Ivan!
| fire punch | aromatherapy | disarming voice | metronome | defense curl |
☚ (1)
☛
Inventory:
Location: Shimmying up the Regi's Causeway
'Friends': Snubbull,
Tahni, Shape
Status: Sore leg (not really?) but spirited all the same, until...
The proposal to accompany his fellow guild adventurers on such an expansive expedition had been a grand one indeed. Unfortunately, it seemed Snubbull had failed to assert all of the details. He'd heard a lot of bubbly elation from her on part of it being "the experience of a lifetime"; a
magical journey of incomparable proportions where Ivan would make all sorts of friends and have a swell time with them, adventuring across epic landscapes, battling bad guys and collecting an abundance of trinkets and treasure, such would lead the lady Clefairy to swoon once he returned. It was a shame Ivan wasn't having as much of a peachy time as he'd imagined. He supposed the guild wasn't going to baby him—it was an
expedition, not a field trip—but, on the other hand, Ivan would have appreciated some straight-faced intelligence on the whole matter. He hadn't even considered the arduous process of transporting the guild tents from dungeon-to-dungeon. Those that weren't toting crates or Mew forbid actually dragging the caravans were forced to walk and what a monotonous, enervating, aggravating walk that was, one that Ivan hadn't been mentally prepared for—or even physically prepared for, as the he had gone and fallen like a fool. Now his leg was bruised and it still ached like a day-old Ekans bike left untreated, despite how Smoochum had near-frozen his thigh yesterday in-response to the diminished supply of ice packs. Ivan was tending to that ill-timed injury now instead of joining the fellow apprentices with silly Miss Snubbull in the longtent. Perhaps it wasn't the flapping, fang-filled fae's fault entirely that Ivan was stuck in the situation that he was now. Perhaps he'd only interpreted her wrong from the beginning, perhaps his excitement had invaded an unbiased perception of how fun the expedition really would be. But, what did it matter. The point was this: he didn't like Snubbull. She rushed about the camp every day like she had a million things to do then snapped at you if you tried to reason that she might be exaggerating.
But, from his dormitory, Ivan could discern the muffled yips of the guild secretary. As he sat massaging his bruised leg and feeling sorry for himself, he heard the convincing
"Smiles go for miles!", and felt his bitterness melt away.
Listen to them, he thought.
They're all peppy and eager while I'm holed up in here, all jaundiced and hurting. At this rate, I'm going to miss out on the entire journey. He'd missed today's morning pep talk and the entire event with the bridge from yesterday that he heard had been a rousing success; what a pathetic impression he was leaving already, Ivan realized. His cohorts recognized who he was, or at least they should, being that he'd introduced himself to the vast majority of them already. They must be thinking lowly of him at that very moment.
"That new guy, what a wuss. Too squishy to carry out any real work! Clefairy are all the same, aren't they?" And then, in a worst case scenario, Guildmaster Bronzong would say,
"Yes, yes, you're all very right. I think Ivan would be more suited elsewhere," and, with a swing of his ringer, he'd have kicked him from Haven altogether. At least this time Ivan had a suitable excuse. Before he truly was acting coddled—he could at least admit that. He had hardly been associated with the guild for two weeks and their way of doing things conflicted with his sleeping schedule. He'd heard the signature cry and, with disdain, had returned to his slumber, awaking again at early noon when all the other apprentices had gone and left. How they could abandon their resting hours for adventuring was something Ivan could barely comprehend, but he realized now as the meeting outside the longtent was dismissed and his fellows went streaming off towards their next objective, he would have to adapt. He was no morning 'mon but there was nothing else Ivan could do if he wanted to be a well-functioning member of the guild.
Currently, he stepped from his designated dorm tent, throwing a rented treasure bag over one shoulder. The bruise on his left leg was no longer the vibrant shade it had been, instead a faded, darker splotch, though still perceivable, that Ivan hoped he could pass off as a birthmark to those that hadn't seen his stumble. As he applied pressure on the limb, he cringed, but Ivan egged himself onwards. If he truly needed to, he had his wings to fall back on, and with that relatively-reassuring thought, he began cautiously placing one dainty foot in front of the other, moving past the longtent entrance now and in the direction of Brine Cove.
"Clefairy!"
Bah! I take a few steps and she's already behind me! Stupid, stupid Snubbull… Ivan had thought she would have retreated back into the longtent, or at least gone along with the retreating crowd, but no. Like a Braviary, she'd located him and now made a beeline in his direction.
"Aren't you supposed to be in the infirmary right now? That would be behind you," Snubbull sniffed. She eyed him critically, paws at her waist. Ivan returned the unwelcoming expression with a hollow smile.
"Good morning, Snubbull! No, I don't believe I was assigned to the infirmary today. As an apprentice, I've been assigned to Brine Cove with the rest, haven't I?"
"You need to see Dr. Mime about your leg before you can do any exploring. Didn't I tell you this all yesterday?"
"Hmm, maybe you told someone else that. I mean—," he tapped his leg,
"—this is a scar I got from crossing paths with a feral Machoke as a hatchling. Hurt like the spirit-realm at the time. But perhaps you're referring to another Clefairy? I mean, it's hard to distinguish who exactly you're addressing when you don't use the Pokemon-in-question's name." His smile broadened.
Snubbull huffed in reply, clearly unappreciative of his snarky response, or perhaps with his presence in-general, as she took some time to formulate a response.
"Alright, Ivan, I don't want to argue with you today. If you think you don't need any medical assistance for your bruise, I suppose I can't stop you. But, for Mew's sake, at the very least take your time at the causeway. The stepping stones can't possibly be good for a bad leg."
Before Ivan could say anything complacent, she had already shuffled off, trudging past him through the longtent entrance and letting the opening flap plummet behind her as she disappeared inside. Good! He'd gotten rid of her, at least for now. Knowing Snubbull she'd most likely have Mr. Mime pay him a personal visit despite it all. The Clefairy turned to continue on his way, step after step, smiling still.
Step by step, step by step… The tents lingered behind. The dusty, dirty ground was littered with fractured rock and splintered log from the guild's earth-clearing escapades the night before. Ivan picked his leg up and over, up and over, praying to the ever-fair maiden of the moon that he wouldn't land on any twigs or thorns, as if he weren't damaged enough.
Step by step—oh good, good Cresselia—I'll make it there…
The sun's golden streak on the horizon, signifying the dwindling sunrise, had drained away. In came an uninterrupted bright blue color to replace it. The weather was gloriously clear. Ivan heard the distant crashing of waves. If he listened closely, tipped ears at their most attentive, he could also pick up the sunny quibbling of guild apprentices, the mechanical tone of Shape the Porygon, the carrying roars of Tahni the Litleo. The ground was no longer littered with prickling obstacles so Ivan was free to pacify his pace. There was a steady throbbing in his leg that he sought to ignore and luckily, with the prospect of uniting with his cohorts being a likely one, it was easy to do so. He thought,
Almost there. Just step after step. I'll make it...
The landscape was accentuated with the blue of the sky and the blue of the melodically-crashing waves. The once pure-blue surface up above was now streaked sparingly with icy cirrus clouds. Underfoot, the stones of the causeway were a natural wonder, locked together like honeycombs. Ivan felt, as he moved from high-level stone to low-level stone, that he was mimicking the flow of the ocean water. Forgetting his sore leg, he jumped on one rock, hopped down onto another. He wondered how long he could balance on a particularly tall and thin rock. He challenged himself to collect as many pebbles, hidden between the crevices, as he possibly could. Ivan found three and tucked them into his treasure bag, solely because he could. Suddenly, the Clefairy had all the time in the world to spend as he pleased in this beautiful solitude.
Step after step~! Step after step~! I'll make it to the cove on time, step after step~!"
But then, as he continued walking, the air grew cold. A wind, come from nowhere, gushed past and Ivan instinctively wrapped himself with his arms. It had come from overhead, he recognized, regaining his composure. He stood just halfways up an upwards-pointed slope now, certain he'd heard snippets of conversation at the top. But, referring back to the breeze, the weather couldn't have turned on the Clefairy in that instantaneous moment. A wind that unnatural had to have an unnatural cause. Had a Pokémon summoned it, he wondered, perhaps a guild member atop the slope? Ivan began to hurry again.
BLAP! A bright white beam flashed, very near. Ivan panicked and dove against the side of the incline, heart beating fast. The long-ranged attack had come far too close to his face. He heard it strike inches above him, leaving a mess of frosted-over rock in its wake. As he stood, heart pounding, the Clefairy began to place the pieces together. Where did that wind come from? Where did that unmistakable Ice Beam come from? A Pokemon, of course. A Pokemon had summoned those distinct attacking moves, most likely against the guild members. There was up here, after all. This wild Pokémon--Ivan assumed they must be wild--was striving to freeze his teammates solid!
