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Old 04-23-2012, 10:03 AM   #1
Marion Ette
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Froslass Marion's Haunted Short Story Collection

01. Nincada :: Quick, lighthearted piece regarding one of Marion's newest additions to the team.
02. The Old Gods :: First draft of a strange piece that reveals a bit of backstory...
03. The Transfer :: After being accidentally stabbed by Minerva's needle, Marion has been through a very difficult recovery process... but what is the true extent of the damage that has been done?
04. Fallen Angel :: How far will you fall to be with the one you love?
05. Lizzie :: Marion's attempt at getting the perfect birthday present for Balmund results in some unexpected consequences.
06. Some free RP posts I drafted for Kijo and Bia that didn't go anywhere.


REFORMATTING IN PROGRESS.

Last edited by Marion Ette; 05-07-2022 at 02:11 PM.
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Old 04-23-2012, 10:03 AM   #2
Marion Ette
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In a small hotel room in Western Fizzytopia, a Banette waits for her trainer to return from a very important Pokemon trade. As she waits, she is crocheting little amigurumi figures of various people and Pokemon she has befriended in her travels. Though evening threatens to shortly give way into night, the Banette seems to enjoy working with very little light in the room. Sitting on a small chair beside various colorful balls of yarn, she works diligently and masterfully on finishing what appears to be a Scizor with determined, stoic felt-and-button eyes. Finally, after what seems like many hours of work, the Banette sets down her crochet needle and admires the mini Scizor. The Banette gently lifts herself from the seat with the doll, and, seemingly entering a trance, dances around the hotel room with the doll, reciting a little rhyme in Banette language:

My little doll, my eyes and ears,
The thread that binds our hearts together,
May the cords grow strong as steel,
Whether you be bond or tether;

For should our threads stay tied as one,
This totem a protector stays;
But should a traitor you become,
May your mind, like weak yarn, fray.

So mote it be.


When the Banette finishes her chant and dance, she floats over to a crafting bin, presumably purchased for her by her trainer. The little bin has adorable depictions of Mareep and Flaafy prancing through flower-dotted fields, with the sun shining brightly above them. From this peaceful pastoral scene, the Banette pulls a tiny pin with a small, red heart for a head out of the bin, and slowly pushes the pin through the amigurumi doll’s chest, only stopping when the head of the pin is up against the doll’s thread-woven exoskeleton. The Banette gives the little amigurumi Scizor a hug after the piercing, then rummages for a big, black velvet bag. She drops the Scizor figure into the bag with a host of other figures and closes it. As it closes, the grudge-oriented Pokemon sighs and whispers, “May I never have to resort to vengeance,” as if the statement has been ritually repeated many, many times.

As this little ritual is going on, a little Duskull is perched on the hotel bed, completely absorbed in a book regarding systematic desensitization therapy. She excitedly chirps and dithers to herself as she reads, apparently quite enthralled by what she is reading. Eventually, she becomes so excited by a statement in the book that she cannot help but call over the other ghost-type; “Min! Min! Minnie! Minnie! Miiin-eeeeer-vaaaaaaaa~!”

As Minerva closes the bag, she pauses before finally turning her cloth head in the Duskull’s direction. Her tone seems slightly irritated. “Yes, Liliana?”

“Did you know that there are some humans who are so afraid of stuff that they’re afraid of even reading the word on the page? Like, if I were afraid of Whismurs, I could see the word ‘Whismur’ and FREAK out! Isn’t that so weird? People are SO weird, Min! How could you be that afraid of anything?” Liliana drops the book and floats over to Minerva’s velvet bag. “Oooooo, when are you gonna make one that looks like me? When? When?”

“Very soon, most assuredly.” Minerva’s tone is decidedly dark as she says these words. “I would not forget you.”

“Oh, I should hope not! I would be so very sad if you did!” Liliana puts her little hand-like appendages together and gives Banette a very sad expression, as if displaying her sorrow should Minerva forget about her. Minerva does not betray any hint of emotion regarding the little Duskull’s display. Even so, the Duskull continues to attempt to socialize; “Soooo, have you heard about the Nincada that’s joining our team? I’m excited to meet her!”

“Of course I’ve heard about her, you silly girl. I am the first to hear of everything. The sooner you understand that, the better.” Minerva glares at the Duskull, though she appears nonplussed by the Banette’s barely-controlled bitterness. “Gotcha, boss! I just wondered if you heard the part about her being afraid of snakes…”

“Yes. I gathered that’s why Marion let you borrow that book from the library…” Minerva points at the book that Duskull is so avidly reading. “This Nincada- Sakura, she’s named- is desperately afraid of all snakes, but particularly Sevipers. Apparently, it has something to do with-”

“Balmund’s Seviper! Yeah, I heard about that, and I want to help her out.” Liliana beams with excitement. “I’m going to treat her, and she’s going to be all better. Liliana, Master Psychologist, is on the case!”

“Don’t you need a license for… You know what? Never mind. You have fun with that.” Minerva floats back to her chair, and appears to be pulling balls of yarn from her crafting bin that match the color of Nincada’s eyes and shell. Duskull seems to be grinning underneath her skull-shaped mask. “I will! Just you wait and see! She’ll be all better soon!”

***

Roughly thirty minutes pass before the two ghost-type Pokemon sense the familiar aura of their trainer approaching the hotel lobby; though their room is a few floors above, their strong connection with her signals them immediately of her presence. Minerva stops her crocheting, though not before whispering a few words over the unfinished project, and puts her crafting supplies away. Meanwhile, Liliana is in a total dither; along with her therapy book, she has also taken out a large picture book of snakes as a means of acquainting the little Nincada to the idea that snakes are not as bad as she thinks; she flips through the pages rapidly, trying to find the “cutest,” most “non-threatening” of the snakes. She settles on a picture of a small garden snake, and floats around excitedly with the book. “Oooh, I can’t WAIT to start therapy! I wanna start RIGHT NOW!!”

“Were you a speed addict in a former life?”

“A what?” Liliana gives Minerva a confused look.

“Never mind…”

Liliana is so excited for her therapy sessions that she is phasing in and out of existence; essentially, the Duskull version of jumping up and down. As she does this, the book wobbles from being repeatedly dropped and picked up before falling, and Liliana does not notice that the pages have turned as a result of this activity.

As Liliana hears her trainer unlocking the door, she is so excited that she phases out of existence entirely. When the door opens, and the ghostly young woman appears in the doorframe with a little Nincada on her shoulder, Liliana cannot help but come up close and say hello to her new, dysfunctional friend. Phasing into existence right in front of the Nincada’s face, she completely forgets that she has been browsing the picture book… which now has a graphic picture of a giant Seviper biting down on a small Caterpie.

The scream is so loud that the entire hotel seems to reverberate with it. “NIN NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!” The poor little Nincada is on the ceiling within seconds, shuddering and murmuring to herself.

Liliana is so shocked by the reaction that she drops the book. Minerva, too, seems to have been startled, though not by the reaction so much as the yell itself… As Marion thinks about how to gently remove a terrified Nincada from the ceiling, she addresses the two ghosts with some measure of confusion. “Did you hear that?”

“It… it sounded like…” Liliana starts. “The words ‘protect me’ in ghost-type intonation,” Minerva finishes. She then adds, “But… but how can she speak in ghost intonation if she’s a bug? I thought Nincada was a bug-type language…”

“Fancy that. Perhaps they talk to their shell in a special dialect when they sense danger… Urge it to protect them from harm. Perhaps that relationship starts even before evolution… Fascinating!” Marion’s eyes light up with the possibility of making a new discovery regarding Nincada. She quickly remembers, however, that her newest Pokemon is currently in a bad state. “Oh, but poor Sakura is terrified… Liliana, I know it is the nature of Duskulls to enjoy scaring others, but please try to be more sensitive…”

“But… but…” Liliana looks completely dejected. Minerva floats over to the little Duskull, and gives her a soft pat on the head to attempt to console her; however, when Liliana looks up at her to say thank you, she reciprocates with her usual glare. Wouldn’t want to be perceived as soft, after all.

After eventually luring little Sakura down with a stack of homemade pancakes and the continued assurance that the picture book of snakes had been put away, Marion and her Pokemon enjoy a late-night breakfast feast, in celebration of their newest friend.

Last edited by Marion Ette; 05-07-2022 at 02:07 PM.
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Old 07-09-2012, 02:23 PM   #3
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The Old Gods

My memories of life have become faded pictures on a dusty, stained landscape; images distorting with age, colors and shapes running together, becoming unrecognizable as time goes on. Eventually, the binding will wear thin, the covers will tear away and the entire book will crumble into nothingness... That is the way of things, is it not? Yet, even with a withered, maggot-chewed body that rots in an unmarked grave somewhere, my soul, and my memories, strangely persist. So, too, do the Old Gods.

Mother used to read the book to me when I was small, giving the gods strong, booming voices, while the goddess spoke in a calm, beautiful lilt, more ravishing and captivating than my Mother's plain voice has ever been, or ever would be. My favorite of them all was the goddess Athena, whose watercolor features I regarded as far more beautiful than the golden-haired Aphrodite, whom I found haughty and distant. Mother, of course, loved Persephone's dark hair and longing-filled eyes. As a child, I was the spitting image of the book's depiction, and Mother would laughingly call herself Demeter, joking that if I were ever dragged to the Underworld like the morose Goddess illustrated on the page, that she would come and save me. I would complain, sometimes quite bitterly, that I wished to be Athena instead... She never listened.

The year that Mother went missing was the year I began smoking, a foolish young woman tacitly convinced of her own immortality. Nervous hands shaking through piles of memories, I frantically dug The Old Gods out of storage and began reading, as if this tome from my childhood somehow held the key to where she had gone. The smoke of my cigarette filled the pages with its sickeningly comforting scent as I flipped through, over and over again, praying to each God on the page that Mother would be all right. When I finally reached Persephone's page, she was not the way I remembered her. Her lonely, cast-down expression was replaced with viciously focused eyes, staring directly at me from the gloomy landscape in which she was painted. Was my memory playing tricks on me? Was she always this... this angry? I closed the book in a hurry and took a deep drag of tar-filled smoke, desperately attempting to calm myself from the unfamiliar image.

In retrospect, Mother, too, did not return the way I remembered her... When I opened the door for her that fateful evening, expecting a warm smile and loving embrace, I met the gaze of a disturbed woman, looking out to an unreachable paradise while simultaneously trapped in her own Hell. I have tried to forget what happened next - her rage, her insane blabbering, her vicious attack - but it is not the nature of my kind to forget these things. Our anger defines who we are. The memories live forever.

When I finally opened up the book again, it was not with my own hands, but those of a precocious little child that had taken a liking to asking me for new stories. She loved Athena just as much as I did when I was her age. The little child turned up to me with big, pale eyes; "She's so pretty! I want to be just like her," she said with a big smile.

"Oh, dar-ling... That's a pic-ture of me when I was a-live. You see? It al-so says Min-er-va on the top... That's my Ro-man name."

"YOU'RE Athena?" The little girl looked up at me with innocent wonder. "You were really a goddess??"

"Mm-hm." I grinned. "I came back from the Un-der-world to pro-tect you and grant you my wis-dom, so that you may be a god-dess one day, too."

"AWESOME!" The little girl cried, jumping up and down with excitement. "I wanna be the goddess of EVERYTHING!"

"Per-haps you will," I calmly responded, using the opportunity to let the energetic little creature bounce around and tire herself out, grandiose dreams filling her head. I closed the book and gently placed it back on the shelf, knowing full well who was on the next page. I could not bear to once again lock eyes with the death-stare of that Goddess, having myself been dragged to her domain and back.

Demeter never came to save me.

Last edited by Marion Ette; 05-07-2022 at 02:07 PM.
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Old 11-23-2012, 08:03 PM   #4
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The Transfer

A Blissey with a somber expression leads a Gastly and a Shuppet down the hallway, stopping in front of Room 221. Leaning her head against the door softly, she strains to listen for any sound or moment. The Gastly, with a confused expression, leans her head near the Blissey's uncovered ear;

Pardon me, but if she were in one of her... um, episodes, wouldn't we hear it all the way out in the corridor?

The Blissey does not move her head, and speaks in a low voice. We need to make sure that she is totally stationary; any remote hint of movement may signal an impending outburst. We already had one human nurse who thought it was safe because he couldn't hear any screaming... but she was awake, and groaning softly. I was fortunate enough to have been nearby and pulled the nurse out of there before he lost his other eye, too...

He lost his eye? The Gastly's eyes widen somewhat, though she clearly attempts to hide her shocked expression soon afterward.

It wasn't pretty. She went right for him. I'm no expert like you two, but whatever did this to her... whatever inflicted these awful, mad trances... it was not a pleasant creature to be around.

The Shuppet nods in agreement. Yeah, I'm getting that impression, myself...

The Blissey gives the pair of ghost-types a small smirk. Granted, you two have the advantage... You can't be harmed by anything she throws at you... but still, now that she has been newly classified, we have to take all the precautions.

The Shuppet turns to the Gastly, with a curious expression. Now, Iaso, I know you're new... Do you remember the classification system?

Oh, of course! Iaso grins, apparently eager to show off her knowledge to the older Pokemon. The Gallows-Ette Classification of Curse States has been utilized for diagnosis and treatment of curses since early 80's when two prominent ghost-type researchers developed a system based on research they had done on a strange cult of Banette worshippers that-

Yes, yes, The Shuppet nods, a bit distracted. Oddly enough, the descendant of that famous researcher is in the very room that we will be entering shortly... We think that her exposure to ghost types, particularly Banette, is what accounts for her astoundingly positive prognosis, given the severity of her symptoms.

Right... She would be... Class 1 Unaware which implies no volition whatsoever, Class 2 Violent which implies at least one case of grievous injury infliction and high potential for murder, Class 1 Distraught, which makes sense given the descriptions of the screaming and the constant thrashing and whatnot... yet for both Curse Impact and Curse Duration she's in Class 5...

Right, so if Class 7 for both means complete and full recovery expected in a week or less time with no lasting impact-

Which rarely ever occurs, interjects Iaso.

Right. That would mean that she is likely to recover fairly quickly... a month or less is what we define as Class 5 duration... and Class 5 impact implies that while she will never fully recover, any impact on the patient's daily life should be minor enough that she will not need to seek further treatment once she is out of the hospital.

How strange! Most cases I've read like this one would have a Class 3 Impact at best. I would have predicted the vegetative state described by Class 2 for her...

It is strange, indeed... but it is the uniqueness of this patient that makes me think it will be a great first experience for you. You will not be presented opportunities like this one very often.

Iaso nods in response to her male mentor, grinning widely in anticipation, though partially to hide her nervousness, as well.

After undoing a number of intricate locks, the Blissey carefully, cautiously opens the door of Room 221 for the two ghost-types. Remember, you two can phase through the door if necessary, the Blissey whispers, looking into the room to ensure that the patient within was asleep. Satisfied, she lets the two Shuppet slip through the crack, shutting and locking the door behind them. Good luck, the pair of ghosts hear faintly from behind the door, before they hear the sound of the Blissey shuffling away.

The Shuppet immediately gets to work; clearly having been trained well by the industry that represents him, he is able to use Psychic abilities to manipulate the files, organize his implements and levitate a recorder near his mouth. The "play" and "record" buttons press down by themselves, and the Shuppet begins speaking.

Anti-Curse Specialist and Treatment Director Asher reporting on November 21st, 2012 on the progress of the patient named Marion Ette. This is the thirteenth treatment administered since admission on the evening of October 31st, 2012. With me today is Trainee Iaso, who will be performing the therapeutic Dream Eater technique according to hospital protocol. Non-staff member Cheshire, a Gastly under ownership of the patient, had been performing this technique with the permission of Curse Unit Staff, but has been showing signs of illness from the excess of bad dreams ingested and has been given a period of no less than one week to recover before administering treatment again.

As Asher continues to describe on his recorder the previous treatments administered, Iaso cannot take her eyes off of the patient, who lies motionless in the hospital bed, breathing so shallowly that her heavy blankets register no movement. With skin so pale that the Gastly can count the veins in the woman's arms, Iaso wonders briefly if the patient had died... When she focuses, however, she can sense the life energy flickering forth from the patient, and though it does not radiate as it would for a healthy human being, her soul was still in tact... Wait. Something was wrong. Something about this woman's soul seemed... damaged, somehow. Even for a curse victim, her life force was oddly impacted. Despite not wanting to interrupt Asher's recordings, Iaso cannot help but feel like the risk of being seen as a nuisance is worth the potential revelation.

Sir, I'm sorry for the interruption... Iaso turns to Asher, and the Shuppet can immediately sense her uneasiness. Pressing "Stop" momentarily on his recorder, he addresses her promptly.

What's the problem, Iaso?

What are the readings on her life aura? Did Cheshire give a proper reading? He was an under-10, wasn't he..? You need a Haunter or Gengar of at least General Power Index 50 or above to get a thorough reading...

We did use Cheshire for preliminary readings, and we have been trying to get an advanced-level Gengar to the hospital to confirm his impressions, but the Hospital is always understaffed after Halloween. Curses, as you know, are particularly potent around this time, and many angry ghosts choose this time in particular to inflect revenge...

What did he say...? Iaso immediately looks concerned.

He said that he sensed that something was off... That something was missing from before. He says this out of recognition of his trainer's aura, but he is young and has only been her companion for a few months. He was not able to identify what exactly was off-

What's off is that her soul has been partially drained!! Iaso takes a deep breath, realizing that this is not the time or place to have an outburst. Hoping that she has not tarnished her reputation with Asher, she immediately becomes sheepish. I'm sorry, it's just that... I would wager that she is at 70% spiritual vitality which is not a common symptom even for curses. What species is responsible for this curse? What was its rating on the GPI?

Asher's eyes darken at the information that Iaso has just relayed, and his mouth twists into a scowl. Those at the scene claim it was the patient's Banette, who at last her last Daycare checkup was reported as having GPI 100. Cheshire did not report a decrease in soul vitality, but he is young and inexperienced and may not have known what to look for... Quick, page the nurse for a Psychic, high GPI priority, for a life aura analysis. NOW!

Iaso does not waste any time, and though she fumbles somewhat with the intercom, she is quick to recover and press the appropriate buttons. As she asks the Blissey on the other end for a Psychic Pokemon from the unit staff, Asher examines the patient, trying to sense her aura. He mutters to himself as he paces, frustrated with his lack of ability; dammit, I knew we needed a Gengar on the treatment team... Just because a member of the Shuppet family performed the curse doesn't mean that her cursing abilities strictly involve psychological warfare and emotional manipulation. A GPI 100 Banette could have very well tapped into the ability to...

Iaso floats over to Asher, interrupting his thoughts by patting him on the back with a ghostly appendage that forms from the gas that surrounds her. It isn't your fault. You did everything according to protocol, right? This was a high-level Banette's curse, but still, it should have adhered to the Banette species propensity for emotional and psychological manipulation... Dream Eater was a nice bonus that Cheshire had offered to perform, but it was just an addition to the prescribed treatment you were providing of draining her of the negative emotions that had been injected from the cursing needle. Soul injury is not common from that species...

Yes, but... Asher sighs, staring dejectedly at his patient. If her very life energy is damaged, then her prognosis drops to Class 4 at best... She is still recovering quickly, mind you, but I cannot imagine she would come out of something like that without suffering some effect...

The sound of locking mechanisms being manipulated outside draws Iaso and Asher's attentions to the door; soon, the heavily bolted door opens, letting in a stately-looking Gardevoir, who bows to Asher and Iaso gracefully.

Good day to you both, her soothing voice produces a melodic greeting, which seems to have a calming effect on both ghostly staff members.

Good day to you, madam, Asher says with a bow of his own. Wow, I did not expect one as powerful as you to be summoned for our purposes... It is rare indeed to have such a formidable Psychic in the curse ward, particularly with such a dangerous patient!

I sensed the urgency of the matter when the Blisseys came looking for one such as myself. The Gardevoir laughs a bit. Call it a premonition.

Oh, yes, well... Asher looks a bit embarrassed as he directs the Gardevoir over to his patient. We think our patient may have been subjected to a Soul Transfer. Now, we know that Psychic Pokemon should only be called in on extreme situations, but...

The Gardevoir takes a deep breath, her eyes portraying her concern. Oh, I sense the gravity of the situation already... but I do not think what occurred is necessarily what you and your colleague are thinking had happened, Mr. Asher.

What do you mean? Iaso tilts her head, curious at the psychic's assessment.

Her soul is damaged, yes. There has been... vitality, humanity, whatever you want to call it... taken from this woman. That said... What has been taken has not been taken without something given back in return.

Oh, no... you couldn't possibly be suggesting... Asher's eyes widen, while Iaso's expression simply becomes that much more confused.

A transfer, yes. Banette are capable of such an action, just as any other Pokemon with cursing capability. It is true that curses can be injected directly into an individual's bloodstream, for a more immediate, yet weaker effect... but that is not what occurred here. We both know this young woman was not the intended target. Indeed, the target has been cursed, too... With dreams, with visions, with the awakening of strange desires that already lay dormant within him...

A curse has two parts, Asher explains to Iaso. There is the infliction of pain on the target, and infliction of pain on the one who created the curse. We had originally thought that the patient's intervention had simply directed the target's pain to herself, but what our psychic friend is suggesting-

Cassandra, the Gardevoir patiently adds.

Cassandra, sorry... Asher blushes. What Cassandra is suggesting is that this young woman did not absorb the target's pain... She absorbed the Banette's. This type of thing is unprecedented, though! It would suggest...

It would suggest that the typical transfer of emotion and physical damage that occurs within a typical Banette's body during a curse is now happening between the Banette and the human. Ah, but what does that mean? Cassandra focuses for a moment, a blue light emanating from her horn that surrounds the cursed patient. It is as I thought, she murmurs. The Banette has absorbed some of her... well, soul, humanity, whatever you want to call it... her very life essence. In a Banette, the life essence is cycled into a curse-like "dormant" state temporarily, leaving the body only to be absorbed again as homeostasis comes back to the body... in this case, with two individuals participating instead of one, the essence has been transferred permanently. It left the patient and was absorbed into the Banette as the Curse took effect. The Gardevoir shakes her head. The Banette does not yet realize that this has occurred, though she has been using this newfound humanity to make herself appear more human. She seems to be under the impression that it is merely a side-effect from her recent increase in power... I am sure it is in her records that she has been trained to GPI 100.

But... but doesn't the patient gain something from the Banette in this case, then? Iaso tilts her head with curiosity. Isn't the idea of balance incredibly important to curses?

Yes, it is... Cassandra nods. She has been filled with emotionally intense memories, which are the source of her pain... but also a source of great insight. While the patient may have lost part of her humanity, the injection has given her a glimpse into the memories, dreams, fears, hopes, knowledge... the very soul of her Banette. There is nothing from her Banette memories that fateful night of the transfer that this human does not know now, too.

Asher seems deep in thought at this new revelation. So, she was forced to give up part of her soul in exchange for knowledge? Sounds almost Faustian to me...

Yes. Cassandra suddenly smirks playfully. Oh, but there's one more thing that you two probably should know...

What's that? Iaso and Asher ask in unison, looking at one another afterward with awkward smiles.

I sense... somewhere, where the roses bloom, that forgiveness and passion have been quickly unraveling the curse that has befallen both our patient and the intended target. Yes, earlier today, something happened to change the course of the illness that has befallen her. She is awake, now... she has been for some time... and she understands what you two have been saying. I would tread lightly with her. Cassandra giggles as the two ghost-type Pokemon pale with terror. Oh, do not fret... She is far less violent when in control of herself. Even so, I will leave you to speak with her... With that, Cassandra waves goodbye, and teleports out of the room before Asher and Iaso can even manage a proper farewell.

Min... Minerva? Where are you? The pale woman groans as she shifts her body, asking for her Banette in Banette language. I have... a lot... I need... to talk about with you. She tries to push herself up, wincing as she unintionally puts weight on the arm that is still healing from the needle puncture. She reaches out to Iaso and Andre, her eyes blurry and wet; Hey, Myrtle... Cheshire... Could you get me Minerva? I'm... not really... feeling well... You say... she took my soul?

Iaso and Asher look at each other, not sure of what to say to the patient. Thoughts of trying to explain that she could still live a normal life, that some psychic therapy might be helpful, that she will feel drained of energy for some months, all these explanations float through their heads, but they both find it difficult to look at this pale, fragile, doll-like young woman and confirm what has been said.

Marion reclines back in her bed, an odd smile on her lips. To the ghostly beings' surprise, the woman starts laughing softly.

If that's what she wants, she can have it, Marion decides in a soft, yet clear voice. There is nothing I would not give my sister... Nothing.

As the woman falls gradually back into slumber with an eerie little grin on her face, the two ghost-types wordlessly float out of the patient's room, quietly meditating on the little sister's complete and utter devotion.

Last edited by Marion Ette; 05-07-2022 at 02:06 PM.
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Old 02-15-2013, 04:48 AM   #5
Marion Ette
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Miscellaneous Odds and Ends


These are my records of an unfinished/terminated Bar storyline. Since it supposedly never happened, I decided to delete the posts in the Bar and archive them here:

Spoiler: show
??? - The Fizzy Bubbles Bar was teeming with life this evening; young trainers and Pokemon enjoying the prime of their lives, drinking and socializing and getting themselves into all manner of mischief. It was the type of place he would go in his younger years, long before he quit the bottle. Long before he sought its refuge once again, as an older, isolated and desperate man. On and off again, the old amber lover, abusive to his body and to his mind, yet oddly comforting in times of need. He needed to quit her, but he couldn't help if the antidote was just another poison. Nothing made the hurt stop quite like her. On nights like this... He remembered liking his beer and his women dark. Too strong to take all at once, there was a depth to that flavor he just couldn't find in that light, chug-friendly swill his college friends would throw down two at a time. Nothing to savor in that.

Avoiding the gaze of the younger patrons, the middle-aged man keeps his focus on the ground, his well-pressed, stately-looking business attire dreadfully out of place with the more casual, yet sexy evening wear of those who surround him. Nervously fretting with his tie, he sits down at the bar; though the creases around his eyes betray his age, his piercing blue stare hints at a certain charisma and attractiveness in his younger days. Calling over the bartender, he reaches into his trouser pocket, producing an old, worn photograph. He clears his throat, handing the photograph to the bartender for inspection.

"So, I realize that this is going to make me sound like a creep," he begins, his shoulders tensing from the imagined judgmental looks of those around him, "but... I heard through the grapevine that there's a girl calling herself Coselle that's been showing up around here. I just wanted to know if she looks anything like the girl in that picture." He sighs heavily. "I've been trying to locate her, but people assume I'm some kinda weirdo trying to stalk her or something. I just want to know... I just want to know if it's her. Please, just let me know if you've seen a girl who looks like this."

The Bartender gives the man a sympathetic look, sensing his frustration and anguish. Inspecting the photograph a moment, the bartender's eyes light up with recognition. "Yeah, I'd say this looks just like her..." The Bartender pauses, admiring the photograph. "You a photographer? How'd you get this picture to look so old?"

The older man takes the photograph back from the bartender, shaking his head a bit. "No, I'm no photographer... That photograph's from 1990. The girl in the picture's been dead for about 20 years."

"Oh..." The Bartender looks stunned, then tries to offer some sympathy; "I'm sorry to hear that... but man, it looks just like her... Was that her mother or something?"

The man pauses for a long time before speaking again. "Say... Do you believe in reincarnation?"

The Bartender stands there for a moment, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Come again?"

"Never mind," the man says with as gentle a smile as he can manage. "Bring me a Gulden Draak, will you?"
[/size]

Keith, Meowth, ??? - As the Bartender brings the man a tall, white bottle with a fierce-looking golden dragon roaring across the black label, Keith decides to walk over to the man, asking about his interest in Coselle. The man takes his freshly-opened beer from the Bartender before giving Keith a long look, as if attempting to read his expression, before answering carefully.

"To be honest, it is probably foolish of me," the man admits, "but I have some friends who were visiting Fizzytopia on business a few weeks ago, and they told me that there was a woman being whispered about in their travels who had gained quite the reputation around here lately. The kind of lady that had a look as if she always had something up her sleeve. Apparently, she is going by the name of Coselle." The man gazes into Keith's eyes, as if searching for something. "Not a very common name, is it? Not a terribly common description, either... Well, one of my friends saw who they assumed to be her walking out of the Cable Club one afternoon, and he swears that it was like stepping out of a time machine. I guess she looks a great deal like the Coselle we knew back when we were kids..."

The man takes a sip of his beer, his posture suggesting that he was not one to be intimidated by a young man like Keith. "Perhaps I can ask the same of you... Why your sudden interest in my interest?"


Keith, Meowth, ???: "Her boyfriend...?" The man gives Keith the once-over, looking somewhat incredulous. "Well, I mean, like you said, she's probably not the Coselle I knew, after all," he says with a smirk, before realizing that his comment might be taken offensively. He works quickly to correct himself; "It- It's just that the Coselle I knew tended to date a lot of punks. Handsome men with dark hearts. She liked having power over them... she was just that kind of girl. Out to conquer the universe and everyone in it."

At the sight of a talking Meowth, however, the man goes nearly berserk with excitement. "Holy SHIT! Did you teach him to do that? He sounds just like the one on that TV show!!" The man laughs and holds out his hand to the Meowth. "Hey, nice to meet you... and your trainer, too! My name's Seth." The man named Seth grins. "What's it like being a Pokemon? I always wondered..."

Seth coughs, and attempts to regain composure. "Yeah, anyway, about how I knew Coselle..." Seth sighs. "Well, it was a long time ago, but we went to the same middle and high school. We were part of the same group of friends." Seth takes on a wistful expression, reminiscing about his past. "She was a troublemaker, for sure... always getting into some sort of mischief. Her mom had a real tough time reigning her in, especially after the divorce. She was always causing mischief, but she had a good heart. I still remember when she went on the intercom and imitated the principal, making all sorts of sound effects and saying that the school was being attacked by a giant group of angry Salamence and that everyone needed to evacuate immediately... That couldn't have been later than, what, 8th grade?" Seth chuckles a bit at the memory, and yet his eyes water at the same time.

"I'll be honest with you, Keith... I thought there would be time to tell her how I felt. She cycled through men constantly, and I figured one day, she'd realize that she needed to settle down with someone who actually cared for her. We went to neighboring colleges, but she always had a boyfriend whenever I'd see her or come visit mutual friends, and eventually she dropped out to take care of her sister. The rumors around the school were that she got pregnant, but I knew the truth... Her mom started having issues once she remarried, and when her mom got pregnant again, the father kept insisting that she abandon the child. From what Coselle told me, their weirdo cult was of the opinion that Coselle's baby sister was cursed or something... That she would need to be sacrificed to Giratina or everyone in the cult would die." Seth shakes his head. "Crazy shit. Really insane. I always thought I'd visit Coselle sometime, you know, when I was finished with my degree... Help her take care of her sister and all, but she... Well. I always wonder what happened to her sister after she died. I guess... I guess she probably ended up dying, too."

Seth takes a heavy swig of his beer, and looks down at the floor. "You said your name was Keith, right? You taking good care of that Coselle of yours?"


Keith, Meowth, Seth: "Really? A trade machine malfunction? What could've caused that?" Seth tilts his head, and chuckles. "Eh, doesn't matter. Your Meowth is awesome regardless."

Keith listens to Seth's story, a brief pang of jealousy welling up within him, but dying down quickly; after all, Coselle had consented to be his, and his alone. He lets the middle-aged businessman know that he has been taking care of his Coselle, and asks about how the Coselle he knew died. The grey-suited man chugs the rest of his Gulden Draak before responding, and flags down the bartender; "Hey, Barkeep, could you grab me another? I'm gonna need it..."

The man places his feet squarely on the floor, bending over as if bracing himself. He leans toward Keith, his eyes intense. "The Coselle I knew was found in a garbage bag at a dump near the Mansion district. Single bullet through the head. No one was ever charged for the murder, but I think we all knew..." Seth pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. "It was tragic, y'know. Coselle and her mom loved each other very much, despite all they went through, but after she went off with that guy from the cult, things changed. Arguments got heated in ways they weren't before, and the two just never... well, they couldn't get along for the life of 'em. I was in college then, so I didn't see all of what went on, but whenever I came to visit, I could always tell. Hell, sometimes the phone would ring and I'd hear the way Coselle would scream at her. Vicious, awful stuff." Seth shakes his head.

"Anyway... The thing with her sister was the last straw. She just couldn't fathom how anyone would kill an innocent newborn child. She told her mom that if she tried to kill the baby that she would report her to the authorities, and that she would have the cult disbanded. Coselle was a hardass, to be sure, but she has a soft spot in her heart for little kids, particularly her own flesh and blood. Well, Juli, Coselle's Mom, she knew that she couldn't kill the baby outright, so she abandoned her at her grandparents' mansion. Basically left her to starve, hoping to claim that she had no idea that her own parents were dead and that she thought the baby would be in good hands. Coselle figured out the plan and drove over to the Mansion, and decided to take little Marion as her own child. She spread the story that she was the one who got pregnant and tried to hide the fact that the baby was actually her mother's.

Well, I guess Juli found out... The death has all the markings of the cult, the way it was done. The way they dispose of bodies, the type of bullet, everything... but they're fucking slippery as Eelektriks. Y'know..." Seth looks into Keith's eyes, tears welling up in his own; "I wouldn't be surprised if Juli pulled the trigger herself. That wretched bitch... Why... why did she take Coselle away from us..."

Seth tries to choke his tears back, hiding his face with his palms. He pulls back his hair and straightens his back, trying to regain a more masculine posture. "It's fucked up, isn't it? They got what was comin' to 'em, though... The rumor is that someone broke into their compound and murdered all of them with some kinda curse. Juli was unrecognizable, they say; face so contorted with pain and horror that the coroner himself couldn't bear to look at her. Not sure who did it, but it was one of the most brutal homicides in the past ten years." Seth grimaces. "I hate to say it... but they deserved it, after everything they pulled."

Seth tries to smile, though his eyes are red from the tears that threaten to fall. "Anyway, on a happier note... This Coselle of yours. What's she like, if you don't mind me asking?"


Keith, Meowth, Seth: Seth's eyes progressively widen as Keith describes his girlfriend, the mention of "Umbreon" striking a chord in particular with Seth. Allowing Keith to complete his description, he sits for a moment, letting it all sink in.

"The Coselle I knew was not particularly creepy or unnerving... but smart, funny, intense, absolutely. She also... she also had an Umbreon named Anna. She loved dark types, too. Umbreon's pretty popular though, right?" Seth tries to laugh, tries to make the mood lighter, but it is clear from his heavy swig of beer and his tense shoulders that Keith's description of Coselle seems only to unsettle him further. He gathers his thoughts as he drinks, taking a deep breath before he speaks again.

"You wouldn't happen to have a picture of your Coselle, would you?" Seth takes the picture he had shown to the Bartender and displays it to Keith; "Or, even better - maybe you can tell me if the girl in this picture looks familiar."

There is no doubt when looking at the photograph that the black-haired girl it depicts is Coselle, and yet, there is something different about her; the eerieness of the Coselle that Keith loves seems absent from the girl in the photograph, whose eyes, while alight with mischief and clearly looking for trouble, lack their characteristic darkness. Dressed in her beloved gothic fashion with the same combat boots that she always wore, she sits with an open book on her lap in what appears to be a college dorm room.

"This was from the last time I visited her," Seth comments as Keith looks at the photograph. "She was big into poetry then. Does your Coselle write at all?" Seth carefully gauges Keith's reaction to the photograph, wondering if there would be some dawning realization that would make itself apparent in his face.


Keith, Meowth, Seth: After carefully observing the way Keith reacts to the photograph, he nods once, satisfied. He chuckles a bit at Keith's admission that he didn't know whether Coselle was interested in writing. "Don't know, huh? Well, I'm sure you'd know if we were thinking of the same person. The Coselle I knew majored in English when she was in school. Was obsessed with poetry. Slyvia Plath in particular. I think Lady Lazarus was her favorite."

The middle-aged man produces a handful of keys connected to a rather unremarkable-looking keychain and a Pokeball from his pocket, looking somewhat contemplative. "I am thinking of taking a ride up to her gravesite... It's not far from here. She lived and died in Fizzytopia, after all." The man activates his Pokeball, shouting, "Ready for a ride, Sarka?" the Pokeball bursts open to reveal the shape of a small bird with a round body and pointed beak, which turns out to be a little Natu. The creature immediately flies up to her trainer's shoulder, looking a little timid. "Heh, this is Sarka... I have to ask that you don't come too close to her, though. She's new to the team and very shy... but she loves car rides, right Sarka?" Sarka nods her head, chirping excitedly.

"You're welcome to come with us, if you like. It's a five minute drive or so. Can take some friends with you too, if you want. What do you say?" Seth laughs a bit. "I'm hoping I won't find the body's been dug up or something. I'm starting to suspect my dear friend's been resurrected somehow... but that's silly to think, yeah? Still... there have been a lot of coincidences."


Keith, Meowth, Seth, Sarka: Keith decides to go along for the ride, but not before withdrawing his Arbok and Weezing. Certainly, it would have taken time for Keith to withdraw all 30+ Pokemon of his, and most of them could take care of themselves, after all. Though Keith says nothing in response to Seth's suspicions, the silence communicates volumes.

"My car's parked in the lot. Surprisingly empty for such a packed place..." Seth muses on this fact for a moment. "Like the entire lot was cleared somehow. I hope parking after-hours is allowed! I'll be so pissed if I end up with a ticket..."

Seth leads Keith out the back door, to the only car parked in the vacant lot. A small, unimpressive little 2x4, but remarkably clean and reliable-looking nonetheless. Fumbling with his keys for a moment with Sarka on his shoulder, Seth unlocks the driver's side door, manually shifting the lock on the passenger side and opening the door for Keith. The smell of new-car scent wafts from the car, though the car itself does not look particularly new. Seth realizes that his employee ID is on the dashboard, and quickly pulls it off the dash, looking panicked for a moment. "Man, wouldn't want to forget that in the car," he says after wiping his brow. "This is a company rental. I'm paranoid about leaving anything in it," he adds. "Don't worry, though... I'm getting my work done, regardless of my side-trips."

Seth chuckles a bit, and Sarka rolls her eyes. Revving up the ignition, Seth's pale blue eyes turn to Keith, silently waiting for him to put on his seatbelt. "Arbok and Weezing, huh... and Meowth? Should I be concerned that you'll steal my Natu?" Seth grins. "Nah, I kid. You don't strike me as that type. Neither do your Pokemon."

Seth gently pushes on the gas pedal, the car rolling forward as he makes his way out of the parking lot and onto the city street. "So... I spent all this time asking you about Coselle, and I feel like I don't know much about you, Keith. What do you do for a living? Are you a trainer?"


Keith, Meowth, Seth, Sarka: Driving through the streets of Fizzytopia, Seth takes each turn carefully and gracefully with ease, driving with great familiarity through the town he grew up in. Past the Cable Club and the various Boutiques and Shops that line the City Center, he makes his way toward the Cemetery on the outskirts of Downtown FB, while continuing the conversation with Keith; "Poison type? Interesting. Sounds like you have quite the team going, too. Must've taken awhile to get such an impressive collection of Pokemon."

In what seems like almost no time at all, Seth turns through the ominous iron gates of the Fizzytopian Cemetery, driving by countless headstones for people and Pokemon alike. As Seth drives through the cemetery, his hands begin to grip the wheel tighter, likely overcome with emotion due to being in the cemetery where his friend had been buried. He is silent for a few, long moments, grieving the dead that he passes. So many of them, hundreds and hundreds; each stone marker, a life that no longer exists within the realm of Fizzytopia. It is almost overwhelming to think of how many people once walked the very same streets that Seth and Keith now drive across, that no longer have a chance to feel the sunlight on their faces, or hug a loved one, or breathe the cool night air.

With tears once again forming in his eyes, Seth begins to speak; "Say, Keith... Don't you think it's ironic that Coselle still prayed to Giratina, right up until her death... even though the cult her mother belonged to prayed to the exact same god?" Seth places his foot on the break, gently rolling the car to a stop. A bit of anger rises in his voice, presumably at the irony of Coselle's evil mother proclaiming to believe in the same god, while performing such horrific deeds in Its name.

"Don't you think it's ironic that she would murder countless people... even those who were innocent of the crime that lead to her death... for the sake of avenging a single innocent child?" Seth's ice-blue eyes widen, as if overcome with a viciousness Keith had not sensed before...

"Don't you think it's ironic that she would be the one to come back from the dead, when so many died because of her??" The wild-eyed Seth suddenly pulls a gun out of his pocket, and points it at Keith's temple. "And you... you knew, didn't you? Yet you willingly share a bed with a murderer?" The Natu on the man's shoulder flies into the back seat of the car, transforming itself into a particularly vicious-looking Zoroark. The Zoroark looks at Keith for a moment, focusing its energy, before its eyes glow an ominous color, transforming itself into an exact replica of the poison-type trainer. The Zoroark quickly runs out of the car, though where it happens to be headed is a mystery.

Contented with the transformation, the wild-eyed Seth pulls the trigger point-blank at Keith's temple... For a split second, Keith's life flashes before his eyes, before the impending brain-splattering BOOM comes out... as a pathetic, dead click. Seth immediately drops his arm, fumbling with the gun like a madman, sweat dripping from his pores. Cover completely blown and in a state of sheer vulnerability, he haphazardly troubleshoots the mechanizations of the pistol, screaming, "WORK, DAMN YOU! WORK!!"


Keith, Meowth, Gemini, Nagini, Hedwig, Seth, Sarka: Meowth quickly disarms Seth with some well-placed scratch attacks, taking the malfunctioning gun from the man with murderous intent. A string of vulgarities issues forth from the cracks between Seth's fingers as he holds his bloody face in agony, while Keith makes a quick exit from the car. Calling out Gemini to deal with the Zoroark and Nagini to deal with its trainer, the Arbok quickly immobilizes Seth before he has the opportunity to recover from his wounds and call out another Pokemon.

Though Seth is easily neutralized, the disguised Zoroark is quick on her feet... Until a Mean Look from Hedwig stops her dead in her tracks. Realizing that she will not be able to maintain her disguise in the face of two attackers, she breaks from the facade using Agility, which she utilizes to barely dodge the Thunder attack that blasts her way. Engaging in a bit of Foul Play, she goes straight for Hedwig, clearly intent on fighting for her life, even though the odds are against her.

Seth tries to keep his calm in reacting to Keith, despite the poison-type trainer having a clear upper hand. He smirks a bit at Keith's request for information. "Funny how you talk like you're a big shot when you're nothing but the lowest scum of the Earth," he snarls. "You expect me to spill my guts like some kinda comic book villain? I think you got the roles reversed here, buddy... I'm not the one who went batshit and killed twenty one people. I'm not the one who turned revenge into a meaningless mass slaughter. If there's someone you ought to be killing, it's her."

A sick, desperate laugh echoes from Seth's lungs, which are already constricting under the force of Nagini's grip. "Really, now... you gonna be a murderer, just like her... You're gonna stoop to her level now, huh? Pathetic." Seth smirks. "At least I'll die with a clear conscience. I did what I could to avenge my brothers and sisters and return that wicked creature to where she belongs. Giratina will have mercy on my soul... I doubt I could say the same for you."


Keith, Meowth, Nagini, Seth, Jake, Telpo - Having a bad feeling about the man that Keith decided to leave the Bar with, Jake decides to utilize Telpo's teleporting abilities to trail the pair, just to make sure that nothing suspicious was going on. Fear seizes the young trainer as he witnesses Keith being threatened by Seth with a pistol, and Jake orders Telpo to take advantage of even the slightest bit of mental weakness on Seth's part to try and take the gun. Heart pounding in his chest, Jake cannot help but worry immensely for his friend's life, but as luck would have it, when the gun malfunctions, Meowth is able to intervene just at the right time. Helping to defend Keith further, Telpo immediately takes the gun from Meowth and hides the weapon away so that no one can get hurt.

After Seth is bound by Nagini so as not to cause any further damage, it is highly unsurprising that the captive not only refuses to give Keith any information about himself, but maintains the position that he and Coselle are the enemy. At the suggestion of murdering his beloved, Keith slaps the man hard across the face, leaving a red, hand-shaped mark on the man's cheek. Refusing to allow the man to speak about Coselle in such a way, he reiterates the fact that the precious cult he seeks to avenge tried to kill an innocent child, as well as himself. Seth snarls, reeling from the slap across the face, and if looks could kill, his gaze would have been far more effective than the malfunctioning pistol. After a pause, Keith finally decides that he will not stoop to this man's level, but he will extract the information he desires. Seth immediately closes his eyes and turns away, being smart enough at least to recognize hypnosis when he sees it, but having looked into Meowth's eyes for that split second before he turns away, he cannot help but be drawn back into the glare, mouth agape as the hypnosis begins to take effect.

When Meowth is satisfied with his handiwork, Keith takes over once again, asking Seth what he could possibly hope to accomplish by Zoroark impersonating him. He smiles serenely, as the hypnosis takes full hold of his mind, and he answers in monotone. "It was not your Pokemon I planned on convincing. Zoroark would have headed straight to Coselle... Sarka has been trained to think of her own beloved while on the approach, only revealing her true emotions when the time is right. All she would need is enough to get close... and Coselle would be apprehended, and transformed back to her original state once she is safely confined in the appropriate cell. We have enough evidence to lock her up for life. My partner is already at the suspected address where she has been residing, waiting for Sarka to give the signal to bring that wretched Banette in. You think I don't have intel on that little incident of yours, Keith? It boggles my mind that you would so viciously defend a being who tried to murder you... Such a shame. You would have been a star witness at her trial if you weren't such a damned fool."

Sparky, Gemini, Hedwig, Sarka - With the Clear Smog negating her speed and the X-Scissor acting as a nasty counterattack to her attempt at Foul Play, Sarka is knocked backwards, and left vulnerable for the Quick Attack. Sparky also contributes a Fire Stream to the mix, which may not be as powerful as Gemini and Hedwig's attacks due to the level difference, but still packs a punch. The Zoroark, realizing that she is surrounded, tries using her Agility once again and bolts in the other direction, attempting desperately to escape from a battle she knows she won't win. After all, if she could possibly get out of range long enough to find help for Seth, perhaps she could get reinforcements.


Former Starter information (for posterity):

Spoiler: show
(In Red Cyber Ball)
Name: Minerva
Gender: Female
Level: 100
Held item:
Nature: Quirky
Ability: Insomnia
Attacks: Destiny Bond, Gunk Shot, Confuse Ray, Pain Split, Icy Wind, Knock off, Screech, Night Shade, Curse, Spite, Shadow Sneak, Will-o-Wisp, Faint Attack, Shadow Ball, Sucker Punch, Embargo, Snatch, Grudge, Trick, Thunderbolt, Magic Coat, Hidden Power - Fire, Firestream (SPECIAL)
Birthday: October 21st
Contest Points: +10 all
IQ: 01
Starter Pokemon. Met at Level 5.
Bio/Description: Originally Marion's favorite toy, this now-possessed puppet is Marion's best friend and confidante. Considered Marion's starter Pokemon, the two are completely inseparable and share a bond that cannot be broken. Minerva is very sarcastic, and often has a dark sense of humor when dealing with the world. She sometimes sees Marion as being naive and accuses her of keeping her head in the clouds, though when it comes to Marion's role as a trainer, Minerva respects her for the most part (though this was not the case originally). Minerva cannot deny that her current power is due in no small part to Marion's hard work and leadership; thus, Minerva is willing to put her life on the line for her trainer. Even so, when it comes to every other matter outside being a Pokemon trainer, Marion is not above criticism and light teasing in her eyes. Despite Minerva's comments, however, Marion rarely (if ever) seems to react. Shuppet's Pokedex entry reveals that it feeds on the negative feelings of other people, especially vengeance and malice. According to Minerva, when Marion was younger, her feelings of vengeance and anger were so great that the spirit of Minerva was drawn to her and fed off of those feelings until Marion couldn't feel them anymore. As a result, Marion cannot remember why she would have been so full of rage, and Minerva refuses to tell her, citing Marion's mental well-being as the reason.
As a Banette, Minerva is capable of powerful curses and hexes, which are her primary weapon in battle. This talent has inspired her to pursue various areas of witchcraft, including brewing potions and creating various poppit versions of her friends, which she may stick full of pins should any of them decide to double-cross her. She is able to use human speech, but has adopted a strange, unnerving stutter which has more to do with her love of scaring people than any sort of inability to adapt to human language. Of course, despite her frightening appearance and fearsome reputation, she is rumored to have a soft-spot deep inside... After all, she is stuffed with fluff, isn't she?

Reaching Level 100 has given Minerva's grudge unimaginable strength, but without more diligent training and better attempts to control this newfound power, her blind rage will destroy everything... including those that she loves.


Former Bia Bio (as Stufful, owned by Kijo):

Spoiler: show
Loyal to a fault and filled with childlike wonder, to the casual observer, Bia may appear to be the very essence of naivete. This may very well be true when Bia is content, but the moment something upsets her, she will usually react with acts of violence, though she can also surprise other Pokemon with some seriously sharp words. She HATES crowds, and like most others of her species, hates to be touched. Kijo is mindful of giving her Pokemon the space she needs, though Bia feels that her trainer can be too distant at times. She can't stand sweet food, despite her appearance, though she has developed a taste for coffee. Kijo is currently looking into whether Stufful are allowed to have decaf.


Former Memakyu (Kijo):

Spoiler: show
Kijo responds to the formal reception that she and Bia receive from the pair of Gardevoir with a slight raise of the eyebrow. At best, the Kanto native was skeptical of the shrine's purported properties, and did little to hide that she was annoyed at Bia's insistence that they visit the shrine; that the Gardevoir bowed so respectfully, and with such dignity, despite being psychic types who were presumably aware of what manner of sharp, dagger-like thoughts cut forth through Kijo's brain, was certainly commendable. She manages a slight bow in return, deciding she would save her sarcastic jibes for some other victim.

Her Stufful, on the other hand, seems in awe of the place. Embedded in the obsidian like a jewel, Jirachi's eye bore deeply into Bia's mind - the third eye, of course. Perhaps others could not see it - perhaps it was simply not there to be seen - but it stares at her regardless, in stark contrast to the polite Gardevoir who kept their eyes averted (perhaps that was their secret to maintaining composure). Bia squeaks a respectful greeting to the statue, which her trainer regards with a gruff sigh.

As Kijo turns over the wooden plaques in her gloved hands, Bia admires the ema of other trainers, bearing wishes galore - some wrote lists, while others drew little pictures. All of them done lovingly, with care... all of them earnest in their desires. If Bia had the ability to draw, she would make beautiful pictures for Jirachi, too - pictures sure to please the legend such that it would fulfill her trainer's wishes.

Taking up her own ema and a piece of charcoal, Kijo pauses to think. Her previous "career" had made her brutally practical - it was hard to think of wishes, even now. Certainly, it was not a common practice in Kanto to make the requests of the legendaries for... well... anything. The legendary birds were notoriously independent, and no sane human being would request presents from Mewtwo. If Mew had any generosity, it was not known to her - and not something anyone had thought to set up a shrine for. But perhaps this was solely Jirachi's custom, as a Pokemon associated with wishes.

Kijo writes in harsh, dark script:

-A MEANS OF TRAVEL THROUGH THE AIR
-A MEANS OF TRAVEL THROUGH THE OCEAN

After writing these wishes down and nodding once in approval, she reaches into her pocket and hands a small wad of bills to the Stufful, which she gingerly grips with her mouth. "Go put this in the box for me, will you? I am sure Jirachi will appreciate it far more from you." Bia squeaks happily and trots away, eager to make her offering.

Once Bia is out of sight, the trainer scribbles a few extra things under the Memakyu, with tiny drawings:

- PANCHAM
-TEDDIURSA
- CUBCHOO

With these last-minute editions, she leaves the Ema up under the lovely depiction of a Mimikyu surrounded by friends, and exits the shrine to meet back up with her starter. Bowing once again to the keepers of this place, she and her Stufful depart down the serene cobblestone pathways that led them here.


The Eternals

Last edited by Marion Ette; 07-21-2022 at 04:57 PM.
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Old 02-17-2013, 05:13 PM   #6
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Fallen Angel

The door to Marion's Secret Base bursts open early in the morning, as Coselle returns from her visit to Keith's. She immediately enters, the living room where Marion is sitting in her nightgown with a mug of tea in one hand as she pets the sleeping Eevee in her lap with the other. Grinning with newfound health and energy, Coselle greets Marion with a smile and a rather enthusiastic wave.

"Hello, sister~! That medicine of yours really seems to be doing the trick! I am feeling so much-"

Marion's expression is in stark opposition to her sister's cheeriness as she interrupts her sister's jovial greeting. "Liliana told me the whole thing."

Coselle's eyes widen. "Why would she-"

"Why wouldn't she? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you magically got better with that medicine? Or, even better, that Keith found some magic cure? I respect Keith as a trainer, and please do not take this the wrong way, but I would have a very difficult time believing that he, with little experience in the field, would find a cure for you when I have not."

Coselle grimaces somewhat. "Oh, ye of little faith-"

"I'm right, aren't I?" Marion narrows her eyes. "I'm right that he did exactly what I told you I did NOT want to see happen?" Marion's eyes flare with rage. "What did you do? What did you promise him? He was such a nice fellow before you started-"

"You listen to me, Mary," Coselle clenches her fists, a fire beginning to spark in her own pale gaze; "I did not influence him to do this. Do you understand me? He overheard our conversation and did it of his own accord. I did not put the idea in his head. I have influenced him in many ways, yes, but this is not one of them."

"Tauros shit." Marion grits her teeth, an anger awakening in her that few would ever see, before or since. Kuranes, who wakes up immediately at the angry hiss of his trainer, plasters his ears to the his body, his tail drooping between his legs as he scurries off of Marion's lap and away from the argument. "How many people was it? Five? Five broken souls floating in the aether? What you have done is a sin against Giratina, against the very humanity you crave!" Marion stands up quickly, slamming her mug against the table, tea spilling everywhere. "You may have taken their humanity, but you are not human. Not after this."

"Are you kidding me?" Coselle scoffs. "Those bastards do not deserve a soul after what they've-"

"Who are YOU to say that? Are you Giratina now? Should I be bowing to you, oh goddess of justice? You have no right to do that to somebody, no matter what they've done! It is one thing to murder another human being. It is another entirely to destroy their very soul. Committing an act of true death is an unforgivable sin! Weren't YOU the one who told me that??" Tears begin to stream down Marion's eyes, as her body shakes with uncontrollable rage.

"Marion, you-"

"GET OUT." Marion points at the door. "The two of you are not welcome here anymore."

"You're being unrea-"

"I SAID GET OUT!" Marion's hair nearly stands on end as she shouts at the very top of her lungs; the sight of the infuriated young woman is enough to send Coselle turning tail and fleeing out the door; as Coselle slams the door behind her, Marion deflates like a balloon, her anger giving way to a silent brooding. She collapses back into her chair, her head hanging down. Little Kuranes slowly tiptoes back to the chair, looking up at Marion with the biggest, saddest eyes he can possibly muster. Marion gently picks up the little Eevee, holding him close, as she cries softly to herself.

"How far she has fallen," she whispers.

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Old 03-12-2013, 05:25 PM   #7
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Lizzie

In the center of Marion's living room, a large, powerful Dragonite sits quietly on the floor. Her muscles relax as her eyes close, a familiar mantra that she had developed with a dear friend from long ago echoing within her mind:

The center of the mind; the eye of the storm. In the midst of chaos, I gravitate to the stillness. In the throes of mighty winds, I will not be torn asunder, for I know where I must safely land. In the center.

August's mantra seems rather appropriate for the chaotic excitement surrounding her, as Marion's other Pokemon eagerly discuss the latest goings-on in their trainer's life; namely, the hatching of a dragon mystery egg. It had become the custom lately for only one of Marion's ghost types to be allowed to peer into the egg and discern the identity of the baby, but that one ghost type would have to keep the secret from the rest of the party so that they could be just as surprised as Marion when the baby hatched. Murmur and Cheshire, who were both unaware of the baby's identity, seemed to be arguing bitterly over the gender of the hatchling, while Bedivere attempted to mediate between the two arguing ghost-types with his characteristic chortle and laid-back attitude that gender did not matter as long as the hatchling was healthy. Meanwhile, the others all seemed to have their own predictions and theories about what species the baby might be, given what they had observed. Some thought Swablu, while others thought a Druddigon or Horsea... Of course, some predictions were more likely to be accurate than others, as Sakura the Nincada desperately tried (and failed) to explain to Mr. Nose that vacuums were not Pokemon, let alone a dragon type.

"But they roar! Mr. Nose has heard the mighty roar," the Nosepass protests with a shiver.

For this particular hatching, the Pokemon chosen to peer into the egg was none other than Gwyn, the Litwick. Ever the silent one, he was known for his ability to keep secrets; though other ghosts (such as the energetic Gadget) were infamous for spilling the news to the others, Gwyn had not informed a single soul about what he saw. Once he confirmed that the baby was healthy and developing properly by the use of shadow smiley-faces, he communicated no more about it. When the other members of the team would ask him about the baby, he would simply pretend not to know how to communicate that type of information.

As August tries to center herself, however, Gwyn hovers with a concerned expression over her shoulder. Though the Dragon type lacked the ability to become incorporeal and peer into eggs, her typing gave her a special connection to the egg that Marion had been caring for during the week. In fact, August had done a great deal to help Marion raise the egg, providing the appropriate nest and warmth, and advising her on how to speak and interact with the tiny being beneath the shell. It had been a taxing week, particularly on the dragon mother's heart, as taking care of that egg made her long for her own baby, and yet it was a great joy to be able to take care of this little one in preparation for its hatchling. Of course,Gwyn could tell that something was weighing on her mind. Casting a shadow of a Dragonite in a sad, weighted posture, Gwyn tilts his head, as if asking if his assessment of her attitude is correct.

Sensing a shadow passing over her, August opens one eye to take a look at Gwyn, the eye traveling down to the shadow message. The giant dragon sighs, but tries her best to smile.

Oh, I am feeling all right, Gwyn. Please do not concern yourself over me, August comments to the Litwick. The creature then casts the shadow of an egg, and August nods her head solemnly.

Admittedly, I am a bit concerned. Were this a Trapinch or Swablu... One of the types that gain their dragon typing later in life... I would see no issue with giving the baby up to Balmund. He is a very strong and capable trainer, after all. August shakes her head. I am sure that Marion thinks she is hatching just another Trapinch... A nice little gift for her loved one. But you have seen the face of this little one, Gwyn.

Gwyn nods in response, his eyes reflecting August's concern. Somehow, this statement, though spoken in a low voice, seems to have attracted the attention of one of the more curious of Marion's Pokemon.

Not just another Trapinch? What do you mean? Elysia the Cottonee floats between Gwyn and August, speaking loudly enough that Marion's entire team suddenly crowds around August and Gwyn with the desire to glean whatever information they can about the new baby. Gadget, who had been taken out of lawnmower form so that he would not completely and utterly destroy the Base with his enthusiasm, zaps around in his plasma form, brimming with excitement.

I think she means that the baby is a big mighty roar-angry dragon full of the fangs and the teeth and the RAWR and just like our buddy August only full of the RAGE and the dragony funtime destruction death dooooooom~

Is it true? Taran the Joltik looks up at August with big, concerned eyes. Is the baby... a true dragon?

August grimaces a bit at Elysia, though she eventually gives Taran a solemn nod in response to his question. [i]I sense a great power from that egg. I do not know why Marion has been chosen, once again, to raise a baby with power of that magnitude... It seems a bit much to be coincidence.[i] August turns to look out the window of the Secret Base, and catches sight of her trainer approaching. Fate is calling to her. Whether or not she will listen... That is what concerns me.

Noting August's attention, the other members of Marion's team rush for the window, while Bedivere rushes for the door, to welcome his Lady inside. Eager to meet the new hatchling, they all circle around Marion the moment she enters the door. Of course, reading Marion's expression, they can tell that the hatchling came as a bit of a surprise; radiating with happiness, the ghostly maiden gives her team a giant grin.

"Oh, I really lucked out this time, guys! Haha, I know Duke will love her-"

"HAH!" Cheshire points with a gaseous finger at Murmur with a self-satisfied smirk. "I knew it."

Murmur pouts with disappointment, and turns to Marion, hoping desperately that she misspoke.

"Er, anyway..." Marion laughs a bit, all too familiar with the rivalry between Cheshire and Murmur. "I won't keep you all in suspense any longer! August, Bedivere, I'm going to need you both to help me dress her up for the Cable Club. I want a nice, big bow around her neck, and I want her tusks polished so that they're nice and clean."

T-tusks...? Taran immediately looks concerned.

"Okay, everyone! Stand back!" Marion's Pokemon give her some distance as she pulls out the Pokeball containing the new hatchling. With a blast of red light, the silhouette of an Axew forms before the red light fades, removing any doubt as to the creature's identity. The big-tusked Pokemon's red eyes eagerly dart around, looking at the members of Marion's team with curiosity, before her eyes fall squarely on August. A fire immediately starts in the little girl's eyes, as she immediately recognizes the one that she will call her rival. August knew that look intimately... often, young dragons would identify stronger brothers and sisters early in their lives that they would develop an instinctive drive against; these rivalries, given a supportive adversary, were often crucial to the development of a young dragon. Though some of Marion's team notice the look and immediately appear concerned, August chuckles at the sight. Ohhh, this one is going to be a handful, she muses.

Marion immediately picks up the little Axew, giving her own confused look to August. "Is there something wrong," Marion asks, and August gives the trainer a reassuring smile. Trusting in her Dragonite, Marion smiles back, and immediately carries the Axew off into her bedroom, with Bedivere following close behind with all manner of ribbons and baubles to dress up the baby.

***

"No! No, stop eating the rib- stay still, please! Stay STILL! August, please, hold her down- OUCH! That tail packs quite a punch, doesn't it... Oh, but I do want to have a little bow on the tail, too." Marion laughs as the team struggles to quaff the new baby Axew, who seems to think that all of this beautifying is some sort of game. Were the Axew averse to bows and ribbons, Marion would never force her to put them on, but the little Axew's eyes and actions betrayed more playfulness than irritation, and Marion had the distinct feeling that the little creature was simply trying to mess with her and August. Finally, after being held down by the stronger Dragonite, Bedivere is able to tie a beautiful gold ribbon around the Axew's neck, decorated with a charm bearing a deep green gemstone with flecks of red showing through. As Bedivere ties the charm around Axew's neck, he repeats part of a poem from his youth;

"Who in this world of ours their eyes
In March first open shall be wise,
In days of peril firm and brave,
And wear a bloodstone to their grave."
Bedivere's ever-present smile widens as he finishes the verse. "A true daughter of March should be given a bloodstone to commemorate her birth, ohohohoho~"

Marion admires the gem around the Axew's neck, then takes a look at the little baby wearing it, patting her gently on the head. "You look beautiful."

The Axew chirps happily at this appraisal. However, her face immediately falls as Marion continues; "I know Duke will be so thrilled the moment he lays eyes on you! He's such a lucky man to be getting such a pretty lady~"

August immediately senses the change in the hatchling's mood, and braces herself. The hatchling begins roaring with anger, stomping her feet and throwing her head back in a display of distress. At the Egg House, Marion had mentioned meeting a new friend... She had not mentioned going home with him! This was unacceptable. The hatchling begins rampaging, ramming her head against the bedpost of Marion's bed, wailing in fury.

Marion looks utterly dumbfounded at the hatchling's reaction, and turns to August, desperate for help. The Dragonite shakes her head and looks down at the hatchling, as if surprised that Marion hasn't figured it out already.

"If I may be of service, dear lady..." Bedivere holds up a tentacle, about to provide a translation, when August gently pushes Bedivere's tentacle back down, shaking her head. This was something Marion had to figure out on her own.

Marion sighs deeply, realizing that August was not about to give her the answers this time. Marion kneels down on the ground, tilting her head to get a better look at the rampaging Axew. "Honey... Honey, what's wrong? Why are you so angry with me?" Marion didn't quite know how she knew that this anger was directed at her... yet intuitively, she couldn't help but think it was something she had said or done that set off the little creature. Her words seem to have no effect at first, as the Axew begins gnawing viciously at the iron post. Marion takes a moment to center herself, much as August had been doing earlier, before attempting to speak to the hatchling once again.

"Honey... Why are you doing this? You were so happy, right up until I mentioned Bal-" It is in that moment that the realization hits Marion hard. Feeling a bit embarrassed at the amount of time it took for her to get it, yet confused as to why the baby would feel this way, Marion presses forward;

"Why don't you wanna go with Balmund? You haven't even met him yet! He's such a wonderful man, Axew... He will take good care of you."

The Axew finally turns to Marion, only now, Marion can begin to perceive the underlying grief in the Axew's sudden burst of anger. There was a distinct hint of loneliness and adoration underlying the ruby rage of the Axew's eyes that seemed distinctly familiar... Thinking back, Marion realizes that the look was vaguely reminiscent of Mr. Nose's tear-filled gaze when they first met at the Adoption Center. The look of a child unable and unwilling to leave a trusted parent. Marion once again turns to August for guidance, and the motherly Dragonite places a claw gently on Marion's shoulder, looking to her before looking meaningfully at the baby. She speaks to Bedivere, and the Frillish immediately translates;

"My Lady, I have been asked to inform you by the Lady August that while your intentions of giving Balmund a present symbolic of your loving affection were certainly noble, it is not your place to choose the owner for a baby such as this. Indeed, it is up to the baby to choose... and she has chosen you, ohohoho~"

"But..." Marion begins to protest, looking nervous. "I- I don't really know... Duke would be sure to win her heart, wouldn't he? He's so talented at training dra-"

August cuts her off with a stern, yet loving expression, and though she does not speak directly, Marion can understand what the elder dragon is attempting to communicate.

"Mm... It is true that you turned out okay in the end... Who knows, maybe I'll luck out again, haha~" Marion gently picks up the little Axew, plucking off the bow from her tail and cradling her gently. "If you do not want to go with Balmund, I will not make you go."

The little Axew calms down immediately at Marion's words, curling up into a little ball in her arms, sleepy after the sudden outburst. Marion's heart melts for the little creature, who places so much love and trust in her. "Sleep well, little Lizzie," she whispers to the baby as she holds her close, before heaving a deep sigh. "Well, I guess I will have to get Duke something else for his birthda-"

"Ohohohohoho~!" Bedivere giggles happily as he darts over to a corner of the room, sorting through a small selection of boxes that Marion did not recall being there before. Eventually, he pulls out a brand new black Xtranceiver from the pile of packages, complete with a gorgeous Seviper design. "The Lady August and I went shopping the other evening while you were in the lab, and I picked this up just in case, ohohohoho~!" Bedivere grins, handing the Xtranceiver to Marion. "His last one was indeed eaten by the Lady Orchrist, was it not? I imagine he will need this sooner or later~"

Marion gives Bedivere a warm smile, though she notes the subtle wink that August gives to the Frillish as the package is handed to Marion. The might dragon wraps an arm around Marion and admires the little Axew as she sleeps. Fate had a funny way of bringing unexpected people and Pokemon into their lives... but it was always for a reason.

Last edited by Marion Ette; 05-07-2022 at 02:06 PM.
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Old 04-27-2013, 05:35 PM   #8
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Remember Me.

When the letter arrived in Marion's mailbox, Aislyn's golden-furred head lifted towards it, her ruby eyes darkening with an ominous sense. It was the second time this week that the mail had filled her with a sense of dread, and the Ninetales could not help but feel that this was more than just coincidence. Intuitively making her way over to Marion to comfort her, Marion finds herself distressed merely by the look in Aislyn's eyes... It was never good when Aislyn inexplicably became so supportive and comforting, because the inexplicable often became terribly, terribly explicable soon after.

Sure enough, Murmur had taken the initiative to float out the window and pick up the mail for Marion, setting the letters from friends and various bills on the table. One letter in particular stood out to Marion, particularly given that the first line of the return address referred to the Fizzytopian Police. Oh, Lord, What did my Pokemon do now, Marion mutters to herself as she opens the letter. She is somewhat surprised by the mention of the name Minerva, which she herself had not heard in months; it was as if Coselle's presence had nearly erased Minerva's altogether in Marion's mind, and it shocked her to see the name again in print:

Quote:
Dear Miss Ette,

It is our duty to inform you that your Banette, nicknamed Minerva, has been captured and detained at the Pokemon Detention Center until provided with the appropriate, court-mandated treatment. She has been charged with Assault with Intent to Murder on your behalf and on behalf of Keith Masters. In addition, it has been discovered that she has been engaging in the illicit use of a Roggenrola Core for the purposes of masquerading as a human, which violates the Human Mimicry Limitations Act. The core has been forcibly extracted in accordance with the law, and will be returned to the appropriate gravesite.

As per the defendant's request, an assessment has been performed by an individual who is intimately familiar with Banette psychology. As her trainer, it is required by law that you are provided the summary of this assessment:

Minerva has been assessed as having a healthy desire for vengeance and retribution and a generally positive relationship with her trainer, though this relationship has been strained by recent events. It has also been discovered that her relationship with one of her intended victims, Keith Masters, may have been psychologically detrimental to both parties, and could partially explain the events that transpired on 10/31/12. We believe that indefinite imprisonment would be unethical in this case, as Minerva has been identified through intelligence testing as having human-level cognition and perception in the superior range; in addition, it is not my belief that a Banette should be imprisoned for acting in a manner that suits her species. What concerns me are the feelings of deep affection which, I believe, have driven her to insanity. Given her emotional state, returning her to her trainer as-is would also be decidedly unwise.

It is the opinion of this psychologist that she is taken to the Psychic Healing Clinic and given a partial memory wipe, encompassing the previous year before erasure. It is the belief of everyone involved that this wipe will bring peace of mind back to this formerly healthy Banette. It is always our intent to return problem Pokemon to their trainers, and the team believes that this is the most efficient, least damaging way to accomplish this goal.


The Pokecourt has accepted Minerva's plea of NGI with the caveat that she undergo treatment. The advised treatment is scheduled to be performed on 5/9/13 at 12:00 AM FBT (Fizzy Bubbles Time). Minerva will then be available to be picked up by you on 5/11/13 at 7:00 AM FBT, after the patient is allowed time to recover from the procedure.

Please call the number below if you have any questions.

The FBPD Pokemon Detention Facility
Attached to the letter is a pamphlet explaining various aspects of Memory Erasure (ironically given the acronym ME) and how to proceed with a Pokemon who has been given this procedure. According to the pamphlet, the procedure was so foolproof that Pokemon could be exposed to all sorts of people, places and objects both directly and indirectly related to erasure without the fear of memories being retriggered. To Marion, it seemed far too effective to be real... And yet, none of it seemed real to her. The tone of the letter, so formal and detached, seemed altogether distant and unbelievable. Marion's mind could barely even wrap around the implications of what this form letter communicated.

Marion lets the letter fall from her hands and into the eager Bedivere's tentacles; as the Frillish reads the letter with his unfailing, unflinching smile in Frillish language, Marion watches as the expressions of her other Pokemon reflect their concern and apprehension. Some even appeared downright panicked. They feared that Minerva would forget important times they shared together... or in many cases, completely forget that they had ever existed. So many members of Marion's team had only just arrived within the past year, and for Minerva to forget them... Many, like Marion, had a hard time fathoming it.

As her Pokemon adamantly discuss this new development, Marion remains silent, mulling it over and over again in her head. She wondered if Keith knew what had happened. Hell, she wondered if anyone knew... How would she explain to others what went on with Minerva if Minerva herself could not remember? How would Minerva deal with all the friends she had made... All the experiences she had... that were now utterly gone? All vanished. An entire year, deleted from Minerva's mind. It was hard for Marion to even remember what she was doing last year… Did she have Sakura yet? Would Minerva remember Balmund? How would she cope with the fact that her baby sister was dating if she couldn’t remember who the person was? How would she cope with the fact that Marion knew that she was Minerva’s baby sister? All these thoughts swirl around in Marion’s mind, hurting her head.

For the next two nights, Marion was unable to sleep, thinking about Minerva and how she would deal with this latest trial. Finally, on the morning of the 11th, August volunteered to fly Marion to the clinic in order to pick up their partner. The gentle giant pats Marion on the shoulder and gives her a meaningful look before lowering herself to all fours, allowing Marion to climb on before extending her wings and lifting off. Given August’s strength and speed, the journey is not a terribly long one, but Marion would have plenty of time to meditate nervously on the current situation while sitting with August in the waiting room… Being on time, of course, meant waiting at least 30 minutes when dealing with any sort of office, particularly if it happened to be run by the government. Filling out the necessary paperwork in an itchy, run-down woodback chair with an awful floral print on the padding, Marion grimaces at the ancient magazines and overly placid paintings of landscapes and beaches dotting the walls. It was not the ideal place to come face to face with her Banette again, but at least it would be an opportunity to start fresh with her. After all, if a year’s worth of memory had been erased, then she wasn’t the same Banette that had performed the unforgivable actions that had caused Marion to stop speaking to her in the first place… Right? One of the many thoughts that kept her up at night…

After completing the appropriate forms and handing them to the disinterested secretary behind the glass, she sat beside August, who was amusing herself by trying to balance as many magazines on her head as possible. Giving her trainer an intentionally dopey grin as she balances a stack of 10 magazines precariously with her antennae, Marion cannot help but laugh with her Dragonite, despite the stern look that the secretary gives them both. Ignoring the judgmental gaze, the pair entertain themselves as best they can, before the sound of the office door opening stuns them both into silence.

The pair are met by the irritated gaze of a very familiar Pokemon. Looking around the office with intense yellow eyes, the Banette’s zippered mouth curls into a smirk.

“This place smells like old peo-ple,” she comments, before her eyes turn to Marion and August. “So… you are here to pick me up, are yoooou? Good. I have had my fill of this aw-ful mad-house. And for MEEE to call it mad…” Minerva’s head tilts at an unnatural angle as she cackles maniacally. “It must be po-si-tive-ly BON-KERS in here.”

“Minerva!!” Marion, unable to help herself, runs up to her old friend and dear sister, giving her a big hug. Minerva returns the embrace silently; though she had forgotten a lot of things, her love for her sister remained the same.

“I am told that my me-mo-ry has been e-rased in or-der to ab-solve me from my crimessss? Oooooo, I just can-not i-ma-gine what I could have done.” Minerva giggles gleefully, her mind full of all sorts of terrible acts of violence. She grins with an inspired insanity at her sister, hoping to be regaled with tales of unspeakable terror. “Is it e-nough to earn my own made-for-TV mo-vie? I can seeeeee it now, ehehehe~"

“Minerva…” Marion gives her Pokemon a gentle smile. “I think, before we do anything, you and I should take a walk together and… you know… talk awhile.”

“We have a lot to talk a-bout, do we not?” Minerva smirks. “Ve-ry well. Let us take a walk, then. More of a float, in my case… Can you i-ma-gine? Me, wal-king on those aw-ful flesh-legs you hu-mans have. Dis-gus-ting.”

Marion does everything in her power not to turn pale at the remark, and attempts to laugh in response to Minerva’s dark humor. “Heh, yeah… I guess that would be hard to believe.” Marion pauses. “Say, Minerva…”

“Yes, Ma-ry?”

“Do, uh… do you remember being in love?”

“In love?” Coselle makes a face. “I should say not. What a sil-ly ques-tion. I sup-pose I should have ex-pect-ed such from a sil-ly girl like you.” Though Minerva smiles, her eyes flicker with the slightest bit of hesitation and sorrow. “In love… No. No, I do not re-mem-ber at all.”

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Old 05-09-2013, 06:56 PM   #9
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The Heart of Guinevere

In the silent, darkened living room of Marion's treetop cottage, the soft click of a television remote jolts the screen to life, which casts its illumination over a small, pink figure. The floating spectre looks left and right furtively for a few moments before unceremoniously collapsing into the comfy chair in front of the television, tentacles piled in a heap as her head rests heavily against the back cushion. A single pink tentacle aims the remote at the VCR and presses the "play" button. The Frillish briefly considers fast-forwarding the ancient movie previews and FBI warnings, but even the simple act of pressing another button seems like too much effort in the exhausted Frillish's mind. It was true that her "brother", the distinguished Lord Bedivere, had invested great time and effort in ensuring that her extensive, five-week stay at the Beauty Salon would be tailored specifically to her needs as a young ghost type learning the finer points of etiquette. It was also true that she herself was eager to become as dignified as her beloved mentor and to show her improvements off to potential suitors, once all was said and done... but secretly, she anxiously awaited Sunday evening, when she would be able to return to her trainer's home for a brief rest before another week of intensive treatments and training.

This is altogether not fair, the Frillish thinks to herself with a sour expression as the previews roll on, and she reflects on the day's instruction on dance and graceful movement. I am supposed to be a spirit of the night, a tragically beautiful figure - or was it beautifully tragic? I can never remember how Lady Araxie phrases it - mourning the loss of her connection to the earth with her ethereal, graceful body, unchained an uninhibited by the confines of the flesh... and yet I feel exhausted!! How disconnected can I be if every inch of me aches? How dead can I be if I feel this kind of pain? I swear, if Lady Araxie had asked me for one more weightless pirouette, I would have ripped that awful Jellicent's face off... A small smirk creeps across the Frillish's face as she envisions the gristly deed being performed with the utmost of precision and efficiency, complete with a shriek of, Am I graceful NOW, bitch?! at the top of the Frillish's lungs. The smirk quickly melts into a nervous expression, however, as she thinks of how Lord Bedivere would react to such an action. It would be decidedly unladylike! Such thoughts should be avoided at all costs! Keep it together, Nimiane, she admonishes herself, as the word "OVERTURE" in red, stylized letters appears on the screen, and triumphant orchestral music fills the living room. The music gradually transports Nimiane to a more relaxed, dreamlike state of mind, and the soft, melodic chanting of Guinevere.... Guinevere... fills her heart with a feeling of longing.

As the musical unfolds, Nimiane's posture changes from a heap of exhaustion to gradually positioning herself on the edge of her seat, her eyes glittering with delight every time King Arthur came on screen. A brilliant, handsome, wise King, who seeks to only enact might for right... He was everything Nimiane dreamed of in a man, and more. He was perfection itself. The ghostly being cannot help but feel a pang of jealousy towards the beautiful Guinevere, who had married a man of such power, influence and breeding... It was enough to fill her with determination to continue her studies, aching be damned! She would become like Lady Guinevere if it killed her... Well, if it were possible for her to die again, at any rate. And yet... as the movie progressed, Lady Guinevere finds her heart swayed by the French knight Lancelot. Her wandering eyes confuse and enrage Nimiane, who begins mentally admonishing the image of Guinevere through the television... an admonishment which seamlessly transitions into verbal shouting. "What are you doing?? You're married to a king!! What are you doing with a damn knight when you already have the most powerful man in the Kingdom?? ARE YOU INSANE?! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? WHY LANCELOT?!"

"It is the ac-cent, I be-lieve. I am told that ac-cents have quite the... se-duc-tive po-wer. Is it not sooo?" An eerie voice rings out from behind Nimiane, who startles at the sound.

"Minerva! I forgot that you're-"

"An in-sssom-ni-ac. Of coursse, dear. And you? You do not ap-pear to be sleep-inggg, ei-ther..." Minerva cackles. "Is THIS part of your train-ingg, then? Wat-ching Ca-me-lott? You re-al-ize that Va-nes-sa Red-grave is not a REAL Queen, do you not? Or are you as in-sane as your dearrr bro-ther?"

"You take that back, Minerva," Nimiane hisses under her breath.

"Is it not MIS-TRESS Min-er-va?" Minerva corrects with a wide grin, much to Nimiane's irritation.

"I apologize, MIS-TRESS Minerva..." Nimiane provides a sarcastic curtsy to accompany her insincere apology. "Lord Bedivere's mind is... unique, to be sure, but he is not a madman! I do not not know how you can call a creature of his kindness and his generosity mad... Or is selfishness the only manner of sanity you know?"

"Such back-talkk! And from a la-dyyy? Per-haps I should tell Be-di-vere of your in-so-lenccce..." Minerva smirks. It was a threat that normally had the lady Frillish cowering and returning to her veneer of politeness and decorum incredibly quickly... but Minerva apparently had pushed too far.

"Go ahead!" Nimiane retorts with a defiant glare in her eye. "You can even tell him that I refuse to call you Mistress anymore! You're nobody's Mistress, MINERVA. All you do is order Lord Bedivere around all day, and with NO respect! 'Be-di, pour my ab-sinthe!' 'Be-di, clean the wine out of my cot-ton!' Yet what have you done for him, huh? NOTHING!" Nimiane's tentacles curl up with rage as her voice escalates higher and higher. "You're a cruel, miserable puppet who just wants everyone else to be miserable because you lost your kingdom and your crown. You're as Zubatshit crazy as they come, and yet you have the NERVE to call my brother insane? You're just a-"

"Hold on there, Prin-cess Nim-rod," Minerva says with an oddly intrigued expression. "What are you go-ing on a-bout? What king-dom? What crown?" Minerva floats toward Nimiane, her face inches away from the Frillish's, the zipper-grin wide with malice. "You know some-thing IIIII do not? We must re-me-dy thattt..."

"I-It is only what Lord Bedivere told me! I do not know anything!" Nimiane's courage falters in the face of the powerful Banette; it was one thing to endure idle threats from Minerva. It was another entirely to have her invade her personal space so thoroughly, and with such a vicious look in her eyes... Nimiane had heard the warnings about her teammate. She was not about to tempt fate now.

"What did he tell you?" Minerva coos. "What did he sayyyy?"

"Th- that he feels sorry for you..."

"Sor-ry? For meee? That sil-ly little prince-"

"It is not silly!" Nimiane snaps back, her fear overwhelmed by anger. "He says that you have lost your kingdom. That you do not remember your crown."

Minerva's eyes light up. "A king-dom, hmmm? Go on..."

"He says that there is a king in a lonely tower who longs for you. He is sorry that you have been toppled from your gilded throne in his heart, and left alone to suffer!"

The Banette's expression darkens. "Oh, is that it, then?" Minerva snorts. "More of his del-u-sions. Here I thought he might have ac-tu-al-ly told you some-thing use-ful..." The Banette narrows her eyes. "And as for you... I know of no me-die-val prin-ces-ses that know in-tu-i-tive-ly how to op-er-ate a V-C-R or use the term Zu-bat-shit. You were not a prin-cess when you died... were you?" Minerva grins. "Were you... oh, thought of thoughts... were you a COM-MON girl? Oh, you have a prin-cess form, but you need so much train-ing... All things that came nat-ur-al-ly to Be-di-vere... Why? Whyyyy, my dearrr?" Minerva cackles harshly. "It is be-cause you are a fraud."

"That's not TRUE, Minerva! You're just trying to-"

"I feel your ner-vous-ness when he ex-tolls your bree-ding! When he com-ments that you must have been the most beau-ti-ful girl in the king-dom where you lived, that lit-tllle nod you give him, that ner-vous smilleee... I see it. I feed on it, you daft lit-tlle fool! I know that you are ly-ing. I know that your whole AF-TER-LIFE is a mis-er-a-ble lie!" Tears stream down the Frillish's face as Minerva cackles. "Be grate-ful for your bro-ther's in-san-ity! He can-not see through it, but I do. You are no-thing but a com-mon Po-ke-mon, re-born from a com-mon girlll." Minerva snorts. "Best you re-mem-ber thatt and stop act-ing like a spoiled prin-cess a-round me."

Minerva floats toward the couch to resume her knitting, but as she tries to work, the sound of the sobbing Frillish eventually begins to grate on the puppet's nerves. Sighing, she turns to Nimiane. "Oh, come now. Be-di-vere will ne-ver know the truth. E-ven if I told him, he would not be-lieve me."

"But I remember castles, Minerva! I remember..."

"...But you do not re-mem-ber who YOU were." Minerva smirks, setting her needles down. "The mem-or-ies will come in time. Heh... I i-ma-gine you are sick of les-sons, but I have one, if you are wil-ling to lis-ten. It will help you in your stu-pid lit-tle en-dea-vor... what, fin-ding a prince of sorts? Mar-ry-ing in-to pow-er? That is what you are look-ing to do, is it not?"

"...Go on," Nimiane says incredulously, wiping her tears as she turns to Minerva, who positions herself as if about to impart some great nugget of wisdom.

"You seem to think that love is some kind of game," Minerva begins. "You seem to think that with e-nough les-sons, you can cap-ture a king as if play-ing chesss."

"But there is strategy in seduction, Minerva! With enough training-"

"Oh, you think the prob-lem is in your strat-e-gy?" Minerva cackles. "No. The prob-lem is with YOU, lit-tle Guin-e-vere. You think you can sim-ply pick who you will choose to love? That your heart will ne-ver wan-der? That all it takes is a cas-tle and some mon-ey to earn your heart's loy-al-ty?"

Nimiane pauses for a moment, thinking back to Guinevere and Lancelot. "But Minerva, how could a lady forsake her king for a mere knight? How could you give that all up? It makes no sense..."

"You will un-der-stand some-day," Minerva finally says. "The de-sires of the mind and heart are rare-ly e-ver a-ligned. What makes no sense... What is dan-ger-ous and ir-ra-tion-al... Love may seek it out. Love of-ten does. If your knight comes knock-ing... It does not mat-ter what king-dom you may have in-her-it-ed. You will an-swer the call. Take it from me... I used to be a prin-cess, af-ter all. Is that not what Be-di-vere said?" Minerva cackles darkly, as Nimiane tilts her head.

"But you don't remember anything, do you?" Nimiane questions.

"I re-mem-ber cast-les." Minerva mockingly responds, though her voice carries a strange sort of weight. "Now go to sleep, lit-tle Prin-cess... busy day to-mor-row, hmmmmm?"

Nimiane nods reluctantly and retires to the bedroom. As soon as Minerva is assured of her departure, Minerva reaches deep into her knitting bag; saved there were a precious few dolls that had survived Marion's purging, which had been hidden away for reasons Minerva could not remember. A man about Marion's age and his Seviper. A Stunfisk who had clearly been stabbed repeatedly with needles. Three Shuppet, a male and two females, who had been lovingly crafted, as if cared for deeply... and a man with a cowboy hat. Minerva picks up this doll with extra care, turning it over in her cloth hand, before finally setting it down with a sigh and putting the dolls away.

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Old 08-02-2013, 04:15 PM   #10
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THE ADVENTURES OF DRAKE MAN AND HIS SIDEKICK, THE TACO TIME TACO TRUCK!

Initial trade post can be found here.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Balmund View Post
Bound against her will, a lavender-haired damsel in distress struggles against an insane mob and the sick mad cow behind it all, trying in vain to stop the forced trade of her newly acquired female Shuppet. A gift originally meant for her boyfriend Balmund, now shamelessly usurped by a rotund Hiker. How would he react if he saw this right now? Would anyone please stop this utter madness!

With the Pokéball inching ever closer to the trading machine, it was as if time would ever progressively slow down to a halt. Minutes, hours, days, MONTHS. The wait for some sort of resolution, felt both anguishing, and bloody eternal. Perhaps, it was not meant to be after all...

"NOT SO FAST!" A comanding voice boomed throughout the entire trading post. Up there! A shadow hanging from ceiling wall. Man? Monster? Ghost?

"DRRRRRAAAAKE MAAAAAANNNN!"

The mysterious black and cloaked figure takes a dive, spinning like a mad top amidst a sudden and inexplicaple display of fireworks and confetti. "EVIL! WILL! NOT! STAND! A CHANCE!" He chants, landing with a disabling roundhouse kick on the chubby, bearded assailant.

"Git 'im!" The mob breaks out of its utter state of disbelief. Whoever this guy was, he had to be stopped! The curse! A fear of a fate worse than death awaited them should they fail. He was but one, and they were many! The odds were on their favor. Their faces of determination soon turned to shock and horror however, as an even larger figure bursted out of the concrete walls. Is that a... friggin TACO TRUCK?!

Man and Pokémon alike hastily make way as the man of drakes nimbly lunges himself into the airborne, grease-smelling vehicle. The metal beast lands rearside, sparks flying as its motor engine roared ferociously, and it dashes towards the captive Ghost Trainer and floating, bodyless specter. Synchronized blasts of multicolored towers of smoke erupted from the ground, trailing neatly behind the tortilla and steel behemoth, right before it suddenly lifted itself from the ground, performing a grand total of four backflips minus one as it flew overhead its target, crashing out the club's domains through a window.

"TATSUMAKI SENPUKYAKU!" Drake Man screams as he falls amidst the group, a whirlwind of kicks remodels the faces of all but Marion's, who somehow remained perfectly unscathed. He then proceeds to embrace her gently, but firm, before dropping a decoy - a Clefairy Doll of Absolute Adorableness - to allow for his perfect escape. A well aimed hookshot through the already destructed wall, and both Drake Man was gone just as quickly as he arrived, along with Marion.

Landing into safety, the unreadable masked man looks into the pale, but remarkably beautiful woman's face. "Fear not! I will ensure this creature reaches its new and rightful owner. For now... DRAAAAAKE MAAAAAN GOOOOOO!!!!" He vanishes in a flash, flying into the horizon upon what looked like a prehistoric Aerodactyl. Who was this man, and would Marion ever see him again? One thing was for certain, as Marion looked down into the four Rare Candies that mysteriously appeared on the palms of her hand, it was clear that the trade had been completed.

(In other words, finally trading my 4 Rare Candies for Marion's Lv.1 Female Shuppet. Thanks!

*TRADE CLOSED*)
The zenith of Marion's distress seemed to extend for months on end in the trainer's mind, despite the few short moments in which she hopelessly watched the crowd attempt to trade away her Shuppet to the misguided hiker... But where was Duke in all of this? Had he forgotten about the trade? Forgotten about her? Had Minerva stalled him using one of her dirty tricks? With no sign of her lover, it seemed as if all hope of completing the trade was lost... but wait! LOOK! UP IN THE SKY! IT'S A PIDGEOT! IT'S A TOGEKISS! IT'S...

DRAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!

Marion observes the surreal scene in a complete state of shock. A masked superhero straight out of a comic book mysteriously bursts onto the scene, complete with the triumphant announcement of his own name (as if he were a Pokemon) and follows it up with a short, cliched, yet emphatic speech that evil will not stand a chan- wait, did he just roundhouse kick that guy? Was this even happening? Was she in some kind of dream? The situation in the Cable Club was already tenuously connected to reality at best, but now, things had descended into a whole new level of madness. From cow heads to superheroes... Could things get any more strange?

As if Marion's concept of reality was not crumbling enough, the arrival of Drake Man is soon followed by the destructive entry of a taco truck. Marion couldn't tell if this was the same truck driven by Mr. Nose during the fateful bar incident, or another vehicle from the same company, but the Taco Time Taco Theme blared through the Cable Club as all hell broke loose and Drake Man boarded his trusty vehicle sidekick. To Marion's horror, it seemed as if the taco truck was heading directly for her. Marion had hoped for a more regal, dignified death than being hit by a truck, but it seemed as if such an ending to Marion's life on Earth was not in the cards... Bracing for impact, Marion muttered a quick prayer to Giratina. Perhaps he would welcome her soul upon arrival-

A blast of color, light and incomprehensible shouting precedes a wave of merciless destruction which bruises and disfigures Marion's captors, yet the blast leaves her completely untouched at the center of it all. It was a violent sort of magic that this man possessed, and it intrigued the pale young woman in spite of her complete and overwhelming sense of disbelief. In contrast to the rough holds of the Cable Club mob members, the ghostly trainer's body is gently pulled close to the hero, as he gathers her in an embrace, the smell of taco grease overwhelming her nostrils. It was always odd to Marion how the heroes of cartoons and storybooks could manage such incredible feats of strength and brutality, and yet achieve an equal, if not greater measure of gentleness in the very next scene. Superheroes were strange paradoxes in that way, and this one was no different. With deftness and grace of a master ninja, the masked maverick drops an adorable Clefairy doll as the perfect distraction for the Pokemon-hungry crowd. As shouts of "I'LL BID FIVE CANDIES AND MY FIRSTBORN CHILD FOR THAT CLEFAIRY" ring through the Cable Club, the backflipping taco truck and Drake Man make their escape with the lavender-haired trainer.

Landing in safety some distance away from the Cable Club, Drake Man's impenetrable gaze glances over Marion's face before making a heroic declaration of his intent to deliver the Shuppet to its rightful owner. Marion barely manages a bewildered "T-thank you" before Drake Man vanishes out of Marion's reach, making a dramatic escape on an oddly familiar Aerodactyl. Looking over the four candies in her hand, Marion wondered if this was how Lois Lane and Gwen Stacy felt after being rescued from whatever perils they found themselves in by their respective heroes... The intimately familiar, swooping in at just the right moment in the guise of a foreign, mysterious entity, to bring order and justice to an unjust and chaotic world. Marion didn't know what to make of it. Perhaps there were sides to this "Drake Man" that Marion was only beginning to understand. Perhaps there were still aspects of his character that remained as yet untouched. After all, humans are masters at wearing many masks. Where did he learn to fight like that? Where on Earth did he get the truck? How did he pull off those stunts? There was something powerfully seductive about the mystery surrounding him.

As Marion ponders what has just occurred, a blood-covered Banette floats over to Marion with a completely unreadable expression. Pausing for a moment to inspect Marion, the Banette's expression finally twists into rage as she shouts, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT NON-SENSE?"

"I was rescued by a masked hero and his taco truck sidekick. Weren't you paying attention, Minerva?" Marion gives her Banette a sly smirk. "Don't you wonder who it might-"

"Oh, yesss. Quite the mys-ter-yyy. Ohhhh, whoooooo could it beeee?" Minerva sarcastically scratches her cloth chin, as if pondering the question with great focus and concentration. "Whooo would go to this ex-treme to-"

"To save me?" Marion blushes a bit.

"Save you? HAH. What did he save you from? A bad trade? You were ne-ver in a-ny real dan-ger, were yooou?" Minerva smirks, noting Marion's sudden confusion. Minerva was right, after all... Though the mob had been unruly, they seemed intent solely on taking over the trade, not necessarily causing any harm to her.

"Well, then why did he do it, then? Why go to all that trouble?"

"Why are you as-king meee? You know that weir-do bet-ter than IIII do. I on-ly know what I see, and what I saw was a man-i-ac-al man in a su-per-he-ro out-fit who caused ob-scene a-mounts of struc-tur-al da-mage to the Ca-ble Club and to the bo-dies and minds of o-ther pa-trons." Minerva cackles darkly. "At least I know I did what I did for the fun, and to get rid of that mi-ser-a-ble Shup-pet. But him? Who knows."

Marion looks off into the distance, attempting to sort the multitude of thoughts swirling around in her head before simply deciding to let them go. It had been an emotional rollercoaster of a month day, but in the end, Marion knew that she could always count on her hero when she needed him. It didn't matter why he came to her rescue... the fact that he did, she reasoned, was enough. Perhaps the next time she saw Duke, she would ask him if his Shuppet ever got delivered...

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Old 10-02-2013, 12:00 AM   #11
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Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

The years of political turmoil and economic depression had not been kind to Fizzytopia, but even without the rumors of future relief from the recession, the White Market was a veritable mecca of trade offers and bargains - the trainers hawking unneeded wares and Pokemon, the often heated bid wars, and of course, the smell of buttered popcorn, still sold at every corner of the White Market, were just as pronounced as they were upon the establishment's inception in more bountiful times. A fistful of the newly-printed Fizzytopian currency in hand, she pulls the hood of her black hoodie so that shadow conceals her eyes, adjusting her plaid miniskirt before making her way over to a rather animated display of auctioneering by a man in a cowboy hat. Animated and eager to profit after careful deliberation, his tone and insistence suggested a one-in-a-million opportunity, and certainly, he seemed to have been blessed with good fortune. A newly-hatched Zorua sits by his side, its gorgeous coat and distinctive look acting as better advertisement than anything the trainer beside it could say. The young woman's combat boots smack against the pavement with every step, loudly announcing her approach.

"I'll start the bidding at $50," the woman in a hoodie remarks in a soft, concealed voice. The man in the cowboy hat does not seem to give much of a reaction, as would be expected for a rather low starting point.

The young man beside her - how he had grown since she had seen him last, that young Jake! - is quick to counteroffer. Popcorn and biscuit-crunching trainers gather round as the two bounce bids off each other for a short while, before the woman in the hoodie matter-of-factly announces that $1000 was her maximum bid point and moves out of the fray, letting another eager trainer take her place.

Before she leaves, she shoots a glare at the trainer with the cowboy hat. Those around her might assume she was a sore loser, perhaps. As she pockets her cash, however, the Zorua was the farthest thing from her mind. That man... his countenance, his eagerness, his attitude... everything about it made her blood boil.

How soon we forget, she mutters under her breath, her twisted mind clouded with an unimaginable sort of darkness. As she leaves the White Market, her fingers toy with the blade of a pocket knife concealed in her hoodie with an eerie sort of playfulness.

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Old 05-26-2015, 11:20 AM   #12
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A tall figure decisively pushes the bar door open, pausing a moment in the entryway as she gazes inside. The glare across her full-rimmed glasses, combined with the black scarf concealing her nose and mouth, obscure her expression and facial features. Adjusting a lapel on her frock coat with a black-gloved hand, she turns for a moment to observe the Stufful, hiding in her shadow. After a moment of assessment, she motions the Pokemon to take the lead.

"No crowds for now," she says - perhaps by way of assurance to the shy creature taking refuge behind her - though her voice has the consistency of ice-cold gravel. Regardless, the Stufful inches forward, making her way towards the counter, with her trainer following close behind. As the barkeep takes notice of the pink Pokemon and her brown-haired trainer, he warmly and politely requests their orders. With a far chillier bit of civility, the trainer responds,

"Water for me, thank y- Hm." She pauses, scanning the bottles, cups and wares behind the counter. "You have an espresso machine? For flavored martinis, no doubt..." The trainer snorts. "If I could have a cup of espresso, it would be much appreciated. Oh, and uh..." She pauses, taking a look back at her Pokemon for a moment, muttering to herself. "What the hell do these things drink... liquid cotton candy and melted tootsie rolls by the looks of her." She turns back to the bartender. "Something sweet for the little one, I suppose."

The trainer sits down and sighs, producing a deck of cards from her pocket. As she unsheathes the cards and practices her shuffling techniques, the Stufful curiously looks up at her trainer, jumping up on one of the stools so she can sit beside her. "I can teach you a game, if you like," the trainer offers, which inspires an overjoyed series of squeaks from her Pokemon. Her trainer continues shuffling. "Hm... You might like Speed..."

As she says this, the bartender brings out the drinks - an espresso served in a shotglass for the lady, and a brilliant orange smoothie for the Stufful. The trainer nods in acceptance and provides the bartender with some cash, muttering "keep the change" before resuming her shuffling. The Stufful takes a sip from the smoothie - and makes a face.

"Not your thing, hm? My apologies." The trainer takes the smoothie from her Pokemon, and lowers the black scarf to take a sip - gagging somewhat herself. "Good lord. How many Oompa Loompas did they bleed dry to make this?"

As the trainer reacts to the overly saccharine smoothie, the Stufful casually jumps onto the counter, helping herself to her trainer's espresso - which she downs in one gulp. The Stufful licks her lips, seeming to appreciate the bitter flavor. Upon noticing the fate of her drink, the trainer's lips quiver slightly as she moves back to standing, looming over her Pokemon - it is unclear whether she is about to laugh or scream. Her words slowly, deliberately flow forth from her lips like the ticking of a time bomb:

"The pair of balls on you, to do what you just did, must be big enough to eclipse the goddamn sun..."

Stufful looks remorseful... for a moment. That is, before her eyes widen, giving her an expression akin to an Espurr's. Her trainer swears under her breath, slams down the pack of cards, and pulls out her phone.

"Hello... yes, I have a question for you. Can you give caffeine to a Stufful?"

A long pause.

"I am asking for your medical opinion, nurse, not an ethical assessment." Pause. "Whatever's in a shot of espresso." Pause. "Oh? What side effects are you referring to?"

Another long pause, before she hangs up the phone without responding further. With a heavy sigh, she flags down the bartender.

"Sir, a bowl of water for my Pokemon, if you would... and I will be opening a tab. No, no, not for drinks... For damages. No, no, there aren't any yet, but I, uh... look, you will thank me later. Take the damn card. Thank you."

The bartender gives her a strange look, but takes the card anyway. Stufful begins to vibrate with energy, as the trainer rolls her eyes and attempts to gag down more bright orange smoothie...


---

Kijo pauses a few steps from the entryway of MaiDragonite to fully take in the spectacle. The bartender wasn't lying when he said that she wouldn't be able to miss the place - the bright pink facade stood out for miles, and the statues of Dragonite and Lopunny, captured in moments of perfect poise and elegance, practically demanded attention. Hearing a gentle "Excuse me," behind her which takes her out of her musings momentarily, she steps aside to allow a young man through with a soft grunt to acknowledge his presence. He nods in thanks, and makes his way in. The moment he steps inside, he is greeted with an adorably energetic, "Master~! Welcome home!"

Kijo takes a deep breath. Master? The whole thing seemed overly indulgent - the kind of thing her associates would be drooling over, as the desire to be waited on and adored seemed a rather common personality trait among those she ran with back home. A thought tickles in the back of her mind that maybe she was really no different, but she was in no mood to entertain that type of introspection... Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand. The Bar's espresso had been terrible, and the Nightclub's only barely passable. She'd put on a damn maid costume herself if it meant getting some good coffee, and this place came highly recommended...

Carefully letting Bia out of her Pokeball, the Stufful takes in her surroundings before immediately taking a spot in Kijo's shadow. The tall, stern-looking woman looks over her shoulder, now anticipating Bia's first response to being anywhere that required being in close proximity with others.

"You'll want decaf, won't you? No sugar?" Bia looks up at her trainer eagerly and wags her odd little tail, though she stubbornly remains behind her. Kijo turns back around, steeling herself for the upcoming interaction, before stepping into the cafe...

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Old 01-13-2018, 08:15 PM   #13
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Probopass Oroitz and the Haunted Mansion

High above the Hidden Mansion, atop a weeping willow tree whose trunk has grown far taller than any you have ever seen, is a strange little tree-cottage, built as if lovingly handcrafted for a life-sized doll...

Once meticulously maintained by an eccentric crew of spooky Pokemon - not to mention the eerie, doll-like homeowner herself - the old tree-cottage was (perhaps ironically) a washed-out ghost of its former self. Indeed, the formerly bright and cheerful mint-green paint and white trim seems to have turned grey and pale after the departure of its occupants.

The place was unsettling at the best of times, and Oroitz knew this. He knew to brace himself for whatever horrors might remain in that place - unoccupied though it was supposed to be - houses like this were never truly empty. The Nightwatch had even advised him to go against his nature and custom of flying by night, to avoid what may lurk in that place when darkness falls. He had rolled his eyes at the time - a gesture rarely aimed at the organization to whom he was normally unquestionably loyal. Really, it sounded ridiculous at the time. He, Oroitz, was the very embodiment of night. Even that awful, stereotype-promoting, self-important Pokedex had to admit that his species had the important designation of "Summoner of Night". Surely - surely - such precautions would not be needed for one such as himself.

As he flew towards the tree-cottage in broad daylight, he swore under his breath - a deep, throaty crowing in his native language. Not only was he uncomfortable in sunlight, but he was sure to be sighted by every Pokemon within fifty miles. Not subtle at all. "I should have trusted my instincts," he mutters, in human English...

The goosebumps that prickle on his neck, just underneath his feathers, are mild at first. Perhaps just a bit of nerves from flying in daylight and feeling so exposed... But as he approaches, the unspeakable, unnameable feeling of dread spreads throughout his body. By the time he lands at the front door, the shivering has taken hold so completely that it is a wonder his shuddering wings do not cause him to crash-land.

The corvid takes a few deep breaths, attempting to regain his composure. The air around the place felt thick, oppressive, weighted by some unnameable force. Fluttering against that weight up to the door, he extends a talon to the doorknob -

...only to find that the doorknob is slowly but surely turning.

Landing a few steps away from the door, the corvid watches in frozen terror as the door wordlessly swings open, with no apparent occupant inside.
“H-Hello? Hello! Oroitz from the Lacunosa Nightwatch...” The Honchcrow attempts to announce his presence with authority, though he finds his voice catching. “Show yourself at once.”

Trespasser! Please enjoy trespassing at the place of business. A gravelly voice calls out in what sounds to Oroitz like a rock-type language. Does the winged one seek business?

The Honchcrow watches in sheer confusion as a small Nosepass emerges from the darkness, wearing a little suit and tie. Atop his head is a large potato.

Mr. Nose wears the garb of business. A great businessnose, Mr. Nose has become. Mr. Nose offers a business handshake. The Nosepass waddles up to the befuddled bird and taps the potato atop his head gently against Oroitz' beak, which causes the tuber to tumble to the ground. The Nosepass does not seem to take notice, but instead motions to Oroitz joyfully. Now the bird, too, is business!

“I... what sort of transaction is going on, here?? And to call me a trespasser??” The Honchcrow puffs up slightly. "YOU are the one who is trespassing, I think you will find-"

Mr. Nose has started a lucrative business. The Nosepass waddles over to a laptop set up in the center of the main hall, and begins watching it intently.

“It... it isn't even turned on,” Oroitz comments, as he hops over to peer at the blank screen. Sure enough, not even the slightest flicker of light appears. Oroitz's sharp eyes even manage to pick up a few small cracks forming on the surface.

Mr. Nose has many finances to keep track of, the Nosepass gestures idly at an inexplicably massive pile of tiny coffins next to his laptop. Many crypts of currencies.

“Uh, Mr. Nose...”

That's Mr. Mr. Nose, the Nosepass says, puffing his chest.

“Right, Mr. Mr. Nose...”

That's Mr. Mr. Mr. Nose, his chest puffs even further.

“Mr. Mr. Mr. Mr. Nose?”

Too many Misters.

“Mr. Mr. Mr. Nose...”

Just Mr. Nose is fine.

Oroitz feels his right eye twitching uncontrollably. ”You”...

Who?

“JUST TELL ME WHO ELSE IS TRESPASSING HERE!!!” The crow practically screeches with indignance.

Mr. Nose senses burnout on the first day of the job. Mr. Nose suggests that winged one join Mr. Nose on a business trip.

“A... business trip...” The Honchcrow repeats, each word dripping with venom. The Nosepass nods brightly, and waddles off.

Yes, away the winged one and Mr. Nose must go, and spend time. Money is time.

“I think you mean that time is money...” The Honchcrow mutters, though out of morbid curiosity, he follows the Nosepass on his supposed business trip. Perhaps it would lead him to any others lurking about...

...

Oroitz had lost count of how many minutes the Nosepass had stared at the wall.

Staring at the wall, apparently, not only counted as a business trip, but one which caused the little Nosepass to yammer on excitedly – and at length, about the opportunities for revenue he was experiencing. Oroitz had clearly had enough.

“Mr. Nose...”

Please fetch Mr. Nose his coffee, the Nosepass requested politely. Oroitz did not even want to begin imagining what that might mean.

“Mr. Nose... I regret to inform you that you will need to practice your... business... or whatever it is... elsewhere.”

A brilliant idea! The bird thinks outside the box. Bigger! Better! More meetings! More meetings to plan meetings! Meetings to meet those that meet the meetings. Mr. Nose provides the promotion. Bird is promoted to no longer working for this business. Mr. Nose hands the Honchcrow a tiny pink slip, which upon closer inspection is a crumpled bubblegum wrapper, before the Nosepass waddles away.

“Cresselia Almighty... If I never see that ridiculous creature again, it will be too soo-”

The sound of rumbling catches Oroitz's ear. The Honchcrow flies to the window and peers outside, only to be met by a truly baffling sight: a long row of massive, armored trucks, all with an image of a potato painted on the side, driving away from the Mansion grounds. Oroitz didn't remember seeing those trucks before... There had to be ten, maybe fifteen of them... And was that Nosepass driving the one at the head of the pack? And why did his look like an armored taco truck...?

“That's it. That's it. Investigation over.” The Honchcrow takes wing and flies through the open door, not bothering to even shut it behind him. “This place is cursed. CURSED. Not even the Nightwatch should set foot in here.”

As the crow flies away, the door slowly shuts itself behind him.

Last edited by Marion Ette; 05-07-2022 at 01:50 PM.
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Old 08-31-2021, 07:34 PM   #14
Marion Ette
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LACUNOSA NIGHTWATCH LOGS: SELECTED EXERPTS REGARDING “LOVE TELLER” PHENOMENON
As reported by CYCLOPS-001-A/CAELUM (CAL) MYSTEWIND, COMMANDER


ASSIGNED OPERATIVES:

BLINDED
EYE-028-J/PETRI BAROJA
EYE-028-A/FFION ILTERENDI
EYE-028-C/NADIA SOLACE
EYE-028-N/VINCENT (VINCE) HAYES
EYE-028-F/EILIAN MARCH
EYE-028-O/COSELLE (MINERVA) ETTE ADMINISTRATIVE ERROR
Note: Investigations are still underway regarding EYE-028-O (now classified CYCLOPS-028-O) and her survival, given the level of exposure to the phenomenon, assessment of mental trauma sustained and psychological profile.

SURVIVING, SIGNIFICANT WOUNDS SUSTAINED
CYCLOPS-028-O/COSELLE (MINERVA) ETTE (CODE 883: PSYCHOLOGICAL/EMOTIONAL TORTURE, DELUSION, VISIONS)


LOG ENTRY #1

Over the course of routine data monitoring, Vince has discovered a strange statistical phenomenon centered within the [REDACTED] Region of Fizzytopia. Dramatic increases in the suicide rate over the past month, even when controlled for other factors such as weather and political unrest within the region, seem to be cause for significant concern. Though Ffion is well-versed in the region's customs and politics, Vince's level-headedness and personable attitude makes him a more natural choice for data gathering in this setting. As for Minerva, who is native to the region, I believe it would be detrimental to her psychological well-being at this point in her service to return to her homeland. We are still working through a lot of tangled emotional webs from her visit three months ago. Regardless, she will insist on being involved if she learns of these disturbances, which is why I have sworn Vince to secrecy for now. He has been given full authority to conduct an investigation on behalf of the Lacunosa Nightwatch.


LOG ENTRY #2

Through interviewing the locals and digging deeper into Fizzytopian Records, Vince has identified a common thread among 90% of the suicide victims in [REDACTED] within the last four weeks; it seems that all of them visited the brand new theme park in [REDACTED] between 48 and 155 hours before their deaths. Given that thousands of visitors have been recorded at the park each day, we estimate that about 3% of the parkgoers have been affected thus far in the past four weeks. To me, the data suggests there's a specific trigger within the park causing this behavior.

Vince has been cleared to visit the park and investigate further. After brief discussion over the phone, we both believe him to be psychologically resilient enough to weather whatever foe might be waiting – that said, he has still been advised to proceed with due caution.


LOG ENTRY #3

Vince has returned from the park and provided full testimony for our records. According to his observations and discussions with other parkgoers, popular consensus seems to be some form of “suicide contagion,” given the widely-publicized incident regarding a local socialite who had visited the park four weeks ago, who was reported to have unsecured the straps on her seat at the highest point of the drop tower ride, causing her to fall to her death. Initially ruled an accident, a hastily scrawled suicide note found on her body confirmed the act as intentional. The ride has received significant attention after the fact, and rumor has it that the drop ride itself might be cursed.

Vince made a point to go on the Drop Ride, of course. Rode it three times - gave an incredibly detailed report on his experience, in fact. His Swoobat was engaged and monitoring – both for supernatural activity, and to catch him should somehow his restraints give way. Between his first-hand experience and further research upon leaving the park, there isn't much to connect the ride to the statistical phenomenon we've observed.

In addition to his report, he also gave a detailed list of all the other activities he engaged with, which can be referenced as an Addendum. Far too long to list here.

I'm beginning to think that this was less an important investigation, and more an excuse for him to go to a damn theme park for the day. That said, I will hold my tongue for now. Vince is one of the best operatives we've had in years, and far be it from me to deny him this indulgence... as long as it does not become a habit.


LOG ENTRY #4

Multiple members of Unit 28 have approached me regarding an observed change in Vince's demeanor. They all report that he appears more sullen, reserved – as if something is on his mind. More alarmingly, though, is that he seems to be actively avoiding Nadia, which is fairly drastic, given that the two are usually inseparable when not on assignment.

I have spoken to Nadia privately, and while she is keenly aware of his change in behavior, she is not certain as to the cause. Nothing of note happened between them recently – simply that his behavior seemed to change towards her after returning from the theme park.

I have long suspected that Vince secretly harbors feelings for Nadia, and in speaking with the concerned members of Unit 28, I am only more convinced of this theory. Still, the others will keep an eye on them both, offering a friendly ear if necessary.


LOG ENTRY #5: [REDACTED]



LOG ENTRY #6

I am hesitant to send Eilian on-site at the theme park after [REDACTED], but losing both Vince and Nadia has left the rest of Unit 28 desperately seeking answers. Minerva has repeatedly offered to take Eilian's place, but I have refused each and every time.

Ffion recently found a slip of paper in the pocket of Vince's favorite jacket, which he last wore during his investigation of the park. Quality stock, 70mm x 120mm. The back depicts a Smoochum with a crystal ball in pink ink in the center, and the words “LOVE TELLER” in silver foil beneath. The front of the card, where presumably a fortune would be printed, appears to have nigh-illegible handwriting in black ink, which does not match Vince's. It appears also that, in Vince's handwriting, the name “NADIA” is written four times around the black scrawl.

Eilian's research has turned up another disturbing little detail. According to official Fizzytopian police records, the popular socialite who dropped to her death at the theme park did indeed write a hastily scrawled suicide note, the contents of which Vince had thoroughly researched already, but what was of particular interest was the paper upon which it was written – the police described it as “a card slightly larger than a typical playing card, with pink ink on the back.”

I have authorized Eilian to investigate the park, but they are not, under any circumstances, to touch or interact with the machine's mechanisms.


LOG ENTRY #7

Eilian has spoken with a number of janitorial and mechanical staff on-site, and has learned that the "Love Teller" machine not only exists within the park, but is generally avoided by park staff given rumors that it was originally an attraction at Phantom Isle, known for a particular incident which [REDACTED]. No one has serviced the Love Teller since it was brought to its current location, and general consensus among the workers seems to be that if it should eventually break, they will gladly leave it broken. As of yet, we have not been able to confirm the origins of the machine, though we have yet to find any records from Phantom Isle's history that would corroborate the rumors.

We have received the following description from Eilian's report:

Antique theme park “fortune teller” machine, containing an automoton resembling a Smoochum with a pink, heart-studded circlet around her head and a crystal ball. Simply labeled “LOVE TELLER”, the instructions printed by the coin slot seem to suggest that this machine works similarly to others of its ilk – insert credit, and the automaton animates. At the end of the automaton's performance, the machine is supposed to provide a printed card with some sort of randomized fortune.

Eilian testified that, once within two feet of the machine, the Smoochum inexplicably sprang to life without a coin being inserted, or being touched in any way. They described cheap, flashing lights, the automaton spinning about with an audible mechanical whirr, and a robotic, feminine voice encouraging them to approach and, quote, “Let Smoochum give you the Kiss of Good Fortune,” followed by an audible smooching sound.

Though Eilian did not touch the card as it was dispensed, a parkgoer – perhaps thinking they were being helpful – handed it to them. The fortune on the card was completely illegible, but Eilian reports immediate and profoundly disturbing visions upon attempting to read it, though Eilian is struggling to voice them at this time. The general theme is isolation and loneliness, from what others have gathered.

One thing of note that Eilian told me - as their mind filled with indescribable feelings, they could have sworn that the Smoochum winked at them with a malevolent look in its eye.

Eilian is to be under constant monitoring by qualified personnel until further notice.


LOG ENTRY #8: [REDACTED]



LOG ENTRY #9

If there's one thing I've learned today about Fizzytopian Police, it's that they loooooove to remind me of my lack of authority. That's all I've heard, all day, and I'm Arceus-damned sick of it.

We've lost three people. That's horrible enough. At this point, Fizzytopia's probably lost hundreds to this damnable machine. Their callousness is infuriating, but sadly unsurprising, given their history with us.

Without cooperation from authorities, Petri has proposed to sneak a small camera drone into the park after hours. Normally I would admonish Petri for his reluctance to involve himself directly in the investigation when his comrades risk their lives willingly on his behalf, but I am forced to admit this course of action is a prudent one.

We have done significant research into the history of this machine, and... while no connection to Phantom Isle has been unearthed, apparently the Love Teller was purchased from an antique shop located in [REDACTED] back in 2007. The purchasers were a Student Organization looking to raise funds by setting up the Love Teller in a campus recreation area located at [REDACTED]. Interestingly, we have reason to believe that Minerva's sister was in attendance at the university as an undergraduate at the time the Love Teller was stationed there.

Even more reason not to involve Minerva...


LOG ENTRY #10


That... thing somehow sensed Petri through the camera.

I don't know how.

Spat out an illegible fortune in view of the camera... He whelmed with trauma, right in front of us...

Miles and miles away from the park.

Of course, he is under constant monitoring by qualified personnel until further notice, but I know full well how this will end.


LOG ENTRY #11: [REDACTED]



LOG ENTRY #12

I do not have it in me to continue to attempt quelling Minerva and Ffion's combined fury. Day in. Day out. It never stops.

If they continue to challenge, to debate – to outright berate and insult me – regarding my decision to call off this investigation and leave it to those ever-so-respectable and responsible Fizzytopian Authorities which have given us NO HELP WHATSOEVER -

Then what can I do?

They both seem intent on signing their own death certificates, and nothing I say will get through to either of them.

They have both been ordered to remain on base until further notice while I sort out my thoughts... Though if anything, I would say those two need to seriously get their thoughts in order.


LOG ENTRY #13

Ffion Ilterendi and Coselle Ette have defied my direct orders.

Unit 29 is tracking their whereabouts, and will extract them if necessary.

If that cursed machine doesn't kill them... I swear to Arceus, I will.


LOG ENTRY #14

Front page news of the Fizzytopian Times... LOVE TELLER FOREVER SPEECHLESS: VANDALS DESTROY BELOVED THEME PARK MACHINE UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS.

No suspects identified at this time. No suspects, my ass.

Ffion and Minerva have been returned to base by Unit 29. Illegible fortunes were found in the pockets of both women, and both are showing signs of significant mental trauma. Neither will discuss what they've done, and both were unfortunately quite well-trained in hiding their tracks... by yours truly, no less.

Fizzytopian Police will not be contacted. Not that they would be of any help, but with Minerva's direct involvement, it's ultimately better they not catch wind of her presence there.

From what I understand, Ffion's delusions center around this mysterious, “perfect” person that Ffion knows to be deceased. Ffion is convinced that the two will be reunited in death, and has already made three attempts on her own life under our custody since extraction.

I have taken it upon myself to research this mysterious person, and unfortunately – it seems they did exist, and was indeed a possible early victim of the “Love Teller”.

As Ffion is already under strict surveillance, it is understood that she is not to access any form of internet or search the records.

Minerva is not speaking to anyone, staring off into space, vacant. When not under direct physical observation, the cameras have caught her muttering the names “Keith” and “Willa” over and over again.

I have already made a point to say my heartfelt goodbyes to them both, knowing what's coming.

It never gets any easier...


LOG ENTRY #15: [REDACTED]



LOG ENTRY #16

Minerva still will not talk about her experience – or her visions – with anyone. She walks circles around her room, expressionless – vacant.

We have told her of the Administrative Error regarding the death notices. At first, she did not say anything at all; however, she eventually requested that I do not send corrections to her family and friends.

When pressed on why she would request such a thing, she simply stated, “It was meant to be this way.”

Unit 29 has her under continuous surveillance. I wish I could say that her survival was a miracle, but it has been... taxing, on all of us.

She is a Cyclops, now. The single Eye remaining of Unit 28.

I know her pain with intimate familiarity, and yet, cannot comprehend her inner workings at all. A frustrating paradox.


LOG ENTRY #17

Minerva finally will consent to speak, but with Lora, and Lora only.

Though my wife is sworn to secrecy, she has made it clear to Minerva that she will reveal to me any details if she believes keeping said secrecy would be a danger to herself or to others.

To date, Lora has told me... absolutely nothing.

Well, that's not entirely true... but nothing that I wouldn't have already guessed.

The content of Minerva's visions concern the future. The love of her life moving on, finding someone else, marrying, having a child. Being happy without her. Fears that already existed within her heart, which have been magnified in excruciating detail.

Similar to Ffion's visions, we have confirmed that “Willa Carnet” is an existing person, whose description is identical to the one Minerva relates.

Can we continue to call them delusions, then, if there is the possibility that they reflect what can be accurately called the future?

Lora assures me that the danger has passed – insists that I need to let it go. To trust Minerva, and simply be thankful that she survived the ordeal in the first place, and that the machine is destroyed.

Easier said than done, but I will do my best to try.

I just wish I could shake this sense of foreboding...

Last edited by Marion Ette; 05-07-2022 at 02:05 PM.
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Old 09-14-2021, 06:12 PM   #15
Marion Ette
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Meowth's Meeting II
The Night Gathering



Time did strange things to Minerva's visions.

At first, there were horribly intense mental snapshots, insistent thoughts of rejection and abandonment that crashed over her like a tidal wave, brought on the ever-persistent, ever-urgent feeling of drowning, of losing her breath, of dying. These emotionally impactful events lessened over time, and this was the sole blessing for which Minerva could be grateful. But as this aspect of complete emotional destruction deadened itself - likely from equal parts growing inner strength, deadening to the shock, and the support of her comrades and Pokemon - the length, precision and detail of her visions sharpened, slowly but surely, until the Spring of 2019, when, in a moment of particularly painful clarity, she knew the time for waiting was nearly over.

One May morning, Minerva awoke from a particularly heavy slumber - odd, as she was known for her issues with insomnia - and screamed for Oroitz. The bird had never flown faster from his perch before or since. Often he reflected that, should someone ever try erasing his memory again, there was no amount of proverbial brain bleach that would wash that horrible sound away.

"MINERVA! Whatever is the matter? What must I do?" The crow inspected his dear friend for any injuries, and, upon finding nothing physical, rested his eyes on hers... and saw immediately that the blow had been dealt behind that horrified gaze.

"Oroitz... Oroitz, I-" Minerva takes a deep breath, trying to collect herself. "I did what Cal told me to do -"

Oroitz knew full well. The visions had been bad enough, but the dreams... Minerva described them as being trapped behind glass, inches away from Keith and Willa - sometimes, Maribel too - and being unable to touch or speak to them, no matter how much she banged against her prison. No matter how loudly, how hoarsely she cried out, they could not hear her, see her, sense her. They went on, with their happy little lives, as Minerva could do nothing but observe.

Having done enough passive information gathering around HQ to figure out Minerva's latest troubles, Cal had suggested that Minerva may be able to take some control - find some peace of mind. Even if she couldn't interact with the subjects of her dream, perhaps she could try using lucid dreaming techniques to bring objects, people and Pokemon into the dream with her.

At first, Minerva tried weapons - tried summoning forth dreamlike versions of her precious Pokemon, to break the glass - but even if they succeeded, the wall would regrow faster than Minerva could be free of it. Trying to speed past it just ended in her crashing into the regrown wall, or waking up entirely.

"Instead of trying to break the wall... or make my voice heard... anything like that -" Minerva pauses, a slight smile on her face despite her distress - "I decided to imagine my smartwatch."

"Mm, clever," Oroitz affirms. "And prudent at this juncture. If we know the exact date and time that these visions will supposedly come to pass -"

At this, Minerva narrows her eyes, but Oroitz remains steadfast. "...We can stop torturing you. Torturing poor Keith, as well. You can return to Fizzytopia, explain all that has happened, and we can end this, as we should have years ago, might I add -"

"The dream I had -" Minerva interrupts, lacking the energy to revive this argument for what was likely the thousandth time - "Was not one of Keith and Willa, per se. Perhaps this is why I had such success with not only manifesting the watch, but also reading the face of it."

"Tell me the time, the place, the actors," Oroitz dutifully responds, "and I will go to prove these delusions to be what they are. Delusions. Nothing more."

"Sure of yourself, as always," Minerva remarks darkly.

"I am the one who has kept eyes on the man for the past two years, remember," Oroitz counters, self-assured. "I have seen how much he misses you, I know excruciatingly well how much your absence hurts him. I refuse to believe that he loves - has loved - or ever Willa love -"

He thought the little pun might make Minerva crack a smile.

It did not.

Coughing with embarrassment, he continues - "Erm, yes, well - I refuse to believe that he loves, has loved, or will love anyone as he loves you. It is simply not possible. You are being completely unreasonable, as I have said before. Still, I understand that you are likely under the residual effects of that thrice-damned Love Teller machine, so reasonable thought is difficult -"

"May 30th, 2019."

"That soon?" Oroitz squawks. "Why, the end really is in sight -"

"8:00 PM, Unova time."

"And the place?"

"Keith Masters' dining room."

"I will position myself outside. What should I listen for?"

Minerva hangs her head, fighting back tears. "Just..."

"Hm?"

"Just like... when we started dating... so many years ago -"

Oroitz flies up to Minerva's shoulder, perching softly and resting his head on hers. "Take your time," he coos gently.

"Meowth -"

"Meowth?"

"Meowth will make an announcement."

At this, Oroitz blinked with bewilderment.

"Meowth... made an announcement when the two of you started dating?"

"Yes. To all of Keith's Pokemon. There are so many of them, you know -"

"I know full well," Oroitz grumbles.

"And it was... it was like deja vu - like the same damn meeting that his Pokemon told me about before, long ago, except -"

"Say no more," Oroitz interrupts, as he steadies himself against his trainer's shoulders heaving with sobs. "I think you should wake Bia up with some breakfast and take a walk together. Clear your head. Let me handle this from here. I will schedule the 30th of May - as well as the full week before and full week after - for 24/7 Fizzytopian recon, with permission from Cal. A mere formality, of course, given he understands how important this -"

"Oroitz..."

"Yes, my dear?" The crow cocks his head to one side, noting the gravity of her expression.

"If it turns out that you're wrong -"

"I'm not." Oroitz puffs up with assurance.

"Even so, let's say, hypothetically -"

"A waste of time to consider such a -"

"OROITZ," Minerva growls, and the bird clamps his beak shut. "If, in this fantasy world of mine, you are wrong, please -" Minerva sighs, a deep, shuddering breath. "Please forgive Keith. Please."

"Luckily," Oroitz says, walking confidently out the door, "I will not even have to consider that. Because I would not be one to forgive, Minerva. You know that."

"Luckily..." Minerva echoes, her eyes hollow.

"Just think, Minerva -" Oroitz's eyes gleam with delight, "Come June, you will be back in Fizzytopia, and this horrible nightmare will be over. You and Keith will be reunited. Happily in love, once again." His beak takes the shape of a grin, as his mind fills with visions of his own. "June is the time for weddings, you know, traditionally. Perhaps the two of you could finally settle down and have that family you always wanted - Minerva? Minerva, are you listening to me?"

Distant. Vacant. Unmoving.

It filled Oroitz with no small bit of regret to see her this way, no doubt triggered by his assurances of the future. But knowing what he knew, and seeing what he saw, the future couldn't be anything but rosy once the month was over, and the sooner she saw things his way, the better for everyone involved.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post

It was a quiet day in Fizzytopia. Well, most of Fizzytopia, anyway. In a private room of the local bar- er, rather, in the large, spacious, and largely unused dining room of Keith Masters, a motley collection of Pokémon were gathered...
Positioning himself beside a rather grim trophy in the living room - the stuffed remains of Neville the Stunfisk - Oroitz holds his ear against the door to the dining room, his heart sinking as the sounds of a crowd of Pokemon fill his ears.

Recon had turned up... disturbing details. The moment Oroitz feared had come to pass - Keith Masters and Willa Carnet had met. Not only that, but surveillance of the Sludge Wave Coast had revealed that she and her Pokemon were staying there currently.

Oroitz was not usually one to snoop behind closed doors, and he left the private affairs of Keith and Willa as private as he could - but if Minerva's dream was to be believed, exceptions would have to be made.


Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
"Hey! Hey! Order! I want order in dis room!" Meowth shouted. Though several of the Pokemon quieted down, many of them continued carrying on with their conversations. At this, Meowth sighed, muttering to himself, "Didn't wanna hafta do dis..." as he produced a small chalkboard from behind the podium, and Scratching at it slowly with the claws on his front right paw.
Oroitz winces at the sound, but holds his beak shut. While it was difficult to make out the voices of other Pokemon, Oroitz was fortunate enough that the speaker of the hour had a big meowth mouth.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
"Now, den," continued Meowth. "Dose of youse wat been wit da team fer a long time'll have kind of an idea wat dis could be about, as I only called a meetin' like dis once before. And unlike last time, I also invited our guests to attend, as dis concerns deir Trainer as well." He said this with a nod of acknowledgement to the Yanmega and Eelektross in the room, who nodded back.
Only once before...

Oroitz bristles, recalling Minerva's feelings of deja vu upon relating the content of her dream. As horrible as this speech was to listen to himself, he could only imagine how Minerva must have felt, watching -

No. No. This was NOT her dream. It couldn't be.

More talking. More distractions. Oroitz's heart was racing. Surely, the announcement would be made soon, and it would be... it would be them kicking Willa out of the house! Or maybe Meowth had decided to evolve after all! Or maybe -


Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
"Now den, fer da big, major announcement I called youse all here ta say- it gives me great pleasure ta be able ta say -"
Oh Arceus, please -

Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
"once more-"
No, no, no -

Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
"dat our Trainer has a girlfriend."
Oroitz kept his wings firmly planted over his mouth, but his mind echoed with horrifying screams - Minerva's screams, that fateful morning.

Was this... Was this what it was like, for her...? Behind the door, screaming her lungs out, but no one could hear...?


Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
This statement was met with many murmurs of approval among Keith's Pokémon. Both Banette nodded approvingly, neither one looking particularly surprised.
Oroitz wanted to kill them. Each and every one. Slowly. Painfully. Rip their eyes out with his beak. Slice their wrists, fins, wings, antennae, throats with his talons. Send their remains sailing in the Banette's Revenge, and burn the boat full of corpses until the flaming ruins sunk into the cold, unfeeling ocean, as he flew away, screeching with maniacal laughter.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
"By a show o' hands, or paws, or watever youse gots ta raise, who here tinks dey know who it is? Or actually knows? Whicheva."
Oh, oh! I know the answer! Call on me! If I raise my wing and guess the answer correctly, do I win a f***ing prize? Is it your f***ing corpse, freshly killed by yours truly? Maybe I can bring it back to Minerva. She'll LOVE it. Put a string on the back, put a voicebox inside, so she can pull it whenever she wants to hear you narrate your own miserable demise. Damn you. Damn you all.

But wait... A thought stops Oroitz's internal homicidal tirade. Surely - surely Liliana, Marion's former Dusknoir and, in life, Minerva's former Umbreon - maybe she would oppose this madness? Would she talk sense into this awful crowd...?


Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
"So we all good now?" Meowth asked. "We all approve?" And this time, the response was wholly unanimous and positive, including from Yanmega and Eelektross.

"Good," he nodded.

"So wait- where is Keith?" asked Liliana, one of the Dusknoir.

"Ah, yeah," nodded Meowth. "Well, he and Willa are... currently in da process of... approvin' o' one anotha," he said delicately.
Come now, Oroitz thinks, surely, you have more to say than asking where Keith is, Liliana - and enduring that horrible turn of phrase for mating behavior? Disgusting.

But if Liliana opposed this brand new development in Keith's life - or Meowth's choice of words - she did not voice it.


Quote:
Originally Posted by Missingno. Master View Post
"Alright, den, dat's everyting I wanted ta cover," Meowth stated. "Dis meetin' is adjourned."
That was Oroitz's cue to fly the coop. Though he leaves as silently as he arrived, his mind whirrs with unbearable sound and fury.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



Night had fallen, and the pale moon rose: a waning crescent, shining softly in the clear, starlit sky.

Atop the highest tree in the Tree Grove - a place where no humans could go - Oroitz stares up towards the moon, painfully alone, shaking with rage. He could not go back just yet, no... not so raw with emotion. And how - how could he find the strength to tell Minerva what had just transpired?

It was too much for one bird to bear. Far, far too much. Long had he known himself to be a Summoner of Night, though his flock had long since been lost to him. Even so, he finds himself compelled to bellow into the awaiting arms of night - a deep, dark, sorrowful cry - and in moments, the starlight sky turns black with the wings of Murkrow.

Flocking around the base of the tree, looking intently up at Oroitz, the multitude waits in rapt attention for orders from the Big Boss Pokemon. Sure, he was a stranger to them - but a cry so powerful was not one to be ignored. Their presence - ready and waiting - awakened memories of a more commanding past, and made him feel - in this, the most helpless moment of his life - a little more in control, if temporarily.

"Brethren of Darkness," he begins, his voice booming with might and authority, "I call upon you to heed my words and etch them upon your hearts. The one known as Keith Golbatson Masters -"

He flaps open his wings, lifting his head with barely-controlled rage -

"He has betrayed my closest friend - the one known to the Night as Minerva. Though Minerva loves Keith, he has taken another to be his mate. In doing so, he has also betrayed my trust in his unfailing love and impeccable judgment. He has betrayed me."

"What would you have us do, Boss?" One of the multitude of Murkrow asks, practically hopping with eagerness.

"We can poop on all his stuff!" One Murkrow suggests.

"We can sing outside his window all night so that he never gets any sleep!" Another offers.

"We can eat all his cookies!" A third cries out.

"EAT ALL HIS COOKIES! EAT ALL HIS COOKIES!" The Murkrow chant in unison... that is, until Oroitz clears his throat, and they all immediately cease their chanting, looking up intently.

"Should Minerva call for revenge, I will grant it. We will grant it. A thousand thousand times over," Oroitz growls. "But tonight, I have called you here for a different purpose."

Oroitz takes a deep breath, scanning the expectant faces below.

"Mine is a heart full of rage. Full of heartbreak. These burdens, tonight, I wish to offer to the Moon, to lift them from my heart. I call upon you now - bretheren, friends - to offer the burdens of your own hearts alongside me. I call upon you all now to join me in a song of sadness - of anger - of betrayal - that the world may know our hurt, and that all will cry out with us, and mark this night as one in which the sorrows of the birdfolk were lifted like wings upon the sky."

At first, the Murkrow look a bit confused. They had expected some sort of call to revenge... and if not revenge, at least some act of petty theft (preferably involving something sweet). Murmurs sweep through the murder of crows, as they try to make sense of Oroitz's command.

It is at this moment that one of the Murkrow - a particularly small one - steps forward, separating herself from the crowd.

"Mr. Boss Man," she begins, her eyes filling with tears, "A trainer caught my brother this morning. He seems like a nice trainer, and I am sure that, with his guidance, my brother will grow up big and strong like you." The small Murkrow shudders with grief, tears streaming down her feathered cheeks. "But I don't know when I'll see him again. If I'll ever see him again. I... I..."

Throwing her head back, the tiny Murkrow lets out an unearthly, bellowing cry of pain and sorrow.

Another Murkrow steps forward, with another heartbreaking story. And another steps forward. And another.

The stories come one at a time, at first. Then in twos and threes, overlapping one another. Then an indecipherable cacophony.

And ultimately - all the stories, all the tears, all the "Mr. Boss Man"s - become united in a singular, earth-shattering wail.

Oroitz tilts his head back and joins the Murkrow, releasing his own sorrows at the very top of his voice, the haunting cry echoing across Fizzytopia.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



There were a lot of rumors about that night... mostly spread by Oroitz.

He claimed that sorrows of the crows had moved the Night Mother so intensely that she spread their cry across the entire earth.

He claimed that even the legendary birds themselves - Articuno, Zapdos and Moltres - heard the cries within their dens, and lifted their voices to join the night's chorus.

While none could prove these spectacular claims, there was one kernel of truth -

That night, one of several spent anxious and unblinking when sleep should come - Minerva had decided to take a walk outside and take a breath of fresh air.

The moment she opened the door, her ears were filled with the strangest sound - the birds of Unova, crying out into the darkness, as if some great tragedy had befallen them.

Long past were the days that Minerva could understand their language, and - even if she could - their sorrows would have been many, varied and personal to each bird.

Yet, the moment the sound reached Minerva's ears...

She knew.

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Old 09-23-2021, 09:11 PM   #16
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Dining with the Dead, Part 1

Five months after the incident that took the lives of nearly all remaining members of Unit 28, Minerva felt herself recovered from her psychological wounds just enough that she was willing to go to the dining hall and eat with the other members of the Nightwatch. At this juncture, she was peripherally aware of Unit 29 - monitoring her, feeding her, running vitals, reporting progress to Cal and Lora, as they attempted to balance this care with a myriad of other duties - and, of course, coping with their own heavy losses, typical of a newer Unit. If she remembered correctly, this was a larger unit than Minerva's, with over twenty recruits signing on. At last count, she believed nine remained. Through the haze of her constant, distressing visions, their faces and names had been a blur - and Minerva felt no small measure of guilt over that. If for no other reason, she needed to gather her strength to get to know those who believed in her enough to nurse her back from the brink.

Despite her intent, however, Minerva is immediately derailed by a vision which momentarily brings into question all that she had experienced. For there, at the table in the far corner, sat Nadia Solace... and, sitting across from her, another Nadia Solace, likely Zoroark - P-028-CS, or P28, for short - presenting as her favorite person. But Vince was not there, and the realization quickly hits Minerva that P28 could create a thousand Nadias if she was of a mind to do it. The pair were illusions, no doubt. Even so, Minerva held particular regard for the illusionist known as P28, and the two now shared a common bond of loss which compelled her to join their table and check in on the Zoroark.

Both Nadias wave to Minerva, gesturing for her to sit with them. A particularly scrumptuous plate of food sits between them - a Mediterranian mezze platter, replete with stuffed grape leaves, hunks of marinated feta, hummus, tabbouleh, tzatziki, baba ganoush - and, of course, plenty of olives and pita. Nadia had been a strict vegetarian, after all, and often she had separate meals from the others - but this particular spread had Minerva's mouth watering.

"May I?" Minerva asks, motioning toward the food. Given the inhuman grin that spreads across the face of the Nadia across from her, she could only assume that this was P28 in disguise.

"Of course, Minerva! After all you've been through, you should sit and enjoy a nice meal with us," P28 remarks, in surprisingly good spirits, as the illusionary Nadia wraps an arm around Minerva, giving her a side-hug.

The arm feels... cold. A shiver runs up Minerva's spine - the type that would make those less accustomed to the supernatural jump up and scream in terror - but, for Minerva, simply makes her curious. Seemed odd, for an illusion, particularly one woven by the talented P28 - shouldn't she feel real?

"I'm so sorry I haven't visited you while you were recovering," the illusion says, her blue eyes full of regret. "I thought... well, I thought you might not want to see me -"

"Foolish notion, isn't it?" P28 stuffs her mouth with a stuffed grape leaf, scarfing it down with particular relish. "Of course you would want to see Nadia." P28 turns to her illusion, gesturing to Minerva with apparent validation. "Look how much happier Minerva is already, now that she's with us - with you!"

P28 didn't lie. Even knowing it was an illusion - it was a happy one, of a dearly-missed friend. And illusory Nadia's face immediately lights up at those words, so of course, Minerva couldn't help but smile, too.

"Well, as long as you're happy now, right?" Nadia boops Minerva playfully on the nose, causing her to wrinkle said nose with mild annoyance. Cold finger... Very, very cold...

"Of course I am," Minerva responds, half-lying. Even now, her ears were ringing with the sound of Keith Masters' voice proclaiming his love to another woman - but the moment she rips a piece of pita and helps herself to some baba ganoush, the overwhelming din seems to quiet somewhat.

"By the way... what happened to your hair?? Didn't it used to be black?" Illusory Nadia gently plucks a stray hair from Minerva's shoulder, examining it.

Minerva looks a bit confused. "What do you mean, it's not...?" When was the last time I looked in the mirror? Minerva shudders. I don't know if I want to see myself, right now...

Unfortunately, Minerva has no choice, as P28 illuminates with pink light, shifting herself to a perfect imitation of Minerva as she now was - shock-white hair and all. The true Minerva practically gasps with surprise at the dramatic change, causing P28 to immediately revert to Nadia.

"My apologies," P28 quickly says, "I didn't realize -"

"Well, neither did I," Minerva sputters. "Giratina below -"

"You look great, as you always do," illusory Nadia affirms. "Don't worry about it."

"So do you," Minerva responds, not missing a beat. Despite the compliment to Nadia, it is P28 who smiles.

The trio eat together, reminiscing about the past, and the friends they lost - and for the first time in months, Minerva feels well and truly full.

Well and truly happy.

~*~

"Don't let up, Bia! Keep punching!"

The little bear - still a Stufful, though she would not be for much longer - pounds at her punching bag with gusto. Minerva, too, seems full of energy - and due, in no small part, to her meals with the Nadias. Indeed, every meal and drink she had over the past couple of days was with them - and as she ate with them, she felt her heart and mind healing.

"Bia, you're doing great! You're doing -"

Minerva falters, grabbing her head. A sudden onset of dizziness, as her face flushed with heat. What was going on -

"You're..."

Her head spun. She stumbled forward.

"Actually, I think we need to take... take a break..."

Minerva falls to the ground, only vaguely aware of Bia's distressed cry and the member of Unit 29 who rushes to her aid, shouting something that she can't understand.

~*~

"How the hell did this happen, Minerva?" Lora speaks in a raised voice to the woman laid out on her bed - not so much out of anger, but out of concern - "You were severely dehydrated. You could have died, Minerva. Is this how you're choosing to go? Because I'm telling you -"

"I don't understand, Lora," Minerva responds, shaking her head. "I HAVE been eating and drinking plenty. P28 and I -"

A sudden dawning of comprehension overcomes Lora's face, and her eyes narrow.

"I see," she finally says. "So you've been dining with the dead, have you? That stops now."

Minerva pushes herself up to a seating position. "But - but I've been so happy to see them again, I -"

"Oh, you can still see them, Minerva," Lora concedes, "but you have to bring your own food from now on. You can't eat what's on that table. That food is -"

"Is what?" Minerva leans closer to Lora, aching to understand why such wonderful food would have such horrible effects on her, after all the good it seemed to do. Lora sighs, and sits on the bed beside Minerva, trying to calm herself down from her previous upset.

"Minerva, there's an old tradition among Zoroark. It's rare to see, and it only occurs when said Zoroark has lost someone that they cannot emotionally bear to live without. Cal and I have been watching P28 closely, so I'm going to ask you to leave this to us, but - " Lora pauses, choosing her words carefully. "P28 has been setting out illusory banquets for herself ever since Nadia was blinded, and she has been exclusively feasting on illusion."

"For five months?" Minerva stares in disbelief. "How is she still alive?"

"Pokemon are resilient, Minerva," Lora explains, "and Zoroark can live off of illusions better than most can. But she won't forever. Eventually..."

"...She will starve herself to death," Minerva finishes the sentence with a grim countenance.

"Yes, exactly. That is the ultimate goal of the practice - to dine with the dead for so long that you join them." Lora gently pats Minerva on the shoulder. "But you - you are lucky enough to still have the opportunity to break bread with the living." She glares at Minerva meaningfully. "Don't waste it."

~*~

Covered with flour and regret, Minerva stares at the sad, burned tarts that she had pulled a few solid minutes too late from the small dining hall oven - screaming and swearing the whole time.

Bedivere had made it look so effortless, when he used to cook for everyone. Then again, he didn't have to cope with horrifying visions that would distract her from things like keeping track of how much baking soda she added, or kneading the dough to just the right consistency - or paying attention to timers. She had thought, perhaps, that one of his famous tart recipes - one of the less questionable ones, at any rate (they had to be vegetarian, after all) - would be enough to compel the Nadias to partake in something real.

With a sad sigh, Minerva scrapes the black-bottomed tarts from the baking tray and plops them on a plate. With no time left to make a better batch before lunch time, she was resolved to eat her failures.

As Minerva approaches with the plate of rejects, P28's expression immediately turns annoyed - perhaps, even insulted. She raises a finger and opens her mouth to complain, but the illusory Nadia takes one look at the tarts and immediately bursts into uproarious laughter.

"Oh my Arceus, look at these!! What, did you take a baking class from an angry Charmander or something?? HAH!" Nadia grins. "You have to be the worst cook I've ever seen, Minerva."

With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, the illusory Nadia picks up one of the charred remains of presumably edible ingredients, and puts it front and center on P28's plate. "I dare you to try one."

"What? You -" P28 looks down in horror at the tart. "You... can't be serious."

"I was never more serious," Nadia places her hands on her hips, before pointing at P28 with a faux-commanding posture. "As your trainer, I COMMAND you to try one of them!"

P28 sits in complete disbelief. The illusory Nadia laughs, and picks a burned tart up for herself.

"Here, if it makes you feel better..." Opening her mouth wide, she consumes the tart in two, quick bites, shuddering with absolute disgust. "The bottom tastes like I licked the underside of the grill after the Nightwatch barbecue, and they're hard as rocks. Ohhhhhhh, it is bad."

P28 growls, shooting a glare at Minerva.

"Thanks for ruining our appetites," P28 snidely remarks, before taking a tart and - hesitantly at first, but then ravenously - eats the tart, and all the remaining rejects with it.

"See? Not so bad, for the worst thing you ever ate," the illusory Nadia giggles. Minerva - realizing that she is now without a lunch - gets up, intending to sneak some food from the nearby café.

"Oh, Minerva -" the illusory Nadia says, "If you're planning on going to the café... Would you bring something back for me?" Nadia blinks her big, blue eyes, making them particularly wide and puppy-dog like. "I haven't been in so long, and I used to love their croissants."

"Make that two," P28 grudgingly says. "...Or maybe three."

As the illusory Nadia waves Minerva off, for a brief moment, the white-haired woman could absolutely swear that she looked translucent, haunted - ghostlike.

Minerva shakes the thought out of her mind, and walks off to the café, aware that the pair of Nadias' eyes followed her as she left.

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Old 10-02-2021, 10:29 AM   #17
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Dining with the Dead, Part 2

They were the only two in the entire world, it felt like.

A single table, set perfectly in the center of a narrow and cozy, yet excessively lavish restaurant, barely the size of a single hotel room. Two women, nearly identical to one another, sit with somber expressions, at odds with the opulent atmosphere.

"I really don't think you should have -"

"Shhh. This meal is a special one, Nadia. No lengths are too far - no expense too great." The woman speaking forces a wide grin - too wide - wolfish.

"We shouldn't be here," the one called Nadia responds, her expression increasingly revealing her worry. "We should be at a Pokémon Center, P28. I know you're hiding it, but you're still -"

"Shhhhhhhh."

A shadowy figure in a waistcoat approaches, wordlessly placing a plate and silverware in front of Nadia, before bowing to P28 and walking away.

"Where's your plate, P?" Nadia asks, her voice rising, becoming shrill. "I don't like this. I don't like any of this..."

"Relax. Please, Nadia. This is supposed to be a celebratory meal, isn't it?" P28's eyes regard her beloved friend with concealed emotion. "The mission was a success, as we knew it would be."

"But that curse, it's -"

"We can go to the Pokémon Center after you eat." P28 concedes.

"Do you promise?"

"I don't make promises. You know that." P28 sighs. "The only thing I will ever promise you, Nadia, is that I will love you as long as I have heart and mind with which to hold you in - in this world or the next. Anything else... Well. Our world is not one made for promises."

The pair are silent, for awhile. Nadia plays with her fork, eyes downcast, as P28 stands up, pacing the table. Finally, she turns to Nadia, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Do you promise the same?" She asks.

"I do," Nadia responds without hesitation. "Of course I do."

With a nod of belief, P28 makes a swift motion with her hand, revealing a strange, yet beautiful object on the plate before Nadia; a single Starf berry, P28's favorite fruit, which seems to be composed entirely of shadow. Nadia reaches out to the strange fruit, though she hesitates at first... The insistent expression on P28's face encourages her to try a tentative bite.

The taste was like nothing Nadia could describe. Like night rain - like a cool shadow on a hot summer's day - like dreamless sleep, nestled in the embrace of a loved one. Like the living womb and like the lifeless grave. A taste like love, or what she knew of it. It filled some deep craving, yet she felt the need to savor it, lest it slip away from her.

P28 watches with a wistful grin as her dear friend eats the meal prepared for her. The meal she had been planning for years, now. And, as her human face began to fade away, as she knew it would, it was certain - everything was going exactly as she'd hoped it would.

So enraptured in the taste of the berry, Nadia did not realize the world was crumbling around her. Pictures falling to the ground, frames shattering - waiters melting into the floor - furnishings vanishing into thin air. As the elegant table buckles and bows, the last scraps of berry consumed, Nadia finally looks up, to see P28 no longer veiled by illusion - all that remained was a still, lifeless Zoroark, sitting with a smile on her face.

Nadia wails with raw grief, throwing herself at the body, holding it to her, though her own form was fading quickly - after all, she, too, was not living, and had not been for a very long time - and in that moment, she feels a voice within her.

It's time to let go of that old bag of bones, the familiar voice whispers within her, laughing softly.

"This... this isn't funny!" Nadia cries out, tears streaming from her eyes. "Stop with the corpse shit! It's creeping me out! Please... please tell me it's all an illusion..."

Nothing to be afraid of, the voice reassures, as Nadia feels her consciousness fading away - yet, somehow, this feeling does not scare her. You won't be alone. You'll never be alone again. Wherever we go, wherever we're headed now... We're going together.

"P28... Nadia..." the woman calls out, her entire world fading to black. "I love you..."

Like the lifeless grave.

Like the living womb.

~*~

"P28! P28! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR RIGHT THIS FUCKING SECOND, DAMMIT!"

Minerva gives a single nod to Bia, and the giant bear knocks the hotel room door down with a single, effortless thwack.

"ANSWER ME RIGHT- Oh. Oh no. Oh Giratina, no -"

"Stay grounded, Cyclops. Tell me what you see." The voice of Cal through Minerva's speakerphone is steady, reassuring, and still, Minerva cannot help but fall to her knees.

Traces of illusion still clung to the corners of the room - the vague scent of fruit, the faint strains of music, carpet fading from plush, dark wool into cheap, tan nylon. A single table sat in the center of the room, and there, sitting on a single, broken chair, was the smiling corpse of P28.

"She's... she's dead, Cal."

Bia gently lifts her trainer up, back onto her feet, before hugging her close. Her eyes fall on P28, and the shimmer of tears form in the bear's eyes.

"As expected, I'm afraid." The voice pauses. "I'm sorry, Minerva. We knew about the physical starvation, and did our best to treat it, but the very idea that a Pokémon was capable of feeding her own soul to -"

"How long was she staying here? Dammit, Cal, she was three doors down from my fucking room. If I had known what she was planning -"

The sound of rustling paper crinkles through the phone. "Hard to tell. Possible she was only here for a few days... but she was capable of checking into the same room repeatedly with multiple identities. We'll have to do some digging on that... but honestly, even if you did know, Minerva... She's stubborn. She would have found a way, regardless. At least, that's what my psychics are assuring me... and really, that's the only thing keeping me from thoroughly reprimanding that fool Gothita of yours."

"Astrophel? He knew?"

"Saw a number of possible futures and saw no way around it, or so he claims. The assessment, unfortunately, seems to be an honest one."

Minerva sighs heavily. "What do I do?"

"Reclaim her research. Don't leave a single scrap behind. She was clearly working hard behind the scenes, given all the intel she got her paws on. We have someone en route to bring the body back to Unova... she'll be buried with Nadia."

"Understood."

Bia lets go of Minerva reluctantly, sniffing about for papers, files, electronics. As the pair perform their grim task, the white-haired woman notices a piece of notebook paper held in P28's hand... With an apologic word and a gentle pull, Minerva retrieves the paper, surprised to see her name written on top of it.

Minerva -

I hope you're not too upset with me right now. I know I didn't give you or Bia much of a chance to say goodbye, but I'm bad with that kind of thing. Besides... you'd try to talk me out of it, and don't pretend like you wouldn't! Anyway... it isn't goodbye, you know. You and I will see each other again, sooner than you think. Oh, that probably sounds like a threat. Shit... It isn't, though. This soul of ours... This single, beautiful soul... It's going to come back brighter than ever. You'll see.

Love you, girl. You and Bia stay strong as always while we're away, okay? And try not to let Oroitz drive you too crazy!

xo Nadia

P.S. Tell Terri, Astrophel and all our friends thank you for me! Please promise her that we'll both visit as soon as we can. I don't normally make promises, but... today's a day for exceptions.

Minerva reads the letter out, as Bia listens quietly. The speakerphone, too, is quiet, only interjecting after a long pause.

"...So that was the end goal, then. It all makes sense now."

"What does, Commander?"

"Why else would she choose to die in Fizzytopia, of all places - why not in Unova, where Nadia died?"

"Beats me," Minerva responds with a shrug. "Why would she -"

The thought occurs to her suddenly, powerfully. "Because she plans to somehow be reborn here... And she wants me to be there for her when she is."

"Bingo."

"How... how long will that take?"

"Weeks. Months. Years."

"So... you're telling me I might be here for years waiting for her???"

"You've got a lot to make peace with, Minerva. I don't envy you. Deep breaths, okay? Now give the room another sweep and get what you can, then go get some rest. I'll ask the Eyes to do a sweep of their own, too, when they come for P28."

"...Got it."

As Minerva carefully folds the letter and stores it in her pocket, a movement catches the corner of her eye... Nothing there but her own shadow. It was strange, though... she could have sworn it moved.

Taking a closer look, Minerva couldn't shake this feeling. It looked like her shadow, sure enough. Yet she couldn't help but feel like, somehow, it wasn't her shadow... It was someone else, someone she knew very well, imitating it perfectly.

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Old 11-03-2021, 05:46 PM   #18
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The Night Mother's Blessing


"No, I won't accept this!"

Oroitz huffs indignantly, as a calm-eyed Gothita stares at the tarot cards he has laid before the angry Honchkrow.

You asked for a reading. I cannot change the -

"No, no, reshuffle it. I do not accept this future. I want a different one."

That's not how it works, Oroitz, and you know it. Besides, this card here doesn't necessarily mean -

"I am the master of my own future!" The crow grimaces, flicking the card away with his talon. "I alone will decide when I am dealing with a radical transformation that could potentially bring complete and utter ruin, and now is not the time."

If you seek a different future, a significant alteration in your attitudes would be required, and I don't -

The psychic Pokemon's advice falls on deaf ears, as Oroitz has already flown away from the Gothita, grumbling about charlatans and tricksters.

It was Halloween night, and energies were running high among Minerva's team. In addition to ill-fated glimpses into the future, Ysayle was hard at work reading some sculpture books that Oroitz had found for her at the local library, looking for inspiration to craft something particularly spooky. As for the trainer herself, Minerva was taking a momentary rest, reveling in the feeling that friendly spirits had come to keep her company, even if she could no longer see them and hear them as she once could.

As Oroitz storms out of Astrophel's tarot session, Bia and Rhubarb arrive through the main entryway of the hotel room they've called home for the past couple of months, fully costumed and loaded with pails full of treats.

Minerva helps Rhubarb remove the Skull mask and hand-sewn outfit, which the trainer had made for the little poison type to make her appear like a Duskull. "How was trick-or-treating?"

Bia shrugs her shoulders. She was already in the process of removing her own costume, which had transformed the friendly Bewear into a much more ominous half-black, half-white bear from a video game that Minerva was particularly fond of. Bia did not know much about this game, nor did she care much about dressing up - or receiving candy, for that matter, as she did not care for sweets - but Rhubarb needed a chaperone, and if Bia went in costume, it meant extra candy for her small, poisonous friend. Given the number of truly horrifying meals that Rhubarb had saved her from eating, Bia felt a bit indebted to the Gulpin, despite repeated assurances from Rhubarb that she was happy eating anything and everything.

As for that little Gulpin, she was flailing her stubby appendages with complete excitement.

We got so much candyyyyyyyyyyyy! I can't wait to try each and every one! I'm going to savor them, and analyze the flavors, just like my friend Callum taught me!

Though Minerva could not understand the words themselves, the energetic flailing spoke volumes. The white-haired trainer smiles. "I'm glad you had a good time, Rhubarb."

Rhubarb nodded, happy to be understood - at least, at a basic level. I'm gonna see what I got!

With speeds one would not expect from such a stout, legless creature, Rhubarb zooms over to the candy pails, practically diving in. Bia gently but firmly pulls Rhubarb out of the pail, picking a chocolate bar out of the bucket and unwrapping it, attempting to show her that she should unwrap the candies first before eating them. However, this particular wrapper is unique - a blue-and-white ticket tumbles out from the foil, which catches Minerva's eye.

Picking the ticket up, Minerva reads aloud -

"YONKA'S CUTE CONTEST TICKET!

GREETINGS TO YOU, THE LUCKY FINDER OF THIS BLUE AND WHITE TICKET FROM MS. YUKI YONKA!

PRESENT THIS TICKET TO THE SACCHARINE SWEETS FERRY SERVICE AND DO NOT BE LATE. DEAR TRAINER, YOU MAY BRING WITH YOU ONE ADORABLE POKEMON... AND ONLY ONE... BUT NO ONE ELSE.

In your wildest dreams you can not imagine the marvelous SURPRISES that await YOU!"


Bia snorts, unimpressed. The Gulpin beside her, however, is completely enthralled. As Minerva turns over the ticket, she realizes that it depicts a giant mountain of candies - the prize, presumably, for the contest being advertised.

Sooooooooooooooo maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy candiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiesssssssssssss, Rhubarb murmurs, drool dripping from her lips. Oh, we must enter the contest! WE MUST!

At this moment, Oroitz flies toward Minerva, landing on his trainer's shoulder. "And what do you have there, my dear?"

"Some sort of ticket," Minerva responds, her brows furrowed. "Seems like we're invited to Yuki Yonka's Cuteness Contest -"

WE MUST ENTER THE CONTEST! Rhubarb practically rolls around on the floor, unable to contain herself. I can be cute! Cute for the candy!!!!

"Looks too good to be true," the suspicious Honchkrow snarls. "I would strongly advise against going anywhere near such a contest, lest our beloved Rhubarb becomes the next Augustus Gloop -"

B-but... but the contest! The candyyyy! Little tears appear in the Gulpin's eyes. I think it will be fun! Please, Mr. Oroitz...

"Absolutely not," the crow hisses. "Besides, I have no doubt that at least one of the denizens of the Sludge Wave Coast is likely to receive an invitation, and Minerva should have no part of such -"

"Oroitz," Minerva interrupts, her voice stern. "If Rhubarb wants to take part in the contest, I see no harm in it."

"No harm?" Oroitz lowers his head, glaring up at his friend. "No harm? Now, see here, Minerva -"

"Now you see here," Minerva responds, equally passionate, equally annoyed. "If I understand the situation correctly, this contest is more than likely hosted by an old friend of mine. Sure, there's a bit of an eerie, ominous aura given the inspiration and the time of year, but I doubt she would cause us any harm -"

"An old friend? That's your assurance that you will not come to harm?" Oroitz scowls. "Could the same not be said of that wretched Keith Masters of yours? And see what harm HE has caused!"

The moment the words come out of his mouth, Oroitz regrets them. Yet, it was too late to take them back, and Minerva - after taking a deep, cleansing breath - decides that this conversation cannot be continued without her losing her temper. Thus, she gets up, waving Oroitz off her shoulder, storming out to the balcony and slamming the screen door behind her. Rhubarb immediately looks to Oroitz, the Gulpin now openly displaying her sadness.

I'm sorry, Mr. Oroitz, she cries out through her tears. I didn't mean to -

"No, no," Oroitz shakes his head with a sigh. "It isn't your fault, Rhubarb. I... I'm going to take a moment to gather my thoughts, and... and then, we will figure out how we can get you to this contest safely. How does that sound?"

That sounds great! Rhubarb beams, the tears evaporating as if exposed to the hottest of summer days. I'm going to eat more candy!

"Yes, you do that," Oroitz encourages, before turning around and leaving through the entryway. Under his breath, he mumbles -

So much for making my own future...

~*~

In the spirit of gathering his thoughts, Oroitz flew silently across the land of Fizzytopia, moon at his back, letting the cool night calm his raging temper. As he flew over the Tree Grove, he decided to take a moment to pause beneath the canopy of the largest tree. It had been some time since he offered his sorrows to the Night Mother, and tonight, of all nights, he should give her thanks for her continued guidance, even if his heart was heavy with worry.

At the base of the tree, the crow bows his head, a solemn prayer echoing in his mind. A deep, guttural crowing, in his native language, untranslatable into human speech, which called out to an unknowable being. As the prayer resounded within him, he casts his eyes into the darkness.

"Night Mother, I seek your guidance one again," Oroitz murmurs. "My... my dear friend, Minerva. Her heart is still so heavy, and I cannot bear the weight of it. These little ones that gather by her side, they want to see the world, to adventure - a natural need - but I fear that such desires will place dear Minerva in danger, and I cannot abide by it. And Rhubarb in particular, she asks for so little of us..." Oroitz hangs his head. "How do I do right by her? How do I let that innocent creature have the adventure she so desires without putting Minerva in harm's way?"

"Again about Minerva, Oroitz?"

Oroitz squawks in surprise, not expecting a response, and in such a familiar voice... Turning around, he sees a rather unusual man who appears to be in his late twenties standing behind him, brilliant ruby eyes gleaming with intrigue. His garb - a fancy, black hat and matching black suit, woven of obsidian feathers, is highly reminiscent of Oroitz's own appearance. And the voice... The voice could very well be his own.

"Who are you?" Oroitz demands, facing the strange, grinning man.

"Hm? You don't know?" The man's grin widens. "You called for me, and I responded. Perhaps this was not the form you expected... But I take what form is needed."

Oroitz tilts his head a bit, his gaze both fascinated and suspicious. "...And why would such a form be needed?"

"Well, now, that's the problem, isn't it?" The man wags his finger at Oroitz, his voice betraying a hint of frustration. "Long have I listened to your pleas and endured your cries. 'Minerva' this and 'Minerva' that... If Minerva has problems, she has darkness enough in her heart to come to me herself. What do you need, Oroitz?"

"I have told you what I need!" The proud Honchkrow puffs his chest. "I have spoken plainly, have I not? I wish for my teammates to adventure safely without putting Minerva in harm's way. Their wishes are mine. Their happiness is mine. What more could there be? What else is there?"

"What else... What else..." The man repeats, his smile growing wider. "Take a look at me, Oroitz. Take a long, hard look, and consider what it would be like to be in my position, won't you? To appear to you, in this body, and hear you speak those words..."

The crow regards the man suspiciously, but ultimately decides to close his eyes and take a moment to do as he requests. As the Honchkrow's mind considers the man and his perspective, Oroitz's body begins to glow, to shift, to change - as if by magic, Oroitz transforms into the spitting image of the man addressing him.

As Oroitz opens his ruby eyes, he takes one looks at his hands and begins to scream uncontrollably.

"I... Oh, DARKRAI! I'M A BLOODY HAIRLESS MONKEY!!! WHAT TRICKERY IS THIS?!?!?!"

"The Night Mother has blessed you, Oroitz," the mysterious man remarks with a grin. "Do not take Her gifts lightly."

"Please... Oh burning, bleeding, eternal Hells below, please tell me I can turn back -"

"Oh, sure, you'll be able to turn back," the man says with a playful laugh, "and turn into a great many things... Whatever your heart desires... When I've experienced sufficient amusement at your predicament."

Oroitz opens his new mouth to speak, but the man is quick to interrupt. "Oh, I can tell you're about to sass me, aren't you?" The man's laughter turns dark - the voice turning at once deeper and more feminine. "Think twice. This transformation will do you good, after all, my ever-so-selfless Icarus - with that lofty morality of yours, you are liable to soar straight into the sun without Mother taking you down a few notches."

The mystery man waves to Oroitz before turning around and vanishing into the darkness, his form fading into a more womanly curvature of smoke and shadow before vanishing altogether, the laughter becoming one with the night. This left Oroitz in quite the predicament - in a body not his own, he would have to walk all the way back to the Hotel Room, cursing and swearing and flapping his arms angrily all the while, as if they were wings. Exhausting. Humiliating. At least the people and Pokémon who saw him thought it was some kind of Halloween-related act, and not utter madness. I have until sunrise to get used to this new form before I am liable to get committed, he thinks to himself, banging open the door to the hotel room, already feeling out of breath.

Huffing, puffing, and sputtering like a madman, Oroitz storms into the room to the stunned and terrified faces around him. The last thing he hears is Bia cry out intruder!, before a paw flies at the speed of light to expertly strike the back of his head, knocking him out instantly.

~*~

"So, what you're saying is, we shouldn't slowly torture him to death?"

Well, it IS Oroitz, so I would not stop you.

"Hah, well, he did piss me off earlier..."

The transformed Honchkrow's eyes flutter open to the feeling of a pounding headache. Trying to move his arms and legs, he realizes quickly that he has been forcefully roped and duct-taped to a desk chair - likely by his own beloved trainer. Indeed, Minerva examines him closely, and though she wears a sarcastic smile from her comment about Oroitz pissing her off, her eyes betray both her concern and utter confusion.

"Oroitz...? Oroitz, what the hell happened to you?" Minerva starts. "Thankfully, Astrophel was able to sense who you were pretty quickly, but he's having trouble tracing the threads of fate on this one..."

The light of the stars reveals no answers to me, the Gothita admits. It's almost as though the answer lies not in the stars themselves, but in the darkness that exists between them... But alas, my aptitude is not yet at the level where I can read into the void.

"Minerva... Minerva, my dear..." Oroitz looks up at her, his red eyes gleaming. "I fear I may have angered the Night Mother. Why she seeks to punish me so, I know not -"

In this moment, Oroitz's eyes widen, as if struck by something.

"Say... Perhaps it's due to the concussive blow I took to the head, but I feel that I just may make a blessing out of this curse yet," Oroitz excitedly proclaims, as Minerva uses the knife that she just so happened to be holding behind her back to cut her dear friend free of his bonds. "In this form, it would be no trouble for me to escort Rhubarb to her contest! Then it would fall on me to keep Rhubarb safe, and you can remain under Bia's protection here."

"That doesn't really answer my question about -"

"Oh, but we cannot be late, can we? It says so on the ticket!" Standing up, Oroitz lifts little Rhubarb from her candy pail, grabbing the blue-and-white ticket with his other hand. Motioning to Minerva with the ticket, he scowls. "Now, remember what I tell you. Do not spend the precious hours you should be sleeping worrying about any of this. Everything is fine, and I am perfectly capable of handling whatever comes our way. So get some rest, my dear, and the two of us will be sure to come home from the Cute Contest safe and sound."

Bye, Minerva! Rhubarb says with a wave. Feel free to have some candy while we're gone - Bia got extras of everything, so feel free to take some from her pail! She doesn't want it!

"Rhubarb says you can have some of Bia's candy, if you like," Oroitz translates, giving his trainer a wave before he rushes out the door. In light of Oroitz's unflappable confidence and repeated reassurances that she should not spend the entire night wide awake and worrying...

Minerva, of course, spent the entire night wide awake and worrying.

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Old 11-17-2021, 09:16 PM   #19
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Daughter of the Air

Part I: Autumn, 2013
"Mermaids have no tears, and therefore they suffer more."

Spoiler: show
In the weeks following Nimiane's tense viewing of Camelot with Minerva, the pair developed something of a ritual. On Sunday evenings, Nimiane would fire up the old VCR, sinking into the couch with the weight of the preceding week's obligations drifting away. The tapes would roll, the screen would flicker - and Minerva would inevitably appear on the couch beside her, with her trademark sinister grin and eerie stutter.

Nimiane knew the scheming Banette's disposition well enough to know that she wasn't the type to make friends simply for companionship's sake. The Frillish was only too keenly aware of the fact that she had accidentally let slip a secret or two, given to her in the strictest confidence by Bedivere, and Minerva had likely identified her as an easy target for obtaining information. Despite whatever self-serving motivations that Minerva concealed, however, Nimiane had to admit that her biting, sarcastic wit - when not targeted directly at her, of course - did provide some amusement in their viewings. As strange as it was for her to admit, Nimiane looked forward to spending Sunday evenings with Minerva, and hearing her dark, cynical perspective on... well, everything, really. In truth, the Banette's opinions served as a refreshing counterpoint to her dear mentor Bedivere's unflappable positivity and enthusiasm - appreciated, certainly, but grating in excess.

That particular night, Nimiane had settled on a Disney classic - The Little Mermaid. Perhaps she was a bit biased, given the form her spirit had taken, but the movie was Nimiane's favorite. To the Frillish, it was a sweet, inspiring little love story, thematically appropriate to one of her species. Exactly the kind of thing she anticipated Minerva would verbally eviscerate, but the little princess silently vowed to herself to take the Banette's criticisms in stride.

To Nimiane's surprise, Minerva didn't make a single comment as she watched the animated classic from start to finish. Zipper-mouth tightly shut, she takes it all in, occasionally humming along to the music. As the credits roll, Minerva silently lifts herself from her seat, about to float away...

"Wait!"

"Hm?" Minerva turns around, single eyebrow raised. "What-ev-errr is the mat-terr, Ni-mi-a-neee?"

"I..." Nimiane pauses, taking a deep breath. "I was curious to hear what you thought."

"A-bout?"

"About the movie." Nimiane braces herself.

"Oh." Minerva shrugs. "I have seen it be-fore, back when it first re-leased. Back when... Well." Minerva pauses. "I find it... no-stal-gic, I sup-pose... Though it is a ter-ri-ble a-dap-ta-tion of the orr-i-gi-nalll sto-ry."

"The original...?" Nimiane raises a tentacle to her lips, tilting her head.

"Yes, you sil-ly girlll. What, Be-di-vere has not read it to you?" Minerva's grin widens. "Not quite so hap-py as the Dis-ney ver-sion. I doubt you will like it much."

"Even so, I would very much like to hear it," Nimiane insists. "Even if... Well, even if something dreadful happens to the Little Mermaid..." Nimiane's eyes avert, her expression hesitant, despite her words. "...I still want to know."

"Well..." Minerva shrugs her shoulders. "Dread-ful is-n't the ex-act word, I sup-pose... Bit-ter-sweeeet is more like it."

With a clap of her cloth paws, Minerva cries out, shrill and insistent, her unsettling stutter vanished in her urgency -

"Bedivere! BEDIVERE! I have need of you."

"MINERVA!" Nimiane cries out. "Sir Bedivere should be sleepi-"

"Yes, my lady?"

It was already too late. The jovial Frillish had already appeared, ready and willing to perform Minerva's bidding. The Banette gives him a gentle pat on the head.

"Be a doll and get me a co-py of the or-i-gi-nal Lit-tle Mer-maid, writ-ten by Hans Chris-tian An-der-sen... Will you do this for me?"

"Den lille havfrue..." Bedivere murmurs, his voice rich with delight. "What a marvelous choice, my dearest and most merciless Lady! I shall fetch one straightaway, ohohoho~"

As the male Frillish floats away, humming Kiss the Girl, Nimiane crosses her tentacles, face fresh with irritation.

"Really, Minerva... I absolutely cannot stand how you order him about so. We can't all be insomniacs like you."

"Oh, he likes it," Minerva counters dismissively. "He lives to serve, and serves to live, and all that." A flicker of some unknown emotion crosses the Banette's face briefly. "He seems to get up-set if I ab-stain from boss-ing him a-bout for too long."

"Does he...?" Nimiane searches Minerva's expression, trying to catch the momentary light of doubt that she swore she saw flicker in her face a moment before. "I... I guess he does seem to enjoy serving others more than anything, but... But it's no excuse! I don't think you're very respectful of him, regardless."

Minerva averts her gaze, her zipper-mouth twisting as she considers how to respond. Ultimately, the response would never come, as Sir Bedivere returns with an almost unnatural promptness, an eerily bloody book held in his tentacles. He presents it to his lady with a bow, but she defers, motioning to him.

"Per-haps you would do us the fa-vor of rea-ding the stor-y to us, as well...?" Minerva offers, which lights Bedivere's eyes with joy.

"Why, most certainly," he responds readily, clearing his spectral throat before reciting the tale with a practiced, metered tone. In the tale that Bedivere recounts, the colorful, musical dreams of being where the people are, and seeing them dancing, are replaced with the insatiable desire for an immortal soul. Where the motion picture depicts the magical light of voice lifted gently from the mermaid's throat, trapped within a necklace, eventually to be returned... instead, Bedivere's calm voice narrates the vicious, irreversible act of cutting out the mermaid's tongue, as price for the magic. The transformation into a human is one of profound pain, but the mermaid endures, for the sake of meeting her prince... And instead of a conniving sea-witch conspiring to take away the mermaid's true love by transforming herself into a lovely maiden, thwarted at the end in true Disney fashion... The prince's other love interest is no evil sea witch, but a true human princess, who is simply mistaken for the prince's savior. With no voice to correct the error, the little mermaid is doomed to tragedy. Offered one last chance - kill the prince with a magical dagger to return to her mermaid form - she instead casts herself into the sea, prepared to dissolve into seafoam, never to obtain the love and the soul she sought.

At the mention of the mermaid casting herself into the sea, Bedivere's eyes tear up, and Nimiane wraps a tentacle around him, concerned to see such an emotional display from the normally joyful Pokémon.

"Sir Bedivere, really, it's okay if you cannot finish. You needn't force yourself."

Minerva raises an eyebrow. "If the sto-ry trou-bles you, I can -"

"My lady," Bedivere interrupts - much to Minerva's shock, as the ultra-polite Frillish never interrupted - "I sincerely do hope you were listening. I hope you were taking every word of the story in."

Floating towards Minerva with the bloody book in his hands, he gingerly sets the story down, his tentacles wrapping around her cloth paws. "It is beautiful, the world beneath the water - that breathless, dark, tranquil world that quells all human breath. None should ever seek to leave - to feel the pain of a thousand knives with every step - to dance in flesh that will never truly carry a soul. For all this talk of princes, of true love, you must, you must think - in that Kingdom beneath, who did the Little Mermaid leave behind? Could she not have found what she sought without sacrificing every bit of herself?"

Minerva turns away from Bedivere, feeling his grip tighten on hers. She shakes her head defiantly.

"And what if she had stayed? Oh, she might have had a beau-ti-ful life... Mar-ried some soul-less mer-per-son... But she nev-er would have be-come a Daugh-ter of the Air... Nev-er had the op-por-tun-i-tyyy to earn a soul. The sac-ri-fice... it was tra-gic, but ne-ces-sa-ryy." Her zipper-mouth turning into a sneer, she faces Bedivere head-on, glaring. "Be-sides... If some-one want-ed her to stay so damned much... They could have fol-lowed her steps - felt the pain of a thou-sand knives in their feet, as she did - could have chased her down, and brought her back. No one did, Be-di-verrre. Just ghosts on the shore-line, call-ing out to the on-ly one brave e-nough to step on the sand. She owed them no-thing."

With a hard tug, she frees herself from Bedivere's grasp, glaring at the gentle jellyfish. "Hon-est-ly... I have no i-de-aaa what's got-ten in-to yoou..."

Bedivere's expression remains resolute, a smile plastered onto his face... Nimiane, not quite sure what to make of the whole situation, floats in between the two, addressing Minerva before Bedivere can respond.

"Perhaps you should go," she says to the Banette. "I fear Sir Bedivere may be overtired..."

"Per-haps," Minerva sharply responds, floating away with an irritated flounce.

Once it was clear that Minerva was out of earshot, Nimiane gives her adopted brother a big hug with her tentacles, whispering into his ear -

Dearest brother... You should either tell her... or you should let her go.

Bedivere returns the embrace tightly, allowing a single sob to shudder him, before pulling away and retrieving the book.

"I shall leave this with Lady Minerva," he murmurs to himself, floating off after the Banette.

Nimiane collapses into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. She dreamed of the Little Mermaid's kingdom in the sea - underwater balls, pearl staircases, friendly fish, beautiful merfriends - and wondered if there was anyone out there who could possibly compel her to leave such marvels behind.

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Old 07-07-2022, 06:11 PM   #20
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The Tragically Heroic, Sorrowfully Inspiring, and Unerringly Veracious Tale of the Most Honorable and Beloved Mister Oroitz Pentsatu Belasco


In the Beginning, I was born - no, most willingly and skillfully brought forth into the world - in the stunning City of Lumiose, where my illustrious family once resided, where we were venerated and loved by all who knew us. My father - the late and great Sir Aitor Belasco - was a renowned scientist in the field of flight, who was known for his prestigious exploits, including endearing himself to a clan of Murkrow and Honchrow who regarded him as one of his own - so far as to bestow upon him the title of Honorary Honchkrow, making me his Honorary Murkrow by extension. My mother, the wise and beautiful artist, modeled for as many famous works as she wrote, painted and sculpted - which, I assure you, were several. I was one of many siblings - ten in all - but I was clearly the most erudite, eloquent and handsome, even as a tiny, doughy, pink crawling monster. Oh, how the birds sang upon the day of my small, yet significant beginnings! How the crows - the greatest and most special of all birds, as everyone knows - cried out with joy! My very visage brought warmth and delight, ending a long string of overcast, rainy days, that fateful Spring of 2008 -


"No one is going to believe that you're fourteen years old, Oroitz."

"Oh?" Oroitz pauses, lowering his manuscript to meet Minerva's gaze. She and her Pokémon were sitting in a semi-circle around the transformed Honchkrow, iced smoothies and juices in hand, giving their rapt attention - or pretending to, anyhow. "Well, I have intelligence enough for a hundred years, you know. Should I perhaps go younger, for verisimilitude? I was told by the Nightwatch medical staff that I am approximately fourteen years of age in truth, but given how fresh-faced this human form seems to be, perhaps I should -"

"Try twenty-five. At least."

"Months?"

"Years."

Oroitz's eyes widen in shock. "Good Heavens. Really? Do you think?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Just how old are you again, Minerva?"

"Don't even ask me that," Minerva growls, before Astrophel chimes in -

"She is 51 years, 8 months, and 17 days old... But she doesn't look a day over twenty-five herself," the little psychic remarks. He didn't need knowledge of the future to know how necessary that little addendum at the end was, in order to avoid a very nasty future.

"Even Maribel is only 4 years younger than you, Oroitz," Minerva adds with a slight smirk, to Oroitz's sheer, unmitigated bafflement.

"...How is it that you humans have lived so many years, and yet behave so stupidly? Do you gain no wisdom from your age at all?"

Before Minerva can respond, Astrophel decides to cut off the conversation - "Besides, you wouldn't have been born in Spring, anyway. You're an Aquarius Sun sign, with Moon in Aries."

"I want to hear more about Mr. Bull-Ass-Cone!" Garl eagerly chimes in, clapping his tiny dinosaur hands. Oroitz narrows his eyes, snarling under his breath.

"Bel-as-co," he corrects, before clearing his throat. "Remember, Garl, this story is supposed to be about me. That's the whole point, yes? If anyone asks you anything about my past - or who I happen to be - this story is supposed to be our shared and agreed-upon narrative, in order to protect my true motives and ident-"

"BULL-ASS-CONE!" Garl shouts, which Oroitz promptly ignores. It was too early in the narrative to be fighting with the rock-headed Tyrantrum, and besides, he probably should be counting his blessings that the stubborn creature was at least willing to listen.

"...Right. Anyway - But these sunny, halcyon days would soon give way to unimaginable darkness and sorrow, for each and every one of my siblings were struck with a sudden, mysterious and incurable illness, which lead to fainting spells, copious amounts of blood, and bitter ennui and regret for their misspent and inferior lives, ultimately leading to their agonizing and unavoidable deaths. My poor, kind-hearted mother died of a broken heart, and my father, due to the incompetence of others on his research team, died of a broken parachute. And gravity. For this incredible loss to the scientific community, and this most grievous injury to the hearts of millions, the ones responsible were drawn and quartered, the pieces of their bodies hung in the public square for all to see.

Thus, at only six months of age, I boldly set off on my own, looking for any work I could find -
Miss Minerva, if you would kindly stop snickering... What, are you going to tell me that six months is too young for a fledgling human to strike out on its own?"

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to tell you."

"When do I show up in the story, Mr. Oroitz?" Rhubarb asks eagerly.

"Hm..." Oroitz flips through the manuscript. "On... Page 498, I believe."

"On what?" Ysayle cries, all color draining from her face behind the icy mask. "We're gonna be here forever..."

"It is only a joke, my dear," Oroitz responds, hiding his injured pride. "Well... half of one. I am reading you all the synopsis, though I am working on a far longer piece, outlining each year of my life in detail... well, now it's going to be much longer, is it not? But anyway, should you have the time, I encourage you to peruse the longer version."

"I'll pass on that," Ysayle retorts.

"Of course you will," Oroitz snarls. "Well, let's continue, shall we?"

I fell into the wrong crowd, and have the unfortunate and dubious distinction of becoming the world's youngest assassin, though my nameless, anonymous benefactors only used me for good. With the eyes of a Murkrow and the heart of a Honchkrow, there was none better at the art of righteous murder. I was a vigilante, for justice - killing only those who deserved it. Deep in the night I wandered, quiet, calculating, waiting for my moment to strike. Each target was a moment to shine - to earn my family's honor, and the honor of the Honchkrow clan to which my father belonged. I was silent... stealthy... perfectly inaudible... None could hear - Garl? GARL, please wake Bia up, will you?

With a careful nudge, the soundly snoring bear blinks sleepily, before giving Oroitz a grumpy yawn.

"What on Earth would possess you to fall asleep, Bia? You are setting a terrible example for the others. Just shameful." Oroitz shakes his head in disappointment.

"Mr. Nose thinks the Raving Raven Man uses too many words. Conciseness is key."

"...Fine. Humor me, Mr. Nose." The darkly-clad gentleman takes a few steps forward, regarding the Nosepass with a pompous grin. "How many words do you think my story should have?"

Mr. Nose thinks a moment, before nodding his head decisively.

"Zero."

For once in his life, Oroitz was completely at a loss for words.

"I... you... d-did you just... Why, the absolute nerve!"

"Mr. Oroitz, I'm hungry." Rhubarb's stomach rumbles. "Can we take a lunch break?"

"You've had three lunches already, Rhubarb." Minerva gently chides, correctly assuming the Gulpin's request.

"But I need another!"

"Bia's fallen asleep again, Mister BULL-ASS-CONE." Garl announces loudly. "Should I wake her?"

"Can I make a sculpture of a six month old baby human assassin? I'm going to title it VERISIMILITUDE. Get it? Because it's ironic." Ysayle rolls her eyes, to add to the sarcasm.

"I hate you all," Oroitz seethes, throwing his manuscript in the air and storming away.

"....Well, that went better than I thought it would," Minerva finally says, before gathering her Pokémon for another round of delicious drinks, to cool themselves off from the warmth of this bright, Summer day... and Oroitz's fiery temper.

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Old 07-16-2022, 08:17 PM   #21
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LACUNOSA NIGHTWATCH LOGS: "ROTTEN EGG" PHENOMENON
As reported by EYE-028-F/EILIAN MARCH, OPERATIVE


ASSIGNED OPERATIVES:

BLINDED
EYE-028-F/EILIAN MARCH (BLINDED IN UNRELATED INCIDENT: SEE "LOVE TELLER" PHENOMENON LOGS)
EYE-028-N/VINCENT (VINCE) HAYES (BLINDED IN UNRELATED INCIDENT: SEE "LOVE TELLER" PHENOMENON LOGS)


LOG ENTRY #1

"Bad Egg" means different things to different people. While there may be more interpretations of this term that I'm not aware of, as far as our records are concerned, there are three different phenomena this phrase could refer to, each in different specializations.

The first is the most well-known: the "Bad Egg" glitch. There's a whole drawer in the Records Room dedicated to variants of this glitch, examples we've observed ourselves and documented from other sources, as well as the extreme and often disastrous methods trainers will employ to rid themselves of these corrupted eggs. It's said that some are capable of hatching, though most just take up space. The simplest way to get rid of them - or so it's said - is to trade them away, and make them somebody else's problem. That, too, has been the focus of a significant amount of our investigations. Revenge of the Bad Egg is a real and nasty thing, but we've already killed plenty of trees in the name of documenting it, and it's not my area of expertise. Let's move on, now that I've identified this phenomenon AND CLARIFIED THAT THIS IS NOT WHAT WE'RE DEALING WITH: ADMINS, TAKE NOTE!

The second "Bad Egg" moves out of the realm of glitches and into the realm of urban legends and superstitions. The most famous of these was actually chronicled by Minerva's sister, whose recounting of the old urban legend was published in the Summer 2013 Edition of Ghosts: From Myth to Mastery. The idea of "Dream Pokémon" hatching to trainers and displaying nightmarish behavior after their hatching - particularly when witnessing other Pokémon face rejection or ridicule due to their species - is a common theme among these tales, 99% of which, I'd say, are chronicled as myths, or simply outright fiction. There is a certain emotional appeal to these revenge fantasies, especially given the "PokéDisposable" culture fueled by a limit on PC slots and higher availability of eggs from Egg Houses some years back, but there's little evidence to back these stories up in our Archives.

The third "Bad Egg" is the least well-known, and for good reason. The few records that were created describing its existence and function are kept under close and persistent guard by the highest-level echelon of scientists in Team Rocket. While I could write at length about this project, its history and how to identify possible cases, I would not expect the Nightwatch to simply accept my written account as fact without substantial source documents, which is why I have asked Vince and his Swoobat to assist me in finding any and all research to back up my claims before I continue this log. Besides, the moment I come clean about my past, I doubt anyone in the Nightwatch is going to trust me, anyway. Not that ex-members of criminal orgs are exactly a rarity among our ranks, but that big, red R tends to trigger some strong feelings, and I think they're going to figure out that I did much worse than attempt to steal Pikachus from ten year olds, particularly given the things I know.

The Commander's aware that we're working on this research, but considers Vince and I capable enough without him hovering over our shoulders. Aside from Vince, he's the only one I've really opened up to about my history - and even then, neither of them know much. Still, I owe Cal everything for agreeing to issue me a brand new trainer ID, with my new name, the right pronouns, and with no links to any previous identification or past Pokémon Or so he says. There has to be something there, though, or I wouldn't be forced to write this damn thing in the first place.


LOG ENTRY #2

In order to save the Administrative Assistants from their confusion, Vince and I have agreed to refer to this phenomenon henceforth as "Rotten Egg" rather than "Bad Egg," in order to prevent our files from being mistakenly shuffled off to the Glitch section of our Archives again. Took Vince's Swoobat three hours to retrieve my first log entry, and a number of angry telepathic messages and visits to the Records Room. Say what you will about Evil Organizations like Team Rocket, but their recordkeeping is meticulous. I'm sure our Admins would be far more motivated to keep every file in the exact right place if one errant piece of paper in the wrong hands meant swift and unimaginably painful consequences But these are pieces of my past which I'm told I shouldn't paint in a positive light while serving in the Nightwatch. I'm also told that Vince's Swoobat was thoroughly reprimanded for referring to a member of staff as "a low-IV Psyduck with the IQ of a Geodude turd," so I'm going to have to remember to keep my own temper in check when dealing with obvious displays of incompetence. Easier said than done. I do want the records to clearly show, however, that I came up with that insult. He was just the one who repeated it. In public. To the person it was intended for.

Anyway, official incident reports were filed last week, right around when I wrote the first log. Since that time, I've given no less than three different interviews, all with accompanying written statements, taken a polygraph test, and of course, everyone on Unit 28 wants to hear about it. I'm burned out and tired of telling the same damn story, over and over again, but Vince is encouraging me to tell it here. One more time, at my own pace, in my own quarters, after some reflection. He thinks some new insight might come to me if I write it out here... Even though we still don't have our hands on any good source docs, though Vince is working on a few promising leads as we speak.

Headphones on, deep breaths, and one more time... For the records.

At approximately 0820 Unova time on 08 April 2016, a square package with sides measuring 2'0" and bright, shiny red wrapping paper and a large FRAGILE sticker was dropped on the doorstep of Nightwatch HQ by our usual mail Pelipper, along with the rest of the mail. The package had no return address, and no person listed with our address.

It went through routine psychic scan, along with the rest of our mail (which was all junk - big surprise). Psychics immediately identified a live Pokémon within the package, housed inside an egg. The egg is estimated to be about 5 days away from hatching, with proper incubation. Along with the egg, there's a note:

Oni -

I've played dumb to everyone else to keep you safe, but I know you put me in this cage. Too bad you couldn't clip my wings while you were at it, huh? One day, I'll be free, and I could fly straight to you, if I wanted. If you wanted.

Don't get it twisted, though. I don't want your love, but I don't want your hatred, either. This isn't about revenge. You may break your promises, but I don't break mine. Not the ones I made to you, anyhow.

This little girl I'm giving you? You could keep her in her cage, too. Keep her there forever. Or you could let her out, and let her be free. I know you know who she is. I know you'll love her like you love me... and I know you'll hate her. Like you hate me.

What you do will give me your answer.

-Kijo


Right now, since it poses no obvious and immediate threat, the egg is sitting in the Nightwatch PC in stasis until we figure out what the Hell to do with it. Kijo's not exactly a popular name, especially since the only person I know of who bears it is a known and convicted criminal. That's the problem, though. Our psychics do sense traces of that infamous Kijo on the egg, but they can't get a clear vision of its past beyond it arriving on the doorstep. Strong suggestions that there's some kind of dark-type interference, but unfortunately, that doesn't tell us much. They're not letting Kijo off parole for another two years - Vince confirmed that her ankle bracelet comes off on New Year's Day, 2018 - so she either managed to somehow get her hands on an egg and sent this illegally, or someone is impersonating her... and sending this egg illegally. Both are equally plausible. Both are equally terrifying.

Vince has managed to locate piles of records on Kijo - interviews, news articles, court docs, police logs, the whole nine yards. "Oni," however, doesn't appear on any of them. I could tell him, of course, but I feel like I don't have to. He already knows from our discussions and review of the records that partners in Team Rocket tend to have themed names that relate to one another, and though Kijo vehemently denied having a partner every time she was asked, she couldn't have been with the Rockets as long as she has - starting as young, and as low-ranking as she did - without one. They actually went as far as promising her that they'd give her back her precious Ursaring at the end of her sentence if she sold him out. But Vince showed me the videotape, and she kept cold. She kept denying. They brought the bear in the room, and to the bear's face, she said, "I have no partner. I don't know what to tell you. I have no partner. I have no partner."

Vince said, surely, she must have no partner... She loved that Ursaring more than anything in the world. More than anyone. The records are clear on that.

Honestly, that's what I thought, too. That's really... that's really what I thought.

If I knew...


LOG ENTRY #3

Okay, I'm going to try and start again. This has been sitting on my desk for the past few days, unfinished, which isn't like me. The Admins are getting pissed that I haven't bothered to return the file. Guess they've finally decided to do their jobs after all, huh?

Whatever. Starting again, as I said.

At approximately 0820 Unova time on 08 April 2016, the package described in Log Entry #2 arrived, with the note described in that same entry. The supposed origin of the package is none other than the ex-Rocket Kijo, who is on parole in Celadon after serving three years in prison and two years of home confinement. According to various news sources, the reason is for her involvement in Team Rocket, implication in various gambling and financial schemes originating from the Game Corner, as well as good old-fashioned theft. Strong evidence exists for all of these accusations. Deeper digs into the records show something more interesting, though.

Back in 2008, an egg was sent to an ex-Rocket member living in Cinnabar, with a nice little card from an ex-flame of his, expressing approval of his decision to leave the org and hoping they would reunite sometime for... Well, some pretty lurid stuff that I'm not going to record here. The full transcript is in Vince's pile of records, anyway, so there's no need.

Anyway, the egg hatches, and it's the guy's favorite Pokemon in the whole, wide world - a Froakie. Unfortunately for him, the moment the frog comes out of the egg, it goes berserk and immediately attempts to murder him. Fortunately, the guy isn't exactly a lightweight trainer, and despite the type disadvantage, his Krookodile knocks the baby out before it can do significant damage.

He calls up his former girl, asks what the big idea is, and she denies ever sending the egg. Psychic analysis shows that it didn't come from the old flame, who lives in Viridian, but from Celadon... That's when he realizes that it's probably some kind of failed assassination attempt. When the investigators do their thing, Kijo is implicated, though the cops seem pretty sure that she was framed... But a Rocket's a Rocket, and she still has plenty of shit to account for, regardless.

I know for a fact that Kijo doesn't know anything about the Rotten Egg project. Neither do the police. Neither does the Nightwatch, apparently. Vince still, still can't find any source documents, but I know the records exist.


LOG ENTRY #4

How could I be so stupid? The answer was obvious, and it took me two whole weeks to figure it out.

The process to obtain a Trainer ID over the age of 13 is... obnoxious, to say the least. Pounds and pounds of paperwork. I guess I must have been more tired than I thought by the time I got to the section involving transfer of ownership in the event of trainer death. Why else would I make such an obvious and ridiculous mistake?

I wrote her name down. Her trainer ID. The crappy little house in Celadon they locked her in for the address. Her fake birthday. All of it. In the event of my death, all of my Pokémon go to my old partner.

Kijo.

Why... Why did I do that?

Granted, I checked every box to indicate that this was to be kept private - that my next-of-kin information was not to be shared on any networks or databases beyond what's absolutely necessary - but that doesn't mean shit.

I guess I have to come clean. We don't really need source documents, because I'm a primary source.

Kijo and I both joined Team Rocket when we were little kids. They lured her in with Teddiursa, and they lured me in with the promise of a family that would accept me for who I am. I was the brains and she was the brawn, and she was the only thing in this world I could count on. As we grew older, though, I wanted in the worst way to be part of R&D, and develop my intellect, while she wanted to work the Game Corner. We fought a lot about it - she didn't want to wear a lab coat, and I wanted nothing to do with gambling - and besides, I was starting to feel like she cared about that stupid bear more than she cared about me.

Ultimately, we followed separate paths - her in Celadon, me in Saffron - though we visited each other frequently, supporting each other however we could. It was around that time that they recruited me for the Rotten Egg project.

Essentially, the eggs were supposed to be like sleeper agents. We make subtle changes to their psychology through their code - it's part of Rocket indoctrination, after all, that all Pokémon are nothing more than code to be toyed with and altered to achieve our goals - Mewtwo being the primary example - and there's a lot of terrifying things you can do to a Pokémon's brain when following that mindset.

The eggs would arrive as gifts, usually with forged notes from loved ones. Cute, loving, adorable Pokémon that would hatch from an egg like any other - serve their trainer, be loved, be trained up big and strong... Given time, they'd bond - really, and truly bond - with the intended victim. Then, soon after reaching a certain level - 50, I believe, was the target we were aiming for - a switch flips, and they kill their trainer without ever really knowing why.

Froakie was absolutely a failed execution of the theory. He wasn't supposed to come out of the egg guns blazing at Lv.1. To this day, I still don't know where in the code I messed up... But Kijo had helped me deliver the egg to the target, not even knowing what was inside.

I will never forget that night, when I found out how badly the delivery had gone. I was ready to go and turn myself in. I knew they'd go after her if I didn't. But my supervisor - the Head Scientist, the big head honcho - she shook her head and gave me a disapproving look, when I told her what I was planning. I'll never forget her words, dripping with venom -

"If she had to choose between you and that bear, who do you think she'd pick? And you're gonna go stick your neck out for her?"

Of course she'd hit me with a low blow like that. She had dirt on everyone. She was the one who wrote all those notes, after all... But after that, I just... It got to me... Why on Earth do you think I'm here, in the Nightwatch, risking my life every damn day?

The egg. I need to get the egg from Cal.

Whatever's in there... I deserve it.


LOG ENTRY #5

After a long night, Unit 28 finally talked me out of hatching the egg - particularly Vince, Swoobat, Nadia and P28. Even if I deserve the worst, the little bird living in that egg doesn't. No Pokémon deserves to be made responsible for their own trainer's death.

Vince and Swoobat are preparing a report for the Kanto Police, in hopes that they can visit the old Rocket lab and seize the records by force. If such horrifying methods of assassination are still being employed, it is our responsibility to stop them.

There is no known reversal at this point for "Rotten Egg Syndrome", as it's called, but I'm hopeful that we can coordinate with various researchers in Kanto and around the world to find a solution.

In the meantime, Vince's Swoobat has taken over as a part-time Admin Assistant. Someone made the mistake of telling him that if he's going to be so critical, he should do the filing himself. So he is, 20 hours a week. I'll be leaving this file with him. Hopefully, I'll find the time to contribute some more ideas, but the Nightwatch never seems to give me a break... Not that I mind. I like to stay busy. Keeps my mind off things.


LOG ENTRY #6

It's been a long time since I've written something for this file. Unfortunately, I think this will be my last entry.

They're letting Kijo off parole in a couple of weeks. I hear they're letting her keep some Stufful she caught a while back. I was hoping to meet up with them, sometime. But I doubt they'd want to see me... Especially since I never hatched the egg. What will Kijo think, knowing the bird is still trapped in her shell?

My teammates, they won't let me have the egg in here. I've tried everything. I am not one to beg, but Arceus, I've begged them. They watch me, day and night... For my safety, they say.

I need her here. But when I close my eyes, I just imagine that even the baby won't love me. Something wrong with the code. Something wrong with my code.

Then I see it. That fucking... That fucking thing, from the park, winking at me. It knows what I've done. But can I blame it?

After all that I've done, I deserve to be alone. I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this.

Please let me in
Please let me in the cage, in your shell, in our prison
Please lock me in, inside, with you
I can't be here, alone

[ADMINISTRATIVE NOTE - DUE TO BLOOD SPATTER, WHICH IS A CLASS 2 BIOHAZARD, LOG ENTRY #6 HAS BEEN TRANSCRIBED BY P-028-NS SWOOBAT.

REST IN PEACE, DEAREST EILIAN. I MISS YOU MORE THAN WORDS CAN SAY.]

Last edited by Marion Ette; 07-16-2022 at 08:31 PM.
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Old 07-20-2022, 06:56 PM   #22
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As the Roses

((Continued from here))

Finally, that Yanmega and Oroitz had left, and Sister Bia could focus on tending to Bedivere's injuries. Humming a simple tune, the bear continues her work, finding it significantly easier without distractions. With repeated assurances that Oroitz would find Leith and lead her to the Garden, the man finally relaxes, for a few moments...

"Sister..." He says quietly, "I hate to further impose upon you, after all you have done for me, but... But could you tell me more about this Oroitz?"

Bia shrugs her shoulders. He's a Honchkrow with the capability to transform. He likes being the boss and mating with pretty birds, but he is also a devoted friend.

"He is also a liar, ohoho~" Bedivere remarks with a strange grin. Sister Bia shakes her head - Oroitz was many things, but she had not known him to be particularly untrustworthy. Bedivere stretches out his body - wincing at he does - and yet, his smile only widens.

"A mere platonic expression, and nothing more, ohohohohohoho! This is what he says about the Lady Minerva, and yet, the bruises on my body scream the opposite. I love her, they cry, I love her, his fists smash the truth across my flesh - And, oh, ohhhh, it hurts. It hurts me, so keenly..." Bedivere's eyes gleam with an eerie light. "It's exquisite."

A seasoned physical fighter, Sister Bia knows all too well the highs that pain can bring - she regards his words without judgment, and merely continues her work. Bedivere chuckles to himself, alight with the pleasure of pain.

"I will not sit idly by and let the Lady be courted by a liar... But worry not. I am confident I have strangled the lies out of him, ohohohohohohohohohohohohohoho~"

With a deep, cleansing breath and a prayer to Her Grace, Bia resists the urge to strangle the man herself.


---


Sandygast as a species were not known for their Speed - tied with the typical Slowpoke, on average - and Leith was no exception. In contrast to Willa's Speed Boost-ed Yanmega, and the powerful Sister Bia the Bewear, the tiny palace of shadowy sand was left in the dust the moment they sped out of the Casino. She had made an attempt to chase after them - for a few seconds - before realizing quickly that such endeavors were futile.

Thus, Leith ambled along the streets of Fizzytopia, taking in the sights and sounds, while reflecting on all that had happened that night. Before she and Bedivere had arrived at the Casino Lobby for Madame Estelle's New Year's Gala, Bedivere had impressed upon her the importance of her meeting others and having fun. Meeting others... Yes, she had been introduced to the participants at the sushi roulette table, and spoken at length to Meowth. Bedivere would be satisfied, she thought. As for having fun... She was not so sure. She recalled a ladybird telling her when the fun was about to begin, and Leith had proceeded to watch her trainer have a tense conversation with a man dressed in black, calling himself Oroitz. Then, the man in black threw a punch, and the two had fought, but Bedivere ultimately emerged victorious, strangling his assailant to the very edge of life... Before that Bewear had spirited them both away, and left Leith trailing behind.

Bedivere emerging victorious... Watching him strangle that man... Yes. Yes, there was something in her that found that pleasing. This, perhaps, was the fun part. Watching that man throw a punch at Bedivere? Watching him wail on him with his fists? Less pleasing. But least pleasing of all was their conversation... Though Leith had a hard time articulating why.

It was true that she could wander wherever she wanted - she could find her way back to the Virga, if she chose. But she had questions - so many questions for Bedivere, about friendship, and camaraderie, and televisions - and the more she learned of people and Pokémon, the more she realized how rare his patience was. How precious the nights he spent, sleepless, explaining and demonstrating and researching and questioning along with her. She would rather he not be taken away. Not by bears, and not by...

"Leith! Is that you, there?"

Leith's eyes turn skyward, gazing without expression upon the Honchkrow addressing her. "Yes."

"Ah, good," the Honchkrow lands beside her. "Let's get you back to Bedivere, eh? Quickly, now."

The Shadow Sandygast nods, though a trace of curiosity plays across her face. "You sound like Oroitz."

"I am Oroitz," the crow confirms with a haughty look, before turning around and hopping purposefully towards their destination. "I trust you will not attempt to strangle me, as Bedivere did?"

"What reason would I have?"

"To send me to some bloody Kingdom by the Sea, apparently? I haven't the slightest what that lunatic is thinking." Oroitz shakes his head. After a long silence, the Honchkrow glances behind to make sure the Sandygast is still following... and not plotting anything. He finds her surprisingly docile - contemplative, even.

Finally, the sandcastle asks a strange question. "What do you think of flowers?"

Oroitz pauses in his tracks, considering his answer. "Well, I suppose I like them well enough... Why do you ask?"

"When I lived on the Banks of the Virga, I used to eat the flowers. The fruits, the trees, any living thing - plant or animal - I could catch. But there was one bush full of flowers - I think Bedivere called them beach roses? I did not eat them. I lived beside them. I took in their scent. I would stare at them for hours. I do not know why." Leith pauses a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Bedivere is like this. I wish to live beside him, but I do not know why."

"Do you mean in his Kingdom by the Sea?"

"No... I do not think so. I am not able to submerge myself in water. I wish for him to be as the roses."

"Living?"

"I do not know."

Oroitz sighs. "Well, let me make one thing abundantly clear, Leith - Minerva is as the roses to me, and I will not tolerate anyone who tries to take her away."

Leith nods, but says nothing more, allowing the flying type to lead her to some sort of mansion. Pointing at the gate, the crow then takes wing.

"He's through there. You can't miss him." Oroitz growls. "I know I sure as hell won't."

"Thank you," Leith says - almost robotically. Oroitz bows in response, taking to the air with his task completed.


---


In a few hours, night would give way to morning... But the insomniac Oroitz paid no mind. Even if he could sleep, his racing thoughts would not let him.

It was no easy feat, but with patient, persistent searching, he located Mr. Nose's taco-fire-mobile, pecking until a cranky Astrophel let him in. With an apologetic bow to the psychic type, he silently settles beside his beloved Minerva, as he had done many times before... Yet this time, she must have sensed his nerves, as her eyes flicker half-open.

With a small smile, her hand sleepily reaches out, stroking the feathers on the back of the bird's neck.

"I watched the Bar burn down tonight," Minerva whispers. "It was beautiful."

"Did you like it?" Oroitz's red eyes, having spent most of the night consumed in flame, now flicker like a bonfire, inviting and warm.

"I loved it," Minerva says with a quiet laugh, before she lifts her head slightly, her tired eyes focused on her dear friend. "Hey, Oroitz... I'm sorry."

"For what?" The crow tilts his head, confused.

"I know it was partly the curse's fault, but I spent so much damn time obsessing over someone who doesn't need me at all. It was such a waste..."

"What do you mean?" Oroitz attempts not to let his voice rise, but his whispering becomes more harsh. "Of course Keith needs y-"

"Shhh, Oroitz. It's okay." Minerva gives him a reassuring smile, scratching under his chin. "There are so many people in this world who do need me, and, put bluntly, while I still would deeply cherish his friendship, I do not need him, either. I'm all right."

"B..but..." Oroitz stutters, taken back. "But it simply isn't fair that he gets to live this perfect, picket-fence life, after you have suffered so - the acres of land, the loving wife, the devoted daughter, a bounty of friends and embarrassment of Pokémon -"

"I think it's fair," Minerva counters, to Oroitz's complete and utter surprise.

"How do you figure?"

"Well... He has a beautiful and faithful wife - the daughter of Diantha. He has his own wonderful daughter, whom he loves dearly, and who loves him just as much in return - wearing his hat, following his footsteps, making him proud. He has the Sludge Wave Coast, and all of its inhabitants, who all love him. He has nearly a hundred powerful Pokemon to his name, all of whom are intensely loyal and proud to call him trainer. Family, friends, white picket fence. And me..." Minerva chuckles, gently tracing Oroitz's beak with her finger, "I have you, my Oroitz."

"Y-you cannot possibly consider that a fair trade-" Oroitz starts, but Minerva kisses him gently on the forehead.

"Well, they did always say I was crazy." Minerva smirks. "Maybe they were right, hm?"

Oroitz nuzzles against Minerva, encouraging her to wrap her arm around him and lie back down. "Get some rest, my dear. It's late."

"Mm..." Minerva dozes back off, sleep easily reclaiming her. As she sleeps, Oroitz is careful to make sure that the tears he sheds do not fall on her, lest he wake her up again.

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Old 10-11-2023, 05:05 PM   #23
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Leonora's Sacrifice

Leonora's Sacrifice


In the months after Kijo had served her full sentence and first moved to Fizzytopia in 2018, she tried to stay out of trouble as well as she could. Mostly, though, she tried to stay out of sight, and off the radar. No police, no reporters, no "old friends". Good people, evil people... She'd had it with the whole lot. All the ex-Rocket needed was a place to rest her head, and Bia the Stufful by her side.

It was a peaceful enough existence, for a while. Bia was a healthy, resilient Pokémon, and Kijo could easily avoid the Marts and Centers with homemade berry remedies and simple treats, both for her bear and for herself. Wandering from place to place, picking up odd jobs with their combined strength, it was a simple, honest life. They could continue on this way forever, Kijo had thought. Considering it in retrospect, she would scowl, and bitterly quip that simple lives lead to simple thoughts.

Bia was restless. Not content to simply be fed and cared for, Bia sought the companionship of another Pokémon. Against Kijo's better judgment, she decided to take a risk on a mysterious advertisement, describing a powerful Honchkrow recently recovering from a total memory wipe from a "reputable" institution. Such a thing wouldn't be even close to legal anywhere else, but what did Kijo care? Bia seemed intrigued by the photographs, and the advertisement proudly professed the creature's abilities to translate Pokemon dialects for trainers. Seemed a useful skill, and with the bird's typing, he'd make an interesting training partner for her little fighter...

Oroitz seemed polite enough, at first. A bit disoriented, but eager to have assistance from a self-assured trainer such as Kijo. His words, not hers. He introduced himself to Bia, and the two hit it off. He even seemed keen on the irony of his name, the subtle nod to Muninn, whose mythos the crow seemed to remember well, despite having little recollection of much else.

And then, that night, it was as if a switch had flipped. Screaming incoherently, he suddenly lost all memory of Kijo and Bia, yet he also had no memory of who he was calling for, either. So he simply called, loudly, into the night... Attracting all kinds of Murkrow in the process.

No matter. He finally calmed down - they finally shooed the Murkrow out of every single crack in the cheap apartment they were staying in at the time - and all involved reintroduced themselves. Again, pleasant enough.

Two more nights of this cycle of remembrance and forgetfulness, and Kijo found herself sitting in the lobby of the Pokémon Center, Bia in her lap, gritting her teeth and concealing her face as Oroitz received treatment. Not that it made much difference, knowing what she knew.

All Rockets - even the lowliest grunts - are taught to avoid Pokémon Centers. Nothing in this life is free, the Admins would hiss to the new recruits, and the price for their services was information. Information on your Pokémon, of course, but information especially on you... did trainers honestly believe that the data gathering capabilities of these centers had not advanced such that they themselves were subjected to the same level of scrutiny and data collection as their Pokémon? If you wanted every single organization - regardless of affiliation and intent - to know where you are, what your status is, regardless of how many layers of deceit and disguise you employ, just check into a Pokémon Center, and they will all know.

Two days later, the knock came to Kijo's door from a representative of the Lacunosa Nightwatch.

---

"Oroitz, we need to talk."

Kijo motions to the seat in front of her. The room to which she was appointed may not have been luxurious, but the Nightwatch had kept it clean and cozy, with plenty of blankets, pillows and places for friends to sit - people and Pokémon alike. On her order, Oroitz nestles into the cushion atop the seat, flapping his wings as he settles in.

"Where's Bia?"

"Out playing with Lora's fighting Pokémon again." Kijo snorts, attempting to hide her jealousy. "Seems to be her favorite thing to do, lately."

"Ah, yes. She does seem to rather enjoy expending every last bit of energy in her possession punching and kicking Lora's Emboar in an attempt to leave a scratch. I've yet to see a single one, but it seems the Emboar doesn't mind, and Bia just keeps throwing herself into the task." Oroitz whistles to himself. "That level of tenacity... she's going to be incredibly strong one day."

Kijo averts her eyes, gazing out the window. "One day, yeah... But that's not what we're here to talk about."

"What troubles you, Kijo? Is this about those Pokémon Eilian willed to you? I understand the financial concerns, but surely, we can -"

"Listen, Oroitz. I'm not one to beat around the bush, so here's the deal. We've been here three days, right?"

"Right."

"And you haven't had a single memory lapse in that time, have you?"

"No, I have not. I think the treatment is helping, though -"

"Helping Minerva is what's helping."

Oroitz stiffens a bit, clenching his claws. "I would hate to consider this work to be for my benefit, Kijo. I do it on your request, yes, but..."

"Do you want me to relieve you?"

"No. No, quite the opposite." Oroitz narrows his eyes. "Understand that this is not a slight on you, but I cannot see myself leaving her just now. She will need months - maybe years - to recover, and to leave her now would -"

"Then stay with her." Kijo speaks with an air of finality - calm, without malice. "Stay with her for as long as it fucking takes. In fact," Kijo pauses, her eyes darkening. "The arrangements have already been made. Commander Optimist seems to think she won't last another month, so what's the harm in assigning you to her until she kicks the bucket?" Kijo narrows her eyes. "Prove him wrong, Oroitz. You and Minerva."

"I... I appreciate your support in this," Oroitz responds cautiously. "But... if I may ask, why would you give me up - even temporarily - for this woman that you barely -"

"None of your business," Kijo snarls in warning, though softens slightly at Oroitz's wincing. "I know how you like to stick your beak in everything, but just this once, give it a damn rest -"

"No. You gave me what I asked for. This once... Just this once... I shall not press for the reason."

"Thank you."

The crow tilts his head, curious. "And what of Bia?"

"I'm having a chat with her when she comes back." A pause, as Kijo clears her throat, concealing some deeper emotion. "Cal wants the same arrangement for her, too."

Oroitz cannot help but squawk in shock. "SURELY, you wouldn't agree to -"

"I'll handle it. Now, promise me you'll take care of Minerva - and Bia, too, y'damn birdbrain." Kijo smiles.

"I promise with all my heart, you insufferable hag." Oroitz's beak curves into a grin.

"Good." Kijo walks over, and gives Oroitz a few strokes under the chin. "I'll miss ya, but I think you're in good hands."

The Honchkrow nods once, and turns away, taking wing and flying out the door in the hurry. The last thing he would ever want in life would be for Kijo to see him get emotional on her account.

Soon after the crow flies out of Kijo's room, Bia ambles back in, black and blue and smiling wide. She hops up on the bed beside Kijo, seeming to try to read the paperwork that the ex-criminal was sorting through. With a very gentle pat on the head - so as not to trigger the fighting type's tender bruises from vicious play - Kijo chokes back her emotions. The talk with Oroitz, well... that had gone easier expected. This one, however...

"Bia... I need to tell you a secret. It's a very, very important secret, so I need you to listen. Got that?"

Bia nods, turning both ears forward to face Kijo in an alert, listening pose.

"A couple of days ago, you went with Oroitz to meet a woman that was strapped in a chair. Do you remember her?" Kijo pauses, grimacing a bit at being forced to help her Pokemon recollect. "Do you remember restraining her when she tried to break free, and tried to hurt herself?"

Bia nods sadly. She didn't understand what was wrong with the woman, but she felt for her deeply. Her smell was oddly familiar to Kijo's smell, in a way she couldn't quite describe, and whatever it was - whatever brokenness was inside - Bia wanted to hug it away, somehow.

"That woman, she's..."

Kijo pauses, tapping her fingers on a particularly dense stack of pages. The cover page, stating that the package had been extensively researched and verified by one Eilian March, was addressed in careful, loving script to someone named Leonora.

No, not someone.

Addressed to her. Kijo.

"...She's very sick. She needs a lot of help. But I don't know how to help her. Hell, I don't think I even can. Oroitz seems to think he's got it all figured out. He reads to her and shit. I guess it's helping. Maybe." Kijo flips through the stack of papers, landing on a birth certificate. Bia looks at the paper with the same intensity as Kijo, but if she understood its significance, she did not show it.

Kijo takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully.

"I don't know much about family. The one I had - the one I thought I had - was just a bunch of rotten, backstabbing punks wearing the same uniform. That's all. And whatever called itself my family before, well... they weren't the worst, I guess, but I think I always knew I didn't belong to 'em. Didn't even need to be told I was adopted to know I didn't carry their scent. So, where do I belong?"

Kijo turns to Bia, who tilts her head at the question.

"I don't expect you to know the answer, kiddo. I don't think anyone does. But if you ask me..."

Kijo stares down at the printed name - alien, yet familiar - Leonora Katerin Ette. She traces the letters with her finger, grimacing as they touch her surname. Bia winces along with her. Imitation? Feeling her bruises from her fight with the Emboar? Kijo couldn't quite tell.

"It's not here. Not yet. After all, Daddy dearest did everything he could to hide these records. I doubt he ever wanted Minerva to know about the other half-sister she had, and now doesn't really seem like the goddamn time. But I do know this - if I don't find some way to help her, the next time I see her will be in Hell, which doesn't have the best weather for family reunions, I hear." Kijo chuckles a bit as Bia shakes her head gravely, as if she were fully aware of the weather in Hell and the truth of the statement.

"Bia... Listen. I need you to stay with Minerva until she's healthy again. Okay?"

Bia tilts her head, as if not quite understanding, at first. After a moment, however, she gives a strong, determined nod of her head.

"Now, that might mean you don't see me for awhile. But you'll be able to play with Lora's Pokémon all day, and get very strong, and Mr. Oroitz is going to be with you, too. You'll be a very big, tough bear when we meet again, but that might not be for some time. Are you okay with that?"

Another determined nod.

"Okay." Kijo offers her hand for Bia to gently shake, only to be surprised by the bruised bear lifting herself up to give Kijo a big hug. The ex-Rocket sniffs back her tears as she gently returns the embrace.

"I love you, too. I always have. I always will." Kijo grits her teeth, as her concealed crying turns into some rather ugly snorting. Bia tightens her grip - not deathly so - but enough to calm Kijo slightly. Regaining her composure, Kijo gently pulls away, opening the door for Bia.

"Now go and make sure that Mr. Oroitz stays out of trouble, okay?"

Bia does not nod at this, instead pausing with a hesitant look. Saving a doomed woman from the brink of death and against all odds was one thing, but keeping Oroitz out of trouble?

Kijo laughs in spite of herself. "At least try, okay?"

Bia shrugs her little shoulders.

"Good enough. Now, go say hi to big sis for me."

Bia pauses for a moment at the door - reconsidering? But ultimately, she stomps purposefully forward, and Kijo shuts the door behind her.

"Family sucks," Kijo murmurs under her breath, and yet, the moment it leaves her mouth and the tears finally come streaming down, she knows she doesn't mean it.

Last edited by Marion Ette; 10-11-2023 at 05:25 PM.
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Old 12-05-2023, 08:57 PM   #24
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Obeying Orders

Obeying Orders

Commander Caelum Mystewind had seen his fair share of rainy days. Far too many, in fact. The Lacunosa Nightwatch dumped sorrows upon him in buckets. As their Commander, he had to bear the unbearable weight of an ocean. Every tragedy before left him thinking he had no tears left to shed, and every tragedy that followed always proved him wrong.

It occurred to Cal, as he flew above the clouds with his faithful Pidgeot, that the Abyssals, too, may have seen so much of sorrow as timeless beings who have witnessed the finite, that they themselves could fill the clouds with a rainstorm of their weeping. Deep in those twisted hearts, surely, there was a desire to save mortals from their own weakness... Wasn't there?

At this altitude, the air was so thin that breathing apparatus was necessary for him to continue the mission. Even so, his bird's eye view - augmented with Nightwatch technology - allowed him to close in on the two targets he would need to swoop in and salvage when the time was right. Too soon, and he risked drenching himself and Pidgeot; too late, and his targets would already be too far gone in the timeshift to pull back.

In truth, rescuing two was probably too ambitious. Really, he shouldn't be risking his hide for more than one - the one who called for him, ideally. Lora would have Cal's hide if he and Pidgeot overextended. Yet, Cal knew Pidgeot would not let him go without the second rescue. Birds of a feather, after all.

Not that Cal would ever admit it, and certainly not Pidgeot. But long ago, there was a young Nightwatch brat with a bird, and both of them copped a serious attitude. Both of them turned their noses at rules - followed the beat of their own drum - thought themselves invincible. Both of them learned the price of invincibility, as the last of their Unit left alive.

The Hells that Pidgeot had guided him through, had dragged him from... Places where only the birds know how to find freedom. There really was no choice, was there? They would save the damn crow, but that crow would have to fly back into Hell, and prove he could make it back out again.

---

Nadia's eyes flutter open with a start, her mind taking a moment longer to wake from slumber and register what she sees.

Just moments ago - at least, so it seemed - the Hisuian Zorua was getting drenched in a strange, mind-altering rain, which poured down in buckets on Sludge Wave Coast. As the sleep began to take her, rather than attempt (and fail) a dashing escape as Oroitz had done, she had instead taken her final moments before slumber to send a distress signal.

As Nadia's vision comes into focus, she realizes immediately that the call has been answered. Though she has no recollection of how she got there, the office in which she sits is warm, familiar; the face of the man regarding her from behind the desk is one she had carefully memorized. Said face - as Nadia expected - appears to be barely holding back irritation, his glasses doing little to shield Nadia from the fire in his eyes.

"You have a lot to answer for, Miss Solace. I haven't forgotten that little incident at the Trainer-Only Nightclub, to say nothing of your... transformation," Cal admonishes, before reclining back, expression softening slightly. "But we'll get to that later. How's that band fitting you?"

"Band...?" Nadia lifts her right paw, and realizes a small band has indeed been affixed to it. The timepiece appears like an ordinary, digital wristwatch; Nadia inspects it suspiciously.

Another familiar voice, directly to Nadia's right, squawks with indignation. "You dragged us all the way to Unova to give us watches? What is this, my retirement gift?"

"You could look at it that way, I guess," Cal shrugs. "I would not call that its primary function, however. Besides, I have an inkling that you both will reconsider retirement when I tell you why I have given you those wristbands."

Nadia and Oroitz look at each other for a moment, searching each other's feelings, before simultaneously turning to the Commander, nodding emphatically in unison as if rehearsed. Cal's smile widens.

"Your trust is appreciated," he says, "though, allow me to explain what you're getting into first. Would be the wise choice, wouldn't it?" Cal's lips remain in the semblance of a smile, even Queen Tsulah's heavy rain had nothing on the storm clouds forming in the atmosphere around the Commander. His hands grip the sides of his armchair until the knuckles turn bone white, his teeth clenching.

"The first thing that you both should know is, as of two months ago, the decision was made to classify the entire Fizzytopia region as Code Foxtrot."

"WHAT?!!"

"Seriously?!?!"

Cal responds to Nadia and Oroitz's shocked expressions with a level voice, though his internal storm continues to roil. "Neither of you were actively serving the Nightwatch at the time, so the immediate mandatory recall would not have applied - though, it seems Pidgeot and I have been personally forced to extract you both regardless."

"Code Foxtrot..." Oroitz repeats with a grim tone. "No Nightwatch may enter save those at the Rank of Commander. An extreme categorization for an entire region, Cal. On what grounds?"

"What grounds?!" Cal scoffs. "You both saw Her yourself. This is not your ordinary anomaly. We are dealing with an Abyssal."

"So, why the watches?" Nadia raises an eyebrow, and Cal nods in acknowledgement.

"Though they appear ordinary, they align you unfailingly to this timeline, regardless of whatever timey-wimey shenanigans that Dialga, Arceus or the Abyssals themselves try to pull. I do not have nearly as many of them as I'd like - particularly given the scope of the disaster that's like to result from what you both witnessed in Fizzytopia - but I do have some spares. Take a look at those watches, and tell me what they say, won't you?"

Oroitz takes a peek. "December 5th, 2023, 8:57 PM, Unova time."

Cal nods, before producing four small boxes, handing them all to Oroitz.

"I entrust these in your care. Though I do not approve of your means, Minerva is no longer a Cyclops, Oroitz. Now is not the time to leave her to that lonely fate. Rise, and take on your human form, that you may join her as an equal."

Tentatively, Oroitz allows a pink glow to consume him, Transforming into the human form that Nadia had tricked him into. Fortunately, despite the transformation, the watch seems to continue to fit well and display accurate time. Cal rises, and places his hands on Oroitz's shoulders.

"With the power inherent in me as Commander of the Nightwatch, I recategorize you as EYE-028-P, Oroitz Belasco." Cal chuckles as Oroitz shows obvious confusion. "You didn't know? This is not unusual practice. Before Minerva was considered fully and legally human by Unova standards and my extensive work with her, she served us with the Pokémon designation P-01-C7. Since Marion had released her, her guidance fell to me. When she was ready, through my designation, no one could deny her humanity any longer. Now, they will not deny yours."

Oroitz takes a deep breath. "I will do everything in my power not to let you down, Cal."

"Oh, I fully expect you to let me down, as you always have, Oroitz," Cal says with an enigmatic smile. "As a member of the Nightwatch, retired or otherwise, you are expressly not allowed in a Code Foxtrot area, remember?"

"...Yes?" Oroitz tilts his head, trying to parse what he hears to be a clear insult, despite the Commander's strange expression.

"And, since you are a good, honorable person who always does what I say and never deviates from the Nightwatch's rules, you will absolutely NOT defy the mandate to attempt to prevent or reverse whatever damage that Abyssal has caused, or will cause. You will stay here, recover, and obey commands as they are given."

"Yes, sir," Oroitz snarls.

"Loud and clear," Nadia echoes with a dark smirk.

"Very good," Cal claps his hands together with an impish smile. "I knew I could count on the two of you to abide by my requests. Now, you are both dismissed!"

That night, Oroitz and Nadia set off on the first ferry to Fizzytopia. From the shadows beneath the dock, with hand over heart and wing over chest... Cal and Pidgeot watched them go.
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Old 12-12-2023, 10:17 PM   #25
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Meanwhile...

No day was ever the same for Sister Minerva and Sister Bia.

Sometimes, they were therapists, working through issues with penitents who saw them as gentle, solid souls they could cling to in an otherwise terrifyingly out-of-control universe (and Sister Bia made a damn good teddy bear, despite - or perhaps because of - her size and strength). Sometimes, they were administrators, organizing relief efforts, fundraisers, charity drives, efforts of all kinds for those in need. Sometimes, they were simple carpenters, building homes and shelters for those who lacked what so many took for granted. Whatever the need was, they met it. Exceeded it. They did it all together.

Though the demands of their days were diverse, their nights were much the same. Sister Minerva would strip to the swimsuit underneath her holy uniform, and Bia would strip to her bear bare fur. With Alphonsina by their side, they would dive into the waves, and swim as far as they could go, before finally turning back when exhaustion set in - pulling themselves beyond their limits to return to shore, each night. Though the ritual was practiced each night, the same way, the same intent, the out and back was farther and farther with each outing. On the shore, Journey and Voyage would bounce and bop and cheer for their friends, encouraging the show of strength and endurance.

It was the same, every night, until...

"Voyage, is that...?"

"It is! Oh, no! We should call for our friends!"

"Call with all our might!"

And the boys called with all the strength of their voices, and beyond it - all the strength of their hearts, and beyond that - all the clarity of their minds... and beyond that, too.

When the Sisters and Alphonsina cut their journey short to return, they found a young woman, gasping for breath on the shore. Rags clinging to her emaciated body, to which the sand relentlessly stuck. Both sisters knew CPR, but Minerva was quickly volunteered to carry it out. The woman felt so fragile, like she would disintegrate in her arms, but the Sister persisted, careful, but firm. That air wasn't going to get in this drowned woman's lungs without some force, after all, but it scared Minerva, the way this woman felt. Even so, the woman kept hanging on, and Minerva would hang on with her for as long as it took.

When she could breathe and stand on her own, the Sisters offered to help her to nearby clinic, but the woman refused. The deadness in her eyes, which Minerva had first thought the result of her close encounter with Poseidon, persisted into her recovery. Her affect was eerily flat, her emotions beyond guarded - gone.

"I need no help beyond what you have provided," she explained coldly. "I am searching for pieces of myself, you see. They were scattered to the four winds, and all I have left is here -"

The woman produced a small, velvet pouch from her rags, which seemed uncomfortably light. Fortunately for Sister Minerva, strangeness was a familiar bedfellow, and she could accept this just as easily as any other mundane explanation.

"At least let us take you back to the room and give you a warm bath, a change of clothes, and a good meal. That all sounds nice, right?"

The woman merely shrugged, but did not protest.

It was odd. Even after the woman bathed and dressed, Sister Minerva thought she still saw flecks of sand all over the woman's body, and yet, they were clearly embedded in her skin. Odd birthmarks, perhaps? A strange side-effect of her ordeal? She couldn't say for sure.

Her name was Sćdís. Sye-deece. It took a few tries for Sister Minerva to pronounce it correctly, and a few more for her to write the ć correctly. It looked like a sad little Butterfree, whenever Minerva tried, and Sćdís was reluctant to correct it. "It seems right," she would say, even when it wasn't.

Sćdís refused their help, but refused to leave. When Sisters Minerva and Bia would go into town to assist the people, Sćdís would offer her support however she could. Despite her charmless demeanor, she was naturally mysterious and beautiful, and the people flocked to her. She would guide them to the Sisters, and they would handle the rest. Sćdís kept clean and accurate records, managed chores well enough... was certainly better-organized than the infamously "I'm sure I'll remember it later" Sister Minerva.

She refused to enter the water in the evenings, understandably. She would sit on the shore with Journey and Voyage, and they would ask her questions.

"Why are you looking for pieces of yourself?"

"They were scattered to the four winds, by an evil queen, long ago. I was a threat to her reign, and she could not bear it. Now, I seek myself, from here to the Virga..."

"Why did you wash up here?"

"I sensed myself closeby. Pieces of myself. Grains of sand, on a distant beach, and I tried to swim..."

"How many more pieces do you need to find?"

"More than you can count, little Wynauts. Far more."

"Why would an evil queen do such terrible things to you?"

"Because, long ago, I ruled the shoreline, but the coast had little sway against the Water. The sand and sea nowadays are a bit more evenly distributed, I believe. So if I were to reassemble myself, the battle would be more... fair, I would hope."

"What makes you so beautiful?"

"I am not beautiful."

"Oh, but you are! You are!"

And Sćdís would say nothing more, even when Sister Minerva would emerge from the water, drenched and laughing, and tell her the very same thing about the way the moonlight caught her on the shore. Then - and only then - a ghost of a smile would creep on Sćdís' lips.

"No. But you are."

---

Bedivere arrived in the evening, with Leith by his side. He had absolutely dressed for the occasion, Sister Minerva could see - fine fabrics and intricate designs, pearl buttons and pristine craftsmanship. Never had she wished more for an entire suit of armor to cover herself.

Wearing only her swimsuit and her embarrassment, she offers the drowned man an awkward handshake, only to be swallowed in his arms, her neck and shoulder drenched in his overwhelming tears, the smell of the ocean drowning her as if it wasn't a few paces away.

"Minerva... Oh, my dearest, dearest Minerva... How I have missed you... How darling Lady Marion has missed you... Oh, how we all have! To see you thus, I... oh, I am so sorry, I..."

"It's all right," Minerva coughs out, in equal parts trying to soothe him while also pull him off herself. "I know it's been a long time, Bedi. I missed you, too. Really. Really, I did..."

It wasn't false. He had been really the best friend anyone could ask for, for so many years... and yet, something about this reunion felt dissociative, weightless, unanchored. She wanted to run back into the water. Memories of him floated on the surface of her consciousness, and she could tell by the way his blue eyes regarded her, that he would try to kiss her. What would she do, then? Turn away? Make an excuse? Alphonsina hovered behind, clapping her flippers like this was the best thing that ever happened. And then...

"Ah. There you are."

Sćdís made a motion to the shadow Sandygast by Bedivere's side, with a strange little smile. As the woman approached Leith, her body seemed to dissolve, instantaneously decomposing into dust and sand. The velvet pouch in her pocket fell, opened, released its contents - more sand - and it all came swirling into Leith.

From the sand, came the memories, embedded in shadow. Little Leith's eyes widen, taking at all in... Only to return to her usual, emotionless self.

Thus, it was without warning that Leith struck out against Alphonsina.

The Pokémon was fainted before anyone could so much as issue orders. Sister Minerva stood, dumbstruck, as did Bia - Bedivere immediately recoiled, aghast and spewing apologies.

"She is the enemy," Leith said simply. "I see that now." Turning to the shocked Minerva, the little sandcastle calmly remarked, "Do you know what day it is? What time?"

She didn't know the whole of it, then... but that was the moment that Minerva began to recognize the truth.

Last edited by Marion Ette; 12-12-2023 at 10:59 PM.
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