement, and the two took off, entering the safety of olive trees.


Today was the big day.

Correction. Today was the day before the big day because today was the day Lane would finally take the terrifying, horrible, but awesome pokémon trainer's license test. School had been preparing him for this day for years on the basics of, like, everything. How to take care of a pokémon, basic battle skills, and much, much more, (plus shipping & handling), and he was totally prepared! He studied for once! And once he passed, tomorrow would be the day he'd finally get his long sought after trainer's license!

The test took place in room 305, the one room closest to the boy's bathroom on the third floor that always flooded because the rule was that the urinals should never be flushed, even if they were filled to the brim. The room was busy and antsy as people were waiting for the test examiner to enter. Julie was sitting next to him, organizing her pencils with pokémon-shaped erasers into neat lines. One hand was twirling a brown pigtail around her pointer finger. Francis was behind him.

"Hey." Francis tapped him on the shoulder, and Lane turned his head. "What berry cures paralysis?"

"Four," said Lane.

"Ah." Francis quickly scribbled the answer down on a scrap piece of paper while nodding. "Right. Thanks, Dumbo."

"I don't think you need to know how to bake leppa pie, though," Lane added.

"I figured, but just in case," muttered Francis. "If I don't pass ..."

Lane turned toward Julie who was weirdly quiet. "Hey, Julie! You nervous?"

It took Julie a while to notice Lane was talking to her. "Oh. Yeah," she replied, not ripping her eyes away from her study sheet, still twirling her hair around her finger.

Another tap on the shoulder. Lane turned away from Julie to look at another girl with long, blonde hair that hid the right side of her face. "Is anyone sitting in this seat?" she asked, gesturing to the seat on Lane's right side.

"Not that I know of."

"I'm actually saving that seat for someone," said another girl in the seat behind the empty one.

Julie finally lifted her head. "Says the girl eating the apple," she scoffed.

There was a loud slam, and everyone jumped, shut up, and turned their attention toward the white board in front. Mrs. Hall was giving the test. She was such a witch.

"Seats! Everyone seats!" she barked, dropping a heavy manilla folder on the front table, making the picture frames on it rattle.

The blonde girl next to him quickly took the empty seat despite the other girl's protests, and Mrs. Hall started to pass the exams down the long rows of desks. Lane took one, a heavy packet that was at least two hundred questions long.

"You have thirty minutes to complete the exam," explained Mrs. Hall as she continued to pass out exams, walking in front of the class. "If you miss more than three, you automatically fail."

Lane flipped through the packet. All the questions were short answer.

"This is easy," he heard Francis mutter.

Everyone's heads were bent down, pencils scribbling, erasers squeaking. Lane looked down at the first question. A piplup and turtwig are resting in Professor Rowan's laboratory in Sandgem, he read. Assuming these two, for some reason, start to fight, how fast is the train going if powered by the Valley Windworks generator?

Next question. Explain the benefits of the steel type pokémon when fighting a poison type. How would this help if your house was on fire?

Third question. Your parents are fighting again. Why? Use rope.

It was at this point Lane heard someone "psst!"-ing him, and he snapped his head to the right and glared at the blonde girl. "What?" he whispered back furiously.

"Lemme see your test. I have no idea what number four is," she replied quietly.

"No. We'll get in trouble," he hissed back.

"Lane!" yelled Mrs. Hall from the front desk, slamming a book shut that made the class jump again. "Are you cheating?"

"No, ma'am," Lane denied, wringing his pencil in his hands. "This stupid girl here keeps buggin' me about–"

"Up front! And bring your test!"

He had to. So he did. She ripped the test in front of him.

"Try again next year," she said with a wicked grin.


"Let's not think of this as a day of failure. Let's think of it as a day of ... of ..." Dawn bit her lip and wrinkled her nose. "A day of ... something that isn't failure."

Lucas didn't reply as she sat on the opposite side of the campfire, the flames illuminating his face in a warm, orange glow. Dawn sat cross-legged in a patch of long grass, the blades tickling her calves. She was fiddling with something in her hands, watching as Lucas, with his head lowered, flicked through his pokédex, examining the photographs his honchkrow had captured with the camera.

It certainly wasn't a day of failure for her. It was such a pretty day. It was such a pretty island. The colors were vibrant. Wild flowers were everywhere. And there were these pretty pink, blue, and yellow feathers scattered across the island, some stuck in bushes, others dancing with the breeze. She caught a few for herself, and she was busy trying to tie them together so she could clip them to a key chain ring. It would make such a lovely accessory for her bag. The colors of the feather matched it nicely.

If Lucas was too busy examining the pictures, she would spend her time examining the forest. Trees. Lots of trees that towered over them. They found a nice clearing where the thick canopy didn't block their vision from the night sky above. The moon was partially hidden behind some clouds. The stars were bright. She connected a few together. She knew nothing about constellations and what they were called when they were connected together, but she knew stars were pretty. And that's all that matters, isn't it?

The thick trees managed to block out most of the chilly wind, which was good, though it still managed to make the flames from the fire flicker, sending up bright cinders that floated away freely before dissipating into nothing. They reminded her of lightning bugs. She remembered trying to catch lightning bugs in empty jelly jars when she was little, but then she felt bad when she caught a few. Her favorite part was releasing them and watching them fly out of the jar in a tizzy as they scattered across the field and tricking her eyes into believing that they, too, were the pretty stars.

She wasn't sure what Lucas was expecting out of today. He didn't seem to have high hopes of doing anything today, though she knew he didn't want to stay here long either. They were wandering, walking about with no idea of where to go, what to do, or if even being here had importance. They also flew in tizzies. They were the lightning bugs.

She knew it bugged him, this aimless wandering, this vague idea, this almost pointless expedition. She could tell with his constant nagging of, "Are you sure there's nothing more in that book?" and, "There has to be something more." But there wasn't. They were here on a whim. A fairy tale. A myth. And god, that bugged him. She knew this well.

Dawn connected the feathers to her keyring while licking her lips. "Lucas?" she asked tentatively as she gently petted the set of feathers in her hand. "Are you busy?"

She heard him mutter something to himself. He finally looked up, the flames reflecting in his blue eyes. "What?" he asked over the crackling.

Dawn stretched her legs out, staring at the tops of her boots, and pulled her bag onto her thighs. "Remember how I said you could ask me anything if I could ask you anything back later?" She hooked the key chain to her bag's zipper, admiring the feathers as they swayed. She placed her bag back next to her and leaned back on her hands, gazing into the fire. She could feel the heat burn her eyes (or was that from fatigue?), but the heat the fire gave off felt so good on her skin, especially after wandering around in the cold for so long.

It took him a while to respond with a reluctant, "Yeah."

"I would like to use it now." She grinned, sitting up, drawing hearts in the dirt with her pointer fingers. The grains started to roll up and get caught under her nail beds.

Lucas turned his attention back to the open pokédex resting in his lap, using his finger to flick through the photos lazily. "Fine. Ask."

She took her time, trying to phrase her question properly as she continued to draw hearts, sometimes initialing them with D's and L's. "How come you don't like stories?"

"Stories?" he repeated, not looking up, his neck strained. He shifted his legs to get comfortable, wrinkling the sleeping bag underneath him.

Dawn's noticed a longer feather she had found on her exploration next to her thigh. She held it up by the shaft. It had the same colors as the ones she had connected to her key chain ring, but something in this feather's barb glimmered whenever light hit it at a certain angle. "Yeah. Remember that one night you freaked out on me in the library when I first discovered the darkrai story?" she replied, her eyes starting to cross over the closer she brought the feather to her nose.

Lucas placed his pokédex next to his thigh and uncrossed his legs, letting his socked feet rest closer to the fire to warm up his toes. "That day was rough for both of us," he said, "in different ways."

Dawn dropped her hand and carefully placed the long feather in a side pocket of her bag. "I know. But you just seemed to ... snap when I brought it up. So why? Why do you not like myths?"

Lucas dug the heels of his feet into the dirt, not caring that he was dirtying his white socks. He found an odd pleasure feeling dirt grind underneath his feet. "I don't think it's that. I don't think I dislike myths."

"No?"

"I mean ... Well ... I guess I do. But not for the reason you think, I think." He frowned, brow furrowing. "They cause trouble. For everyone. They dilute the truth. But people are more apt to believe stories. It bothers me in a way. You spend all the time with your study, and you try to get it published, and you try to educate others in your study, but they're quick to refute it with some story, some rumor, that they heard from their neighbor. 'I heard this, Lucas. So that can't be right.' Things like that."

"I don't think you can blame storytelling for that." Dawn pulled the ends of her jacket's sleeves over her balled fists to keep them warm. She pulled her legs back toward her body and curled them underneath her rump. "Stories are one part telling, the other part interpreting."

"I get that," he murmured, carefully placing his pokédex next to his backpack behind him. He fumbled with the latch of his belt–his fingers were a bit numb from the nipping wind–but he managed to unclasp it, pulling the belt off and holding it up in the air, the six pokéballs clipped to it gleaming in the firelight. He placed it on top of his bag, letting the balls hang over the side. "I also get that they are important in telling a history that none of us were there to witness, so you can bypass that argument as well."

"I doubt that's why you get so antsy about them," she said skeptically.

"Twenty questions time is over," he replied, unzipping his sleeping bag and pulling up the cover so he could slide in. His head hit his pillow as he lay down. After throwing the cover back over his body, Lucas pulled his hands out and laced them behind his neck, staring up at the stars.

"C'mon!" she whined while swiftly moving her hands forward, erasing her hearts. "You said you would answer anything if I answered what you asked earlier, and you didn't answer what I asked even though I answered what you asked, and that's not fair! I want my answer!"

"Mind unscrambling that tangent for me?"

"Answer me!" she demanded again. "Be honest! And truthful!"

Lucas heaved out another annoyed sigh. "'Why do I dislike myths?'" he reiterated slowly. He paused. He thought. He answered. "I dislike how ... simplified they are."

He didn't expect her to respond, so he continued, his gaze focused on the sky. "I dislike how people–people who have no idea of what actually happened–are able to take an event and simplify it into a condensed version for the sake of storytelling. There are always parts missing, questions unanswered, feelings unaddressed, in order to make a tale more compelling ..." He rolled over to look at her. "And instead of objectivity, you end up with half-truths that ignite some extreme form of emotion for the sake of emotion. It's usually fear, and that fear gets passed on, and no one ends up doing anything about the subject matter. It makes people lazy. They become stagnant, fulfilled with what they were told."

He watched as Dawn brushed her hair behind her shoulders. "And that is why I dislike myths," he finished. "'Honestly and truthfully.'"

Dawn stared back, their eyes locked in battle. He lost; he blinked away, awkward. "So if that's true, why did you decide to go along with my idea?" she asked thoughtfully after a few seconds of silence.

He rolled onto his back, pulling his arms into the safety of his covers. "You seem like you want to do something about it," he said quietly. "Do I believe it? I don't know. I don't think I do. In fact, I'm not entirely sure why we're here. But you're determined, and you honestly care. You're trying to change things, and I respect that even if I don't like it."

"And how could you say no to this face?" she teased.

He groaned. "Good night," he said, closing his eyes.

"Good night, Lucas," she said with a smile as the boy settled into his sleeping bag. She couldn't help but stare at him enviously. It wasn't the best looking sleeping bag. Years of travel managed to rough it up, and she had no idea if Lucas washed it at all with all the dried mud caked on top of the blue, waterproof material. She could make out the flannel insides from here, a checkered pattern of green and red, and it, too, looked pretty worn down and flat. Still, it was better than having a coat as a blanket and a bag as a pillow. But she was a tough girl! She could rough it for a night ... or two. God, she hoped they wouldn't be there for a week.

She moved her bag a little and started to lay down, resting her head on the top of it. The back of her head could feel its contents: there was her brush to her left, the myths book on the bottom. The empty bag of chips she had devoured earlier crinkled with each move of her head. Whose bright idea was this? Why did she come? Sure, the stars were pretty. The forest was pretty. She found pretty feathers. And she was all alone with Lucas. But darn it all. This wasn't what she had in mind. She didn't like the itchy feel of grass under her legs. She didn't like that she had to take off her boots every half hour to empty it of dirt. And she definitely didn't like the leaves that got tangled in her hair – or her hair being tangled period. The back of her mind (stupid conscious) kept telling her it was worth it, though. It's for Lane, it's for Lane, it's for Lane, she repeated in her head. It's for Alyson, too, and Eldritch. It's for the entire family. It is worth it.

It is not, she argued back. I am tired, hungry, and cold.

But it could help Lane!

Says the thing in the warmth of my mind. Or brain. Head. Somewhere.

It's actually pretty cold and empty in here.

... Did I just insult myself?

Lucas had shifted himself so he could look at Dawn through squinted eyes. She was lying on her back, face scrunched up in cold. Or was that her annoyed-while-thinking face? They both looked the same. Her scarf was wrapped around her arms, the ends tied around her fingers. Her palms laid flat on her stomach. He could see her legs were crossed at the knee, her thighs shivering with cold. Good. It was her fault for not listening to him yesterday and not heeding his warnings earlier today.

You're such a jerk, said Guilt.

Fuck you, said Logic. Still, Lucas. Do the right thing.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his eyes. "Ugh. Fuck me," he said out loud. Too loud.

This made Dawn sit up, her eyes wide, her hair a mess. "Excuse me?" she asked incredulously.

He quickly sat up. "Nothing," he replied, agitated, his cheeks flushing. "Sleep with me. You're cold."

"I'm not doing that to get warm!"

"I don't mean it like that!"

"Oh, and this is some clever way to get up my skirt?"

"No!" He fought the urge to slap his forehead. "I just don't want you to be cold and unable to sleep. It'll bug me, and I won't be able to sleep either. My sleeping bag is big enough for two. I won't touch you. Not purposely anyway."

Dawn pulled down on her skirt, her legs clenched tightly together. "Well ... okay. As long as you don't do any funny stuff, okay," she said tentatively, standing up slowly and leaving her bag on the opposite side of the campfire. She stood in front of Lucas, who had remained sitting, and looked down at him. "Do you have to watch me so creepily like that?" she complained after a few seconds of staring.

"I'm not doing anything," he argued.

"You're staring at me funny!"

"I'm not doing anything," he repeated.

"It's like you're just sitting there. 'Come hither, girl' is what you're saying by just sitting there."

"I am just sitting here. I'm not sure where you're getting that message from. I'm not going to do anything."

She bit her lip. "Well ... All right." Dawn kicked off her boots and stood in her long, black socks. She used her leg to kick up the corner of the sleeping bag and rested her foot inside the covers. Lucas shifted as far as he could to the other side of his sleeping bag as Dawn sat down, her knees digging into the flannel fabric. She pulled off her hat and barrettes, her hair free to roam across her face. "Okay," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears and placing her hat above the pillow. "Ready?"

"Sure," he muttered, falling backward, his head hitting the pillow.

Dawn stretched her legs out and pulled the cover over them before snuggling next to Lucas, her head next to his, her hair spilling onto the pillow. She zipped up the sleeping bag to keep the warmth in. "Let's make things a bit more awkward," she said jokingly, turning toward him as Lucas lifted a hand out of the covers and pulled his beret over his eyes. "Wanna make out?"

"Go to bed." He groaned again.

Dawn smiled. "Sweet dreams, Lucas." She closed her eyes. Her breath tickled the side of his neck.

So stupid idea was stupid, he realized, pulling his hat back up. He cast his eyes up, watching the leaves rattle in the wind. He wasn't uncomfortable–the back of his mind kept reminding him that sharing a sleeping bag with Dawn was a necessity ... at least for her sake–but it was definitely weird. Lucas traveled alone for years, and having someone traveling with him, let alone in the same sleeping bag, was an idea, a place, he figured he'd never get to, at least not for a while. It was enough to keep him awake, this strange feeling. It felt a lot like hunger, actually.

He felt something nudge up against his left shoulder, and he turned his eyes toward the girl. Her knees were starting to curl up toward her stomach, and her arms were pressed tightly against her chest: fetal position. He knew the position well; he did it often when he was cold. Despite her heavy jacket and the body heat of two contained in a small space, she was still cold? Lord, people could not rough it these days.

"My nose is cold," she murmured sleepily, her eyes still closed. She nuzzled her nose against Lucas's shirt sleeve, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

"You don't say," he muttered back, his hand roaming outside the sleeping bag, feeling the ground for his pokédex. He hit something hard and plastic and picked up the device, scraping dirt into his fingernails. "Need my jacket?"

"No," she replied in the same sleepy tone.

"Lying?" He flicked open the cover of his pokédex and opened the photo application. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well use the time wisely.

"I'm not," she murmured. "I'm fine."

Without looking to the side, Lucas's slightly numb fingers managed to find the zipper of his backpack. He opened it, digging around while trying not to move his left side in order to leave the girl undisturbed. He pulled out his jacket, throwing it on top of the girl.

"Thanks." She sighed peacefully, starting to uncurl, her arms more relaxed. Her forehead continued to press against Lucas's shoulder.

"Mhm," he said, using his hand to flip through the pictures. Pictures of the shores, pictures of the tops of olive trees, pictures of clearings, of sand, of puddles, of sand in puddles (or was it puddles in sand?). On occasion, he saw a pokémon – wingull, mostly, sometimes crawdaunt. The wide clearings were the most suspicious to him; the branches were crushed and foliage littered the ground, stamped on. Something big made those.

Then there was the picture of Dawn and him. He was bewildered, his eyes wide and looking at something to the side of the camera while Dawn was staring straight into it, beaming. The wind lifted her hair up and behind her shoulders, the strands twisting together. Both of their eyes were alight with the sun.

You better not delete this. Dawn's warning echoed in his mind.

Lucas gave the picture a final look–the strange feeling inflating in his stomach and forcing him to burp quietly–before clicking shut his pokédex and placing it next to his bag. He looked at the moon. The silhouette of something fast flew above them. A bird most likely. He saw it fly by again, this time slower and this time radiating an electric blue from what Lucas assumed to be its eyes. Foresight, he thought, in order to help it see through the dark and look for food. Perhaps it was attracted by the campfire.

Readjusting his jacket so it spread further across Dawn's body, Lucas closed his eyes, and fell, quite quickly, into a deep slumber.