In Sky's Shadow - Hatchley's VG

[ShadowDRGN]

Table of Contents
The First Dragonite
Starlet Resolution [CW: Blood, mild description of injuries.]
Lunar New Year's 2022
Springtide Isle (Through the Rift)
Stormwracked
Aftermath

Adventures
New Fizz City: #1R | #1U | #2R | #2U | #3R | #3U | #4R | #4U | #5R | #5U | #6R | #6U | #7R | #7U | #8R | #8U | #9R | #9U | #10R | #10U | #11R | #11U | #12R | #12U | #13R | #13U | #14R | #14U | #15R | #15U | #16R | #16U | #17R | #17U |#18R | #18U | #19R | #19U | #20R | #20U | #21R | #21U | #22R | #22U | #23R | #23U | #24R | #24U | #25R | #25U | #26R | #26U | #27R | #27U | #28R | #28U | #29R

Other Links

[ShadowDRGN]

The storm had ended, but nothing quite felt the same. Hatchley stood upon the beach, watching as the sun emerged from its slumber beneath the churning waves. The sky was a gradient unbroken, forming a narrow window with which he could face the sea, and feel as though nothing was amiss.

Then, the man turned, and carefully waded through the field of debris that had sunken into the sand. He saw signs directing him to nowhere, pieces of chairs and barbecues that had been flung from careless condo balconies. Pieces of metal twisted into sculptures commemorating nature’s unrivaled force. He felt like an archeologist walking among relics of things no longer existing.

After the storm had passed, he and Goto went their separate ways. The tailor said little of where he was going—merely that he wanted new muses to chase, and that he would get in touch soon regarding Hatchley’s request.

He seemed intent on maintaining that distant professionalism. Hatchley couldn't blame him, but he felt a knot welling up in his stomach the more he thought about that irritating man. Last night was the first time he felt well and truly vulnerable, only to get nothing for it—he was bruised, yet all that had hit him were words.

The Dragon Tamer had hoped that a visit to the beach would clear his head, but instead he found his peace of mind buried under the rubble. He watched as figures dressed in safety gear crawled along the waterlogged sand, their Gurrdur and Sandshrew unearthing refuse and loading it into trucks. It was a big operation, and word had spread over the emergency radio that civilians were advised to avoid helping the clean-up effort.

What people were here were marked by desperation—those without homes salvaging anything they could, and families searching the sands for whatever remained of their precious possessions. Hatchley gave what he could to those willing to accept it, but he felt disgusted with himself. Disgust for concerning himself with such petty, teenage problems when others have lost everything, but there was nothing he could do about it.

There was nowhere he could go. No power, no transport out of the city. A friend of his father had kindly let him stay the night at their place, but that wouldn't be for a few hours yet.

Hatchley turned his eyes to the sea once more. The same sea that had thrown boats through the boardwalk had returned to gently lapping at the shore. He could go swimming, but there was no telling what debris was submerged just below the waterline.

Something in the distance had been catching his eye, though. The cobalt shadow of an island on the horizon. He could barely see the land beyond the waves' troughs, but a magnificent crown of trees stuck out like lighthouses.

That image called to him, promising a retreat from this broken city and these broken thoughts. He only needed a way to reach it, but Prince and Comet both would drop like rocks—he would, too, if he tried to swim all that distance.

Wandering further down the beach, Hatchley spotted a coast guard station perched atop the breakwater. The boy stopped, contemplating whether to go in and ask about renting a Pokemon. Considering the state of emergency, he doubted his presence would be much appreciated... but he at least had to try, right?

Hatchley took a deep breath, and climbed his way up the sand-swept steps. He could see lights bleeding through the UV-tinted windows, and the electric whine of a Rotom-powered generator was oddly soothing after roaming the city in dead silence.

All things considered, his fears ended up being largely unfounded. The air of urgency that hung in the office was heavy enough to fog, but he was treated with nothing but courtesy by the ranger on desk duty. Of course, his request prompted some questioning, but as soon as he told them wherever he intended to go they seemed to soften a little.

As it turned out, they needed someone to survey that island for any damage from the storm. Thanks to the damage in the harbor, though, nobody has had the time to go out there yet. It was a tiny little key, boasting a small population of Pokémon. The lowest of low priorities.

He'd heard this same spiel before from when he visited Grey Matter Labs: I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine—except this time, he wasn't expected to do anything except report back on what he saw. It was an easy deal to accept, and before he knew it Hatchley was standing before the waves once more, his hand grasping a Dive Ball with the Coast Guard's seal stamped onto it.

The man threw the Pokeball out, and with a flash of light his ride appeared before him. It was a massive Floatzel, clearly bred to retain the size of its distant Alpha relatives. A bright blue saddle sat upon the creature's back, and she expectantly looked at Hatchley as she bobbed up and down in the water.

"Right. We're going to that island over there," he pointed toward the distant island. The Water-type nodded, and flicked her head to urge him to hop on.

Up with his pant legs, and onto the sea he went. Floatzel leaned counter to Hatchley’s weight as he settled into the saddle, and her corkscrew tails paddled them gently away from shore. 'Gently' was, in-truth, still enough to make the Trainer feel seasick. This was going to be slow-going, for sure...

Even so, there was something exciting about seeing the shoreline grow before his eyes. Bright white sands broke the waves, forming a shield around a dense thicket of palm trees and bushes. It felt weirdly... tropical, but New Fizz City was no stranger to such anomalies.

Floaztel eased to a stop as her belly grazed against the shallows, and Hatchley dismounted with a splash. His legs felt wobbly from riding for too long, and his shoes were quickly being swallowed by the wet sand. Seeing him nearly faceplant drove the sea weasel to brace him from behind as he trudged onto truly dry land.

"Whew, thanks," remarked the man. He reached out his hand, and Floatzel gladly lowered her head. The Pokemon’s fur appeared oily, but in truth it was smooth and dry to the touch, even after a saltwater bath.

Hatchley smiled and tapped Floatzel's ball to her head. The oversized Pokémon dissipated into light, and her ball shook gently as Hatchley slipped it into his bag, "I'll let you back out when I'm ready to leave, okay?"

When he turned around again, he found himself captured by the vibrancy of the scene before him. The pale turquoise of the Fizzy Coast was a frame around a palette of blinding whites, lush greens, and tropical yellows. Compared to the bustle of the city, the breeze that filtered through the trees and the undulating waves were a portrait of stillness, one that he desperately needed to be a part of.

Shoes tumbled across the beach grass as he kicked them off, and he awkwardly tried to peel off his socks without them being forever tainted by the ground. The payoff was well worth the hassle, as the moment he stepped out onto the beach barefoot was magical. The dry sand enveloped his toes, making them disappear into their sunbaked embrace. Then he took a step toward the water, disturbing the new sediment layer as it cascaded down his skin, save for the glittering specs that clung to his heels and soles.

A jolt of pain shot through him as he stepped through the band of shells and kelp stranded upon the tidal border. Hatchley leaned down, his fingers sifting through the kaleidoscope of pastel-colored fragments. He recognized some of these spiral patterns from the fossils the scientists had been working on at the lab, but he doubted they would be of any use in such a degraded state. No, the cycle of life was well underway—erasing what once was, and repurposing it into the building blocks for new life.

Pocketing a souvenir, he proceeded to quickly shuffle over the beach-wide caltrop field. Thankfully, what awaits him on the other side more than makes up for it. His steps wrung the seawater out of the sand, soaking his feet in cool brine. The waves swept across his legs, brushing them with bits of loose sediment as he walked around the perimeter of this tiny island.

Stopping, Hatchley wiggled his toes until they melded into the ground. There he remained for a time, letting both the sea and time wash over him. He stared out over the endless plane of blue—toward the home he left nearly a year ago.

Had it really been a year? Perhaps settling into this newfound sense of independence had masked the passage of time, but when he thought about it, it didn't seem too far-fetched. His insightful visit to Grey Matter Labs, followed by excitement of Lunar New Year, and then a summer spent exploring the region's sights. All of it culminated in his fateful adventure through Springtide.

Sure, he may have nearly died a few times along the way... a couple times thanks to his own Pokemon... damn it.

Hatchley closed his eyes, and felt his nails biting into his palm. The tide of his emotions changed, swelling to new heights of anger and anxiety as he remembered the words spoken to him before he left home.

"Your mom's keeping your room exactly how you left it. She doesn't think you'll be gone long, either."

"Fuck off, dad..." he muttered. His fist tightened, and then shook as the pressure built within his tendons. That was who was to blame for this—for saddling him with a Pokémon he could barely control, that would add to his scars. It was all to scare him away from seeing this whole, wide world, "...I've made it this far, and I don't intend on coming back."

If only it were that easy. He knew the only reason he's still here is because he was bailed out by that irritating man. God, how could someone who drank an entire bottle of wine in half an hour make him feel like the disaster? Treating him like a goddamn kid, acting like he knew anything about what it's like to have a hero to aspire to be.

He felt mired in this mud, waiting for the sea's grasp to drag him down. Why did everyone feel like they had to know him better than him? To know what's best for him? That he should just give up and stop trying to attain his dream. Why couldn't they all just mind their own fucking business?

Hatchley’s feet uprooted themselves from the earth, and the cavity his toes had dug flooded with water. He ran towards the treeline, racing against this feeling in his chest tightening like an ever-shortening fuse. There was too much he needed to get out while he was miles away from anyone else, before he exploded.

His bag crashed against a palm tree, but it was hardly enough to ease this weight pressing down on his body. The Dragon Tamer was tangled in the neck of his shirt, and he nearly ripped it off his back before it finally came free. Still not enough.

More and more clothes piled atop his bag, until he had nothing left to give up but his cloak. He pulled it tightly around himself, and wandered into the woods.

Cowled by violet wings, Hatchley roared, and he rampaged, and he got bloody satisfaction. As he stomped through the woods, he dragged his talons across the trees. Grasping at a thick branch, he ripped it free and wielded it as a glaive against the vegetation. All that stood in his way would be mercilessly cut down, and the rest would bow before him.

Nothing else mattered besides releasing all this pent-up rage. There was no one here to judge him, no need to play pretend that he had any energy left for politeness and decency. Fuck it, they're right that wasn't like his sister—he was a monster that could do nothing but destroy, and he may as well act like it.

Step-by-step, he hacked and slashed further into the heart of the island. His weapon had become battered down to a sharp stake, and the promise of a clearing ahead drove him forward. There, he could lay down and just wallow in himself for a while.

When he finally broke through, the scene before him gave him pause. A large tree lay across the forest floor, having been sheared from its trunk by the storm. It was the first sign of any damage since he came here.

Hatchley glanced behind him, and then he realized. No, this was the first sign of any damage that wasn't because of him. His raging heart sank, doused beneath a rip current of reality.

Suddenly, he heard a sound coming from the other side of the tree. The teen tilted his head, and quietly crept underneath the arch. It sounded like something was squeaking.

An orange, blobby shape soon came into view. It was tugging against the side of the trunk—was it trapped? He could see both of its arms as it tried punching the wood away, as well as its... many feet... wait...

Then it dawned on him; what was stuck underneath the tree was actually its head. However it was able to survive that, the situation looked bad.

The stick fell from his hands, and Hatchley crouched down to try and help the poor thing. Unfortunately, its blind thrashing didn't cease, and the Trainer was quickly repelled by a glancing blow before he could even touch the tree! Fuck that's gonna hurt in a few seconds...

"H-hey! I'm trying to help you, dammit—" he groaned, cringing in a ball on the ground. The creature stopped its flailing, and he very slowly clambered to his feet. Deep breaths... okay, good enough to move again.

The Dragon Tamer scanned the tree, looking for anywhere he could lift it from. Unfortunately, this wasn't something he could just tackle on his own. Even if he could, there's every chance that the pressure from the tree is what's keeping the trapped Pokemon alive. He'd need his first aid kit ready to handle a wound like that.

He rooted around in his cloak for Prince and Comet's balls. He released them both, who looked understandably confused about the situation, but nonetheless ready to help in any way they can.

"Sorry, but I need help. Comet, go back to the beach and get my bag—uh, and bring my clothes, please."

The Geodude nodded, and disappeared down the trail that his Trainer had blazed. Hatchley bent down next to the fallen log, hands digging into the jagged bark.

"Prince, help me push this thing."

Tyrunt growled in affirmation, and he wedged his snout in the gap between the tree and the ground. Hatchley counted down with his fingers, and then thrust his shoulder into the wood. Prince dug his claws into the dirt and used his thick skull as a lever. With as much strength as either of them could muster, they tried to get this thing to budge.

The tree had initially lurched a bit, but it stubbornly refused to give up its captive that easily. It was like pushing the oblong side of an oval—most of the resistance seemed to be coming from the way the tree had settled. If they could just get a little bit more power...

The orange Pokemon stirred once again, and seemingly counter to the idea of being saved it began thrashing about once more. Hatchley and Tyrunt nearly recoiled, but with them being so close to freeing it, they were committed to maintaining the push. Those fist-shaped tentacles struck the ground and his legs relentlessly, before one stray jab hit the trunk, and both the tree and the Pokemon went flying in opposite directions!

Hatchley whipped his head back to see the creature tumbling across the ground like a bouncy ball, and he frantically ran after it. The teen found it lying amidst the bushes, its head as flat as a pancake. It seemed his worst fear had come true, after all, and he hung his head low.

...Pop!

When he looked up again, the orange Pokemon’s head had swelled to a bulbous shape! It sprung onto its legs, and spun around to face him, showing only minor cuts where the tree had impacted it. Wait, he’s seen this thing before on TV—it’s a Clobbopus!

“Woah! Yeah, guess you’d walk away fine if you didn’t have any skull to worry about, huh?” he remarked. By now, Comet had finally returned, and he quickly took out a Potion to help patch up those nicks. Good as new!

Hatchley leaned back and sighed, feeling relief wash over him. He watched as Clobbopus mingled with the two Rock-types, and chuckled as she seemed to think the appropriate way to greet her rescuers was with a firm punch to the face, “guess you live out here by yourself, huh?”

The cephalopod nodded in response, and she waddled over towards the trunk of the fallen tree. The teen hastily threw on his clothes and followed, where he found a series of suspicious dents lining the circumference of the tree. Seems this is where she trained her fighting moves.

“Huh. Did the tree come down on you while you were training?” he asked. Clobbopus nodded again, and Hatchley looked at it incredulously.

“You were training in the middle of a storm? Sounds scrappy, I like it,” said the teen to another nod. He went quiet in thought for a moment, before he crawled over to his bag and rummaged through it. A couple TM’s went tumbling across the ground, followed by several boxes that have as of yet remained unopened. C’mon, where is it...

Aha! Hatchley triumphantly held up a Quick Ball, before turning and showing it to Clobbopus. It’s blue-and-yellow pattern was a close match for the Fighting-type’s final form, and he grinned widely as he made his proposal:

“Y’know, I’m training really hard to be the best I can be, too—the best in Fizzytopia! I know this is sudden, but I think if you joined my team, you’d get plenty stronger, too!” he says, shaking the ball enticingly, “what do you say?”

Much to his delight, Clobbopus looked absolutely thrilled! The Pokemon jumped about, celebrating by punching the air and... flailing those tentacles uncomfortably close to Hatchley’s nose. Before he ended up with a crooked sniffer, he tapped the Quick Ball to the cephlopod’s head. It shook once, and then... click!

The Trainer stood up again, and he immediately clicked the button on his newly-leased Pokeball. Clobbopus emerged where it was just standing, watching as he slung his bag over his shoulder and started walking. Prince and Comet began introducing their new companion to the team—at least until Hatchley’s voice called out to them:

“C’mon! I think we all earned some beach time!”

The tide had gone slack as the day wore on—the waves all but died, and the beach glittered with sunlight as Hatchley and his Pokemon emerged from the trees. The three dashed on ahead, Prince stomping through the shallows, and Comet searching the sand for rocks while Clobbopus soaked-in some much needed water after being stranded overnight. It was good that they could get along—especially since Prince wouldn’t have been able to work with others before their visit to the lab.

“Hey! Wait for me!” he called, rushing out onto the beach. He tugged at the chain around his neck, and his cloak billowed off his shoulders, landing in the sand just as he dove head-first into the water! Cool relief slapped him in the face, and when he breached the surface again, his ponytail had come undone, scattering a flotsam of black and white to the waves.

Hatchley swam until his arms were screaming at him to stop, by which time he had gained some distance from the shore. His Pokemon were still happily playing together on the beach, and as long as he could still see them, he didn’t mind giving them some time to get acquainted without him.

Recharging his body, he flipped over onto his back and drifted atop the sea. The briny smell enveloped him, and his eyes turned to the boundless sky above him. The more he focused, the more his vision became consumed by it, and the more his mind wandered.

It was undeniable that he needed this, but he also felt embarrassed about today. All this talk about not being treated like a kid, only for him to throw a massive tantrum the moment he had any freedom at all. The teen sighed—he was turning 20 soon, why couldn’t he just grow up already?

Birdcalls caught his attention the longer he continued to drift, and his eyes followed the sound to a flock of Wingull flying overhead. As he watched their wings glint in the sunlight, he found his thoughts drifting to Rhinea. The stories she told of how she trained that Bagon every day and night, hoping that one day it would be able to carry her high enough to touch the blue in the sky—until one day, she did.

That day had been forever etched in his brain. That was the height he wished to reach as a Trainer, and it was the height that she surely would’ve surpassed by then, had it not been for the incident. He hadn’t gotten any closer to finding out the truth behind that day, either... but at least he had a half a team ready to help him, now.

Hatchley reached out towards the soaring Pokemon, and he wished desperately to be able to join them. All everyone had told him was to give up trying to be like her, but without that sky to shoot for, what else would he be? He was just an accidental child that complicated everything around him.

Goto was right. He was afraid to be himself, because he didn’t consider himself to be anything. But that couldn’t be true, could it? If he was nothing at all, then how could he have made it this far already? How could he have overcome the challenge of training Prince?

Maybe he can’t learn how to soar like she did, but his dream was still to touch that very same sky. No longer would he pursue that dream as Rhinea’s biggest fan, but as himself—the Draconic Dreadnought Hatchley Fisher. Juvenile punk rock addict Hatchley Fisher. Hopelessly boy crazy Hatchley Fisher.

He couldn’t lift off at all while he was weighed down by all this rock and scale, but that’s okay. He would become the nurturing earth, instead. The care and patience he put into his Pokemon would grow beneath him, tempered by his fiery spirit into towering mountains, until the heavens were finally within his grasp.

The sun beat down on him as he returned to shore, dried off and made lunch. His head was a rush of emotions, but everything felt clearer than it had been in a while. It’s as though he’d finally begun to pick up the pieces that had been strewn across his heart. The process would be turbulent, but, if he felt like this more often, he wouldn’t mind.

Collecting his companions and his things, Hatchley walked to the water’s edge, and released Floatzel once more. The sea weasel smiled, and as soon as he settled on her back she began paddling towards the skyline towering in the distance. The teen craved a warm shower and an internet connection, but this was a good way to pass time during the blackout, at least.

He glanced back at the island they left. The only trace of his existence that remained there was a sandcastle his Pokemon had constructed, topped by a wooden flagpole. The banner that flew atop it was deep and regal purple, its tattered edges rippling in the breeze.

It was time to introduce himself to the world, and he needed a better outfit to wear than hand-me-downs.

[ShadowDRGN]

Snowy street lamps flickered on as twilight turned to dusk, giving Hatchley pause for a moment. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been staring at the sidewalk the entire time he’d been out. Sure, he had to watch his step for ice now that winter was right around the corner, but he knew there was more to it than that. Keeping his head up felt like a last resort—like a submarine surfacing to use its periscope.

The young man ratcheted his gaze upward, and sure enough, this was the street. Much to his surprise, the area was very... rustic. Warehouses, old school flats, chain link fences. Not the kind of place he expected a world-class boutique to be. It reminded him of his home across the pond, where he’d kick it on the oily streets of Motostoke in the afterschool hours.

If only it were homesickness that had his stomach tied in knots, though. Hatchley sauntered forward, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, and down his gaze went once more. It’d been months since he met that man, but in that time it felt like so much had changed. He certainly had changed, and he wasn’t sure if it was for the better, yet.

Pawing at his empty shoulders, he chuckled foolishly at himself. He left that behind, remember? Why else would he be here?

Warm, worn-out light pooled at his skin as he stepped before the window: Stella Cadente. The name exuded pomp and circumstance, and nothing at all like what a mall rat would be caught dead wearing, normally. Suits never suited him, and there wasn’t a single dress or skirt in any of his hand-me-down boxes, either. No, he wanted to wear something that was purely his own—and he knew just the person who could make that dream come true.

The door creaked loudly enough as he pushed it open to discard any need for a bell. Warm air from a crackling radiator filled the space, and he realized immediately just how much of a sweat he worked up walking across town. He set his coat on a peg and looked around, finding the shop largely empty, save for a handful of the tailor’s Pokemon sorting through and tidying inventory.

Much to his surprise, there was a familiar face among Goto’s Pokemon, though it had since evolved. Dewott looked up from his duty folding shirts and waved to the Dragon Tamer, who waved back warmly and took out Comet’s ball.

The Geodude emerged in a flash of light, and Hatchley crouched down to greet them with a smile, “hey, why don’t you go help Dewott out with the shop while I’m here?” he asked. Comet scowled at him and shook her head, eyes wandering to the collection of needles, scissors and knives by the counter.

Hatchley half chuckled, and half sighed, “I’m gonna be fine, alright? I promise I’ll call if I need help,” he replied, and that seemed to be enough for her to relent. Watching as the Rock-type floated over to her friend, he leaned up against the counter and took out his phone, mindlessly texting away while he waited for the owner himself to arrive. He’d kept up with his friends back in Undella plenty, but he could feel the connection fading with each passing month. Some got too busy with uni, others simply stopped having an interest in the group once they were no longer bound together by proximity, or in a way, necessity.

“Ah, my apologies for making you wait.”

He perked up as soon as he heard that voice swinging down the stairway, and sure enough, Goto was there. The lanky tailor was dressed a lot less formally than he expected—tight denim jeans, and a black leather vest caught his eye well before the man’s welcoming expression did. Something told him that he had plans for the evening, or perhaps it was just the scent of charcoal and citrus sweeping past him.

“It’s okay, I haven’t been here long,” Hatchley replied, turning around as Goto slipped behind the counter, “so, you said they were ready for me?”

“Correct. I put the finishing touches on them over the weekend,” Goto said, sliding a stool over with his foot. As he stretched across the back wall, his fingers eased out a box from the shelf to present to the young man. At first glance, it seemed to be just simple matte white and black, but as he looked closer, he realized that there was a glossy layer etched on top, hiding away an illustration of the two Tao Pokemon: Zekrom and Reshiram!

“Woah! You really went the extra mile,” Hatchley remarked, running his fingers over the endlessly satisfying swirl of textures. Upon gently shimmying it open, he was delighted to find the stuffed Pokemon inside were rendered lovingly, right down to the last stitch of detail, “oh, she’ll flip for sure once she sees these!”

“So, you’re satisfied with these?” Goto said as he leaned over the countertop, watching as Hatchley gushed over the plushies. He had the oddest smile about him, like a mixture of his usual smarmy amusement with a genuine sense of pride in his work.

“Hell yeah, I’m satisfied!” said the Dragon Tamer, beaming brightly. Placing the lid back on, he carefully maneuvered the box into his bag, taking care to ensure that it won’t get squashed or pinched on the walk back home.

Admiring his enthusiasm, Goto chuckled, and canted his head slightly as he replied, “it took quite a few passes to produce something even halfway resembling a Pokemon, being as rusty as I am. The fact that you’re happy with them makes me happy with them, I feel.”

“You sure the price you gave me when we started was fine?” Hatchley said, frowning slightly. His hand was already hovering over his wallet, ready to practically throw it on the counter if asked to, “I don’t want you to feel like I’m lowballing you, especially with all this work you’ve put in.”

The tailor shook his head staunchly and rose, “it’s quite alright. I put in the work because I enjoyed the challenge, not for the money,” he explained. A faint smirk dawned on his face, and he swept a finger through his freshly-washed bangs, “you’ll find I’m quite generous to my muses.”

Hatchley didn’t realize it straight away, but his cheeks were bright red. That compliment hit, and it hit hard. Muttering a hazy ‘thank you’, he quietly set the money down on the table, and tried not to turn into a puddle of goo in the meantime.

The buzz of old printer parts filled the awkward silence for a moment, and as Goto put his receipt on the counter, he waved, “thank you for your patronage.”

And that’s where it should’ve ended, really. Take receipt, walk home, put gift away, zone out in the shower for an hour and pass out. He’d had his little adventure, and this storyline was coming to a close, quite literally wrapped up and with a bow on it.

Except, there’s no way he could do that. He knew that the real beginning of his story has yet to be told. Fuck ending things here, right before it’s about to get good.

“Oh, uh. About that...” he interjected, his chest rising for a moment before he attempted to play it cool, “if you want something else interesting to work on, I’ve actually been wanting to get an outfit commissioned from you for a while, now.”

A cool that was immediately lost as he watched Goto’s eyes snap to his. The tailor’s eyebrows raised, and the Dragon Tamer can feel his blood run cold. Oh, no. He’d been waiting for this.

“Is that so?” he asked, lingering on the question like a vampire lingering at the doorstep, waiting to be invited in.

Hatchley nodded slowly, unsure of how exactly to respond, “yeah. I was wondering if I could maybe schedule some time to talk to you about it?”

“Would tonight not work?” he replied, reaching for the keyring on his belt.

“Oh! Sure!” Hatchley blurted out without thinking, for all of his thoughts were completely staggered. The tailor chuckled mysteriously, and started walking towards his workshop, bidding his client follow. Even if this is what he came here for, he didn’t exactly expect it to happen tonight. Surprise gave way to excitement, and he quickly caught up to Goto as he unlocked the door.

Moonlight danced in the curtains of this small room for a brief moment before the lights fluttered to life. Hatchley walked in behind the tailor, eyes shining as he took in the sheer density of things that the man had managed to pack in here. Works in progress hung from coat racks, each one wrapped tightly in protective plastic, while a massive easel was already half-sketched out with what appeared to be some sort of wedding gown decorated with hundreds of sheer flowers.

By now, his bag was already sat by the door, and Goto had pulled his chair around from his desk to face the young man. Sitting down cross-legged, he adopted a focused expression, and sat with his cheek saddled inquisitively within his palm, “I notice that you aren’t wearing that cloak of yours anymore. Am I right to assume you’re coming to me about that?”

Yep. He definitely already knew this was coming. Hatchely sighed, his arms crossed as he thought about how exactly he was going to explain all that’s happened:

“After the storm, I went out to sea for a little bit to sort of... process everything we talked about,” he said, each of his words feeling heavy in his throat, “I’ll admit, I didn’t take things well at first, but... I decided then that I’m no longer gonna stay in my sister’s shadow.”

Goto didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Hatchley felt his stomach drop the moment that he felt the tailor had put two-and-two together. Clasping his hands together, he bowed stiffly and appeasingly, “I’m sorry! I know that cloak was important to your family, but it felt like the right thing for me to do, at the time...”

“Oh, I’m not actually fussed about that,” Goto replied, matter-of-factly. He sat upright in his chair, and Hatchley quickly righted himself, looking bewildered.

“My great-great grandfather may have made it, but it was entrusted to your family. If you had to let it go, then it’s not my place to criticize you for it. Clothes aren’t meant to be worn and passed-down forever, after all,” he added, much to Hatchley’s relief. Nodding in agreement, the young man slid a spare stool over, and sat down across from Goto. It was time to hash this all out.

“Now, what kind of outfit are you looking for, exactly? If you ask me, it sounds like you’re looking for more than just a new cape.”

“Yeah. I’m tired of hand-me-downs. I’ve been planning on buying new clothes with some of the money I’ve brought in, but without something special to wear when I’m out doing Trainer stuff, it doesn’t quite feel the same.”

“Go on, then.”

Hatchley took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander. Every time he thought about this, his mind would conjure little glimpses of his desires—bits and pieces of outfit that were lavishly detailed, yet at the same time jumbled and disconnected from one-another. His brain couldn’t put together all the puzzle pieces itself, but he knew that if he focused, he could maybe convey it to Goto in a way where it all just... fits.

“I definitely want something cool...” he started, smiling wryly as he realized how nebulous that sounded, “like... punk cool. Spiked chokers and belts, that sort of thing. I’ve always wanted to be a rocker, even if it’s kind of a retro look now.”

“What else... oh, I think I’d prefer a hoodie over a cape, honestly. I know it’s tradition, but when I wasn’t hiding myself away behind it, I was having to take it off so I didn’t get sucked into a fucking air vent. So, if anything is gonna scream Dragon Tamer, I want it to be that... and I want it to be comfy.”

He opened his eyes again, and saw Goto diligently jotting down notes in his pocketbook. There was a fascinated smirk on his face, the kind that was already brewing all sorts of ideas with even just that least bit of prompting. He took out his phone, and started to thumb through it while he responded.

“I see... That is an interesting challenge, indeed. I can think of a few similar aesthetics—there was a... gym leader (he said with air quotes) I encountered in Alola who trained Dragon-types. Ryuki, I think his name was? How do you feel about something like this?” he asked, turning the screen to show him an image of the ‘leader’ in question performing a concert.

One look, and Hatchley recoiled, much to the tailor’s amusement, “oh, fuck no. That’s too red, and leathery, and skimpy. I want this to be more casual than that. Kinda like what you’re wearing.”

“Very well. I believe I can work within that limitation,” Goto said, pocketing his phone for the time being. He unfolded his legs and rose onto his feet, before he walked over to his table to grab a roll of measuring tape, “I believe some concepts will come to me while I take your measurements—would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Hatchley replied, standing up after him. This is the first time he’d really done anything of the sort, and he awkwardly shuffled around trying to find some way to stand neutrally enough for Goto to work with him, “I... uh, do I have to take anything off, though?”

“Not at all. I would hardly be fit as a tailor if jeans and a dress shirt hindered me from taking measurements,” Goto said, half-scoffing. Even so, due diligence necessitated that he give Hatchley a once over, and he tapped the young man’s loose sleeves, “that, however, may need to be rolled back when I do your wrists.”

“You sure you can’t just put the measuring tape underneath?” Hatchley grumbled, instinctively wrapping his fingers around where Goto had touched.

The tailor sighed, and lowered his hand disarmingly, “if you don’t wish to, then don’t, but I already know you have scars there. They don’t bother me. Now, raise your arms and stick them straight outward.”

Doing as he was told, he adopted a t-pose, and watched as Goto did his work. Unfurling the flexible tape, he wrapped it first around the young man’s waist, drawing it tightly enough to make his shirt go flush against his torso, but not enough to compress the skin. The tailor mumbled a number that had no meaning to Hatchley, and then moved the tape down to start measuring his hips.

Considering they had a whole ensemble to make, it’s only natural that he’d want to cover everything he could. Shoulders, thighs, bust, overarm, outseam, inseam. With each new dimension the tailor added, the more Hatchley felt like he’s some sort of scientific anomaly being studied. Without even realizing it, he’d started squirming whenever the tape tightened around his body, or he was gently directed into the correct pose for a certain measurement.

“Would talking help calm your nerves?” Goto asked, stepping back as Hatchley’s posture collapsed back into his slouched, hands-in-pocket comfort zone.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to this...” the young man replied, sighing forlornly, “...sure. I’m surprised you haven’t been talking, already. You usually like chatting, don’t you?”

“That I do, I was just preoccupied with concepting the design,” Goto answered, waiting a moment more for Hatchley to collect himself before stepping forward again, tape pinched between his hands, “so, what do you wish to talk about?”

Splaying his arms out again, Hatchley sputtered, and thought for a long moment. His brain was currently stew, and what chunks of it he could pick out were... well, kinda something he’d been thinking about for some time, now. A realization that had come to him shortly after that island trip, once all of his stress had been cast away, and he could think clearly again.

Hesitation was wrapping its boney fingers around his throat, and he needed to speak quickly before he choked. Glancing at the tailor a moment before he waltzed behind his back, he spoke, “I... was actually thinking of asking you for advice.”

“Oh? What kind of advice?” Goto asked, gently adjusting both of his client’s arms for the next measurement.

“It’s... well. There’s someone I like, and I don’t know how to bring it up to him.”

“Ah, a matter of the heart,” Goto chuckles, wrapping the tape around Hatchley’s chest firmly, “well, personally I would start with the big question: What’s stopping you from telling him how you feel?”

Hatchley sucked air through his teeth, and paused a moment before giving his response, “I guess... I just don’t know if I have a chance, really.”

“Mm. Are they your peer, or do you feel there’s an imbalance between you?”

“Sorta? Like the both of us treat each-other as equals, but he’s older than me, and I just feel like we have really different levels of experience. I’ve only really had a handful of flings with random guys, whereas he seems like he’s been through a lot of relationships.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, you know,” Goto said, crouched down to roll the tape across Hatchley’s knee, “take myself, for instance. In my entire life, I would only consider myself to have been in one relationship, total.”

Hatchley looked down with a bit of surprise, “oh, really? That’s kinda hard to imagine.”

“Being charismatic is not the same as being romantic. I’m rather fond of letting my ships pass in the night. We both get what we need, and then we get on our way. Even the ones that leave a bad taste in my mouth still provided me with a valuable experience,” he said, a mischievous expression plastered across his face. He stood up again, squaring Hatchley’s shoulders as he double-checked a few of his measurements.

“Huh, yeah, I guess you’re right. But, don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to try something more committed again?” he asked, “like you said, even if it leaves a bad taste, it’s still a valuable experience. That’s why I wanna ask him out. See what happens.”

“Then I think you should,” Goto stated simply. Coming around to the young man’s side, he started to lower the tape around his wrist, eyes waiting expectantly for Hatchley to decide—sleeves rolled up, or kept down?

“I... I don’t know if I can,” Hatchley said, shaking his head solemnly, “what if he laughs at me? What if I’m just crushing on him because all I want is his body?”

“Hm. Why do you think you’re crushing on him? Is it really just for sex, or do you see something more in him?” Goto asked. There was a curious rise on his voice, and he fiddled with his earring with his finger with a cheshire grin, “I apologize, but now you’ve made me curious.”

Hatchley could feel all the pores on his body beginning to break out in sweat. He’d been speed-digging himself a hole this entire time—and here comes bedrock. His lungs gasped for air, and before he knew it his guts were spilling out all over the floor.

“Uh... Well, I mean. I won’t lie that I find him really handsome, but there is more to it than that. He’s... intelligent, and he can make pretty much anything we talk about feel really meaningful and insightful. He’s pretty much the opposite of me, really. He thinks things through when I rush headfirst into a problem, and puts into words the things that I feel, but can’t explain. Plus, I'm... grateful to him, for saving my life...”

Turning to face Goto, Hatchley looked him straight in the eyes. It really was no use—Goto already knew, so why try to hide it? He balled his fists up tightly, and put one of them to his chest. It felt like it was about to jump out and practically cram itself down the tailor’s throat, if he didn’t just say it plain:

“Giuseppe. Do you want to go out with me?”

Those amber eyes stared into his. Unwavering in their focus, yet Hatchley could see the smallest of blushes mark the bridge of his nose. The tailor slipped his measuring tape into his pocket, stepped back, and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

If words could kill, that would be an arrow shot right between his ribs. Hatchley’s body wilts, and he slumps into his stool with a dejected sigh, “just like that, then? I guess you think it wouldn’t work...”

Goto sat down calmly, fingers clamped together as he watched the young man rub his eyes red. Coldly as he shot him down, his face was one of sympathy. Leaning forward in his chair, he spoke softly, but with no less conviction:

“Don’t think that I don’t understand what you’re feeling. I’ve pined for many people, myself, but that doesn’t mean that you or I are right for each-other. Beyond the fact that you are my client right now, put frankly: You aren’t my type.”

Sniffling, Hatchley nodded, “I guess I figured that already. I’m much younger than you, and I’m not really someone you can have a deep conversation with.”

“The first has some truth to it, though I think you sell your conversation skills short, but no. The real reason is that I don’t think I’m a healthy person for you to be intimate with. My love language is pain.”

“What do you mean?” Hatchley glanced up at him, confusion riddling his face, “I mean, I'm not exactly against being—”

“No, you aren’t understanding,” Goto cut him off. The tailor shuffled in his seat, looking almost... off-balance. This wasn’t a comfortable topic for him, either, it seemed, “you, Hatchley, are a fixer. You see someone struggling, or hurt, and you take it upon yourself to ease their suffering. All of your Pokemon are those that you’ve taken under your wing, and I’ve noticed that you constantly look for signs that those around you are troubled, so that you may step in.”

“Yeah I... guess that’s true. Where are you going with this?”

“My life before I came here was not a happy one. I was forced to do many things in order to survive. You fell for me because you feel indebted to me, and you would latch onto that past, and you would become increasingly more frustrated the longer you were unable to repay it,” Goto sternly explained, “and I don’t want that. I am not someone to be fixed, or pitied, or owed anything. All I want is to be understood, and that means being able to share pain without expecting you to do anything about it.”

The room fell silent again, and Hatchley quietly seethed. This irritating fucking man had torn him down to his essence in a moment. He knew those words to be true, but why did it have to hurt so fucking bad? Why couldn’t this shit just be as easy as saying “no” and moving on? It wasn’t fair, to step so boldly out of his comfort zone, and be vulnerable with his feelings, only to be sat down and told why he would make a terrible partner...

“You were leading me on, weren't you?” he whimpered, his voice emanating from somewhere else—somewhere darker than the pitch black of that stormy night, “you knew before I did. You wanted me to say it so you could get this over with, didn't you...?”

Goto stayed silent, turning toward his desk while Hatchley curled in on himself, shirt pulled tightly over his knees, and head buried in his sleeves. Yet, when all those tears had eventually dried up, his heart and his mind felt clear. This was the calm after the storm. After so much build up, it felt like all hell had broken loose for that brief moment, and now it had all come to rest.

“Do you feel better?” Goto asked, turning back around after a minute more of sketching. Hatchley nodded against his knees, letting out a long and waterlogged sigh as he straightened out on his seat and faced the tailor. He had no doubt he looked ugly as sin, but he didn’t care. He needed that.

“Yeah... sorry,” he replied, and immediately his apology received a reprimanding glance. He almost said ‘sorry’ again, but what would that accomplish?

“I finished some concept sketches in the meantime. Have a look,” Goto said, passing the journal over to him. Thumbing through the solid 4-5 pages that he had filled, the Dragon Tamer found his reddened eyes widening at what he saw. All of those puzzle pieces that he had jumbled in his head, it was like they had all been assembled here, in graphite and ink. Hell, there were even some touches that he never would’ve thought of on his own.

“These are all... amazing!” he exclaimed, the color returning to his voice as flipped between a handful of pages, comparing the two designs, “I like the hood design of this one... but this one has those cool claw mark zippers. Ehh, you can get rid of the wing design, but keep the scale pattern—oh, wait, could you combine these two? I think it’d be perfect!”

Goto scribbled all that feedback down on the page, “of course. This is your outfit, Hatchley, and I will do everything I can to make it exactly to your liking.”

“Thank you, really. I look forward to trying it on,” he said, rising to his feet with a sense of... finality. Maybe he didn’t get everything he wanted by coming here, but that way okay. He could always go and scream at the ocean again, once he needs to go process things more, “thank you for putting up with me. I’ll leave you to it, and... I hope I can still come out and just hang, sometime.”

Goto smiled warmly, and nodded affirmatively, “I’ll let you know when your first fitting is, and we’ll adjust from there. Ah, and before you go—” he pulled out the tape measure from his pocket, and unfurled about half-foot of it.

“I still need to get your wrists.”

Oh, right. How could he forget? Hatchley stepped forward, holding out his arm for the tailor to measure. Goto tries to just measure it atop the sleeves, but the Dragon Tamer stops him. Unfurling his sleeve, he lets the glossy fabric settle against those criss-crossing stitches of his, just for the moment it takes for the tailor to mutter another number he didn’t understand, but nonetheless was excited to hear.