"Maid Miss Miriam!" the amassed pile of black fabric and white ribbons is
slightly cheerier than you. Erm. Want. "At your service, si-yah!"
"Nice to meetcha, Miriam." Takes you a moment to realize that last word is "sire", through her... "Those dulcet tones you're workin' me over with - you Galarian?"
"Yes, sah, si-yah!" She brandishes the duster she carried in with her in a salute so perfectly practiced it's
creased. "Me and the fam disappeared ourselves from Galar for a vacation, the week before all the trouble started! Vacay's gone a bit
extended, you catch my meaning."
"That why you're faking the accent?"
"Whazzat?"
"Didn't say nothin'," you lie. "So! Came to the interview prepared, I see. Nice to see the good blackguards of the world are already reppin' the winning Team's colors! Black and white and professional all over."
"Right down to me knickers!"
"G-goli?!"
You pat Golisopod on the shoulder, ignoring his blush. Really, the guy's always been a prude. "And you're here to… clean up the Isles, as it were, right?"
"Yes sur!" Aw, come on, that's not even the same pronunciation for "sir". "I specialize in dustin' and moppin', with a bit of sprucin', and a touch of wine tastin'!"
"Noted," you nod. "What about gunplay? Martial arts? Scouting? Got any Pokemon?"
"Say what?" And the accent is
gone, members of the viewing audience,
disappeared. "Erm, I mean, uh, beggin' yer pardon, si-yah?"
You sigh, deeply, because somehow, you knew this was comin' from the very moment you saw the magnificent miss maid miriam, who deserves no capital letters. "Look. You're tryin' to lie your way into my gang. I don't really have any other choice than to respect that." You cross your arms in stalwart severity. "But it'd've helped if you known – or even
noticed – what exactly you were s'posed to be lyin'
about."
"P...pod goli!"
"That's… I mean… you know…" The girl's twiddling her fingers, now. "...so...what
is this meeting about?"
"I'm. Hiring.
Mercs."
She considers this for a bit. "
Mercenary Miss Maid Miriam?"
"We are so long past the point of caring how catchy your name is."
Miriam "harrumphs." "Harrumph!" Yeah, like that. "Well, I can see where I'm not wanted." She sighs, and turns on her heel. "I'll just… try again next year, I guess! Phooey."
"This isn't gonna be a -" you call, and then immediately shut your mouth. "Just let her go, Guzma. Just let her leave."
0-0-0-0
"90% of any attacks on Alola's shores have gotta
get to Alola's shores before they do anything. That's what makes your local Surfer – such as myself- your best bet at bouncing bogus bad guys back!"
"Yeah, news flash, buddy,
we're the bad guys."
"Righteous!"
"I really feel like you're missin' the memo, here."
"Look, point is, when life throws a wave at you, who do you want ridin' the half-pipe? Someone who hasn't got a clue about keepin' their board under 'em, or someone like yours truly?"
"Eh, I guess we could use someone for ocean explorin' while Splash is getting' her fins back under her…"
"Aw, no, brah, I can't swim."
"What."
"Totally sinksville! Like a hammer!"
"
What."
0-0-0-0
"Where others might come to you with a single Pokemon, Great Lord Guzma, I come to you with an entire
flock! Soaring even now, as we speak, above our heads, I command an army of Woobats, Pidgeots, Ledybas, and other assorted assassins of the air! Hire me, and the very skies above shall learn to fear Team Skull!"
"...prove it."
"Mmm, didn't think that far ahead!"
0-0-0-0
"I've left behind my family, my friends – everything. The only thing left for me is this – the battlefield."
You and your bro stare for an awful long time at what you are
pretty dang sure is a little kid in a Pikachu onesie.
"What's your age, again, pipsqueak?" you finally ask.
"Age, gender, even my humanity -" the tyke toddles forward, "I left them all behind me, when I stepped foot into this – the battlefield."
"Sopod, Golis," your bro articulates with his antennae. "Pod, so, go so."
"I'm eight years old," the eventual pout puffs up his widdle cheeks.
"...I respect the moxie, kid."
"LIS GO -"
0-0-0-0
"My name's Stan. This is my Lickilicky. His name's Greg."
"Round little guy."
"Ain't he just?"
"Pod liso?"
"Yeah, you're round too, big guy, don't worry."
"Goliso…"
"So what's his deal?"
"Taste tester. Lots of poisons out there."
"Licki licki!"
"That right. How's his track record?"
"He tastes all the meals I cook for my wife, and she's only been poisoned twice!"
"...so, uh, instead of beginnin' to even
begin to unpack all that, we're just gonna thank ya for your time."
"Eh, fair nuff."
"Licki…"
0-0-0-0
"Metapod, use Harden!"
"Meta met!"
"...what am I lookin' at here."
"Now! This time, use HARDEN!"
"META MET!"
"stop"
0-0-0-0
"Tell me about what you bring to the table. And, preferably, what's with the getup."
"My darkness, bright! My shadow, light! The swirl of stars, encased in night! I slip from sight. I bark and bite. I am the day, fallen to night."
"'Fraid I don't follow…?"
"None follow me! None
dare! None CAN! For I am…
GLIGARMAN!"
"Yeah, okay, but what do you
do?"
"On leather wings, I fly! With poison tip, I sting! I am Gligarman, and I
fight crime!"
"Oh, cool, the exact opposite of what we want, great."
0-0-0-0
"My name's Alyssa!" says the girl, dressed in a yellow sundress, a Pikachu-ear headband, yellow facepaint with dots of red on the cheeks, and a Pikachu-head fanny pack. "I love Pikachu!"
"Wouldn't'a guessed," you manage to croak out. "Why are there two of you weirdos?"
"Please! I'm more of a Pikachu fan than that boy in the subpar onesie will
ever be."
"I don't even know this lady!" a very young, very familiar voice calls from the back of the auditorium.
"You don't know anything about PIKACHU, either, you-!"
You clap your hands. "Much as I hate to interrupt a crime scene in progress..." you say, before anyone else can do. Anything. At all. "Seems safe to assume you've got yourself a Pika-pal a' your own. How 'bout we all see what the little scamp can scramble for us?"
"Oh, no," Alyssa says, rapidly shaking her head. The headband stays on, which is a miracle. Maybe a calamity. "I'd love love love love
love to own a pretty little Pika of my own, but I've been monless since before all the Pokemon disappeared!"
It turns out, if everyone in a very large room blinks in surprise at the same time, it makes an audible noise! "Wha-" Control. Maintain control.
Hurry. "Hold up, what
exactly have you got to offer us, here?"
"What have you got for
me?" Alyssa demands, crossing her arms. "
I'm the cutest, most knowledgeable Pikachu expert in the entire world – maybe even the entire World! You guys steal Pokemon, right?
Imagine what I could do for you with just
one of those itty bitty shocky sparky cuties in my clutches!"
There is silence, save the noise of the train jumping the rails.
"Are you askin' us to steal a Pikachu for you."
"I'm
demanding it."
"Leave."
0-0-0-0
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"See! Ain't he great?"
"First off, 85% certain Mr. Mimes aren't like people-mimes. They talk."
"I'll have you know my Mr. Mime has a birth defect he is
very sensitive abou-"
"Secondsies, that's
clearly a dude in a Mr. Mime getup."
"How
dare you! First you make fun of my partner's disability, and second you doubt he's even my partner at all?! This magnificent creature you see before you is nothing other than 100% certified, genuine, the realest Mime, Mr., that you ever did see!"
"Ah, then he should be able to throw up a Barrier pretty quicklike. Golisopod? Pin missile."
"GOLISO!"
"WAIT NO I WAS JUST KIDDING I'M NOT A MR. MIME-"
0-0-0-0
"Been an Ace Trainer for the past six years. Think you'll find I'm plenty experienced for the position!"
"Yeah, okay, I'm intrigued. Not too proud to admit it."
"I'll more than live up to your expectations. Bet on it."
"Pod pod…"
"My bro's got a point, though. Gals like you are usually total goody-two-shoes. What's the opinion on mayhem, devilry, shenanigans, and acts of rascals?"
"Pffft. My shoes are
totally the kind baddies wear! Would I partner with a Lieperd if I weren't a Prankster at heart?"
"Lie!"
"Yeah, took the words right outta my big fat mouth -'lie' is
just what I was thinkin'."
"Hey!"
"Buuuut I'm not gonna let my personal prejudices get in the way of a trained fighter, so… whaddya specialize in, you and your partner?"
"Status effects, on demand and in a hurry."
"So I could beat you with a pocketful of Paralyze Heals."
"That's… that's not… you know what? I'm just gonna leave."
"Yeah, for the best."
0-0-0-0
"I am
actually abandoned by the Tapus, aren't I."
"Metapod, use Harden!"
"Meta met!"
"
How'd ya even get back in here?!"
0-0-0-0
"I've waited 20 years for this day to come! Kneel down before me!"
"Why are there THREE of you?!" you ask the little kid in the Eevee onesie, not really expectin' any kind of answer. "Where the heck'd ya learn to talk like that?"
"My mum always says that to my dad!"
While Golisopod chokes on thin air, you take yourself a nice, deep breath, tryin' to stamp out the ever-persistent idea that you're beginnin' to understand how Olivia must feel. "Alright," you finally say, voice strained, eyes pinched shut, turnin', walkin', and wavin' your hand. "Audition's over. We'll call you if we want you. Now
am-scray."
The lights shut off behind ya, and your bro returns to his ball without you even havin' to ask. There's the vague sound of an Eevee-shaped kid making whiny noises at you, behind the closing door, but – funny thing - you can't quite find it in you to care.
"Four islands," you complain, stood still in the middle of the back exit hallway. "Four whole islands, and nobody knows the first thing about bein' the beatdown." You laugh, and if it sounds a little like sandpaper, well, you're just a rough kind of a guy, arentcha? "Am I missin' somethin'? Tell me I ain't bein' even more boneheaded than usual, here, Plumes."
"Jury's out, I'm afraid." Your lieutenant, ever-faithful, ever-
traitorous, steps from the shadows alongside you. "I mean, technically, we called things off before the Eevee had her chance to wow us. Who knows; maybe she had a Steelix up her fuzzy brown sleeve."
"Thought maybe she might," you acknowledge, "But if she had, she'd've bust the door down by now. Or tried
somethin', 'stead of just," And rather than end the sentence normal-like, you sorta... open your palm and blow out on it. Symbolizin' givin' up, or whatever. Dandelion seeds.
"True," Plumeria looks back at the Crucible, as you've been privately calling it, for a long while. The look in her eyes tells you she's thinkin' you oughta rename the joint. You're halfway there with her, bein' honest. "Still."
"Mm?" you raise an eyebrow.
Plumeria looks you in the eye, hand on hip, and uh oh, here comes the lecture. "We aren't exactly in a position to be picky, here."
You prickle up. You can't help it.
"Or to be prickly."
Aaaaaaand she caught ya. "I know, I know," you grumble, because she
doesn't steer you wrong, she
hasn't, it's just – "Just – loosenin'." Yeah. That.
She nods as she steps in front of you. It's a heartfelt speech, comin' from her, and ya take it as such. "You weren't lying, back there. We need people. The Skulls are strong, but they can't be everywhere in Alola. We're doing well with what we have been able to do, so far, but without more bodies, our problems will outpace our problem-solving by the end of this year."
"Heh. So matter of fact about it all."
Plumeria slowly raises an eyebrow. You definitely don't think about the fact that Poison-type Pokemon are immune to much of the toxins Bug-types use to protect themselves from predators. Nope. Not a single thought like that enters what passes for your brain.
...alright, you're not foolin' nobody. Probably a good idea to hit the brakes, apologize, and quit deflectin'.
"Like you're readin' off our obituary, honest. I'm in mourning, right now, Plumes.
Mourning. Totally your fault."
Let it never be said that once, in your entire life, have you ever succumbed to a good idea.
But then again, is it
really that bad of an idea if it gets Plumeria to roll her eyes, snort, and try to hide that smile as she turns away? "...you get what I mean, though," she says.
You sigh. "That's what this was
for, ya might recall. We put out the word, through Alola and beyond. The illustrious, illuminatin', oft-imitated, never-duplicated, best boneheads in all the World -" You throw your arms, barking a laugh that's… that's mostly desperation, to be honest. "- and y'all could be one of us, if your fiendish little heart desires!"
"And that's all who showed up."
Ain't it just.
You grunt, turning to the wall, leaning your forehead on it, and..."Maybe we ain't sent out a strong enough signal." ...and you think of the lighthouse.
You've
been thinking of the lighthouse. It's turning circles in your head, and blindin' your other thoughts wherever it shines. It's like… it's like its turnin' is timed with your breaths, or something. Like someone shattered your skull and shone a light into all the brain-places you ain't want people lookin'.
…
Thunk.
You turn your head sliiiightly to the right, and find Plumes leaning on the wall next to you. Backways, not frontside. Or however you'd say it. "Life," she chews on air for a moment. "...sometimes, life is just… who shows up."
"...are you tryin' to be a fortune cookie?"
"Are
you trying to be a doorstop."
"Maybe I am, what about it." You turn over, leaning back instead of forwards. Same way Plumeria's doing, basically. "I dunno. I mean, you're
right, 'course you're right, you're
always right, it's the most annoying thing ever."
"You're welcome."
"It's just…" You groan, and urgh, and ugh, and yeargh, and
accept that you're just...hrm. Gonna hafta say it. "How many Skulls do you think it
takes to change a lightbulb?"
Her face scrunches in displeasure. "More than we have, it seems like."
You pull a hand over your own face. "Maybe we can't put out a signal at
all."
"OR maybe beggars can't be choosers." She pushes off the wall, and turns to stare you down. "Boss, if you want my opinion, you need to march back in there, say something approaching an apology, and
choose somebody. I don't care how
uncool you think they are."
"...ya really don't see it, Plumes?"
It's a rare thing – has happened maybe, oh, three times in all the years you've known her – but occasionally, you get to see Plumeria looking surprised. "See what?"
"The people in there," you manage to say it confident-like, "Weren't here because I was the best. Weren't here because the Team was the best. Weren't even here for the paycheck
, really." You could've taken it if they were, it goes unsaid. "Each and every one of 'em – ;scept maybe the kids, and we're not
that desperate - was here 'cause they thought it was an easy gig. That Team Skull didn't… that
we, all of
us, don't mean nothin'."
Plumeria nods, considering this. "So we can't hire any of them," she eventually concedes your point.
You laugh outright. Someone's gotta appreciate the punchline, even if the punchline's you. "Today's been a total bust, ain't it?" And then ya let your face fall. "And we're still runnin' for the lifeboats."
"Mm." Plumeria thinks for a while. "So... what the heck are we gonna do?"
"You think
I've got a clue? Try an' remember who you're rappin' with, here,"
"You've always got a clue," the kind words are –
ow – dulled by a flick to the forehead. "So help us to solve this, oh fearless leader."
"Some leader," you mutter. "Look at who I've got linin' up to follow me." A soft snort. "Then again, maybe I already snatched up all the coolest people, and it's just the dweebs left over, now. Whaddya think?"
"Maybe," Plumeria shrugs. "Or maybe the people out there just don't have any way of seeing the real you."
You're about to chastise her that between this and attempted proverbs, she's being
way too sappy today, but then -
- like a bolt from the blue -
- it hits you. 'People seeing the real you.'
A
person.
"...how's about Miyu?"
Plumeria tilts her head, as though your thick skull ain't jus' crashed headlong into the smartest idea anyone's ever had. "I want you to say that out loud a second time."
"Nah, nah, hear me out," you grin at her. "Us Skulls? We already got us enough muscle to crush the World's handshake, am I right or am I right?"
"That goes without saying," Plumeria nods, starting to warm up to the idea.
"So we don't need more robbers and highwaymen on the payroll," you put some more heat out, "We just need to know what dark alleys we'll get the poorest suckers out of, right?"
"A command point," Plumeria says, "Not more feet on the ground."
"Already runnin' rampant." In the direction of "towards the door", to be specific. "Not like anybody can tell
us what to do, course, buuuuut…"
"A suggestion or two wouldn't hurt." You can always hear the grin sneaking into Plumeria's voice, even if she never likes showing it up on her face. "Think you can convince her?"
"Ha!" you bark, turning, bursting the door open with your back. "Yours truly could swindle the sun out of its shine. How do ya think Po Town's weather got the way it is?"
"If anyone could," Plumeria's never had to actually finish a sentence to make her point. "Still, you sure? That particular woman…"
You give your lieutenant one last grin, as you make your exit. "She'll stay. You wait and see."
0-0-0-0
There's a hole in your city, where a tent once stood.
Not
literally a hole. But. You know.
The rain soaks extra-quick, today, damps you down to the bone while you stare at the nothing where somethin' once sat. You squat to the ground, like you're squarin' up for a scrap, and run your hand along the earth, like – like anything's gonna change. In response, the mud won't even do ya the courtesy of stickin' to your skin.
And you stare. And stare some more. You stare, and stare, and stare.
You think you see what you're starin' at, even though you're staring at nothin' whatsoever. Pretty sure it's one of them optical illusions. Look carefully, now: in the spaces between the raindrops, there's the shape of teeth.
More than empty space, you stare into the maw.
It's not real, of course. Like you said, just an optical illusion. It'd be crazy to say it's closing around you.
"That it, then?" Talking to people who aren't there. That would
also be crazy of you. "That all?" The smile emerges, corpse-like in its shallow grave. "Well, well, well. You gotta whole lotta nerve, you know that?"
It feels like… like there should at least be an echo. Or a lightning strike, to punctuate. But no. Not even the raindrops will retort to ya, tonight. You're drowning in silence.
Eh, well, alright, maybe
you're the echo, at this point. You ain't seen Plumeria pass by you, but you wouldn't be a bit surprised to hear she's gotten back home before ya, anyway. You've… been hangin' out here a while.
"Jus' up an' skedaddle, the moment we turn our backs. Cripes, you think even a numskull like myself'd know the deal, by this point." You sniff, and it whistles. Broken nose; never healed quite right. "You're gonna break Plumes's heart, you know. She was gettin' real attached."
Echoing.
"But then again, no one could really blame ya for turnin' tail and runnin' - least of all, yours truly!" you raise your voice. "Fightin' fate itself? Hah! Small potatoes. Could do that in your sleep, right, Miyu? In your sleep, one hand behind your back, standin' on your head, you'd make what's yet to come pee its pants in terror! And yet, up against the awful and awesome Guzma..." Your shoulders shake. Must mean you're chuckling. "Heck, who wouldn't set sail first chance they got?!"
You stand. You smirk. You laugh.
"So I ACCEPT the terms of your surrender!" you shout at Miyu, however many Worlds she's gone and put between you two at this point. "The future tense fails! The time of Skulls stands on the corpse of tomorrow! You lose! Guzma WINS! And y'all were STUPID to ever think otherwise!"
You take a great gulp of air, bulging up your chest, arching up your spine, coiling up the ol' vocal cords, and...
"...gahhhhh, what izzit now, my third time sayin' all this?"
Fourth. First
outside your actual head, though.
"Feh, who am I kiddin'." you murmur, and the smile's maybe a little more alive, this time around. "I could never stand goodbyes, myself."
The words are pretty, but it's still raining.
You raise your palm, dripping with thick air, and draw it over your face. What's left behind is washed, not like clothing or like chalkboards, but like a crisp 100 Pokedollar bill. Faded and torn.
"So..." you think you ask the tonsils. "...now what?"
"Azzle sal lazzle!"
Being a leader means that you can't ever seem like you don't know what's going on. That's why you don't react to the sudden words. You don't jump, flail, screech, or otherwise physically give reality the satisfaction of startlin' ya.
Spiritually, however, you squawk like this off-World Pokemon you saw once called a "chicken" and land butt-first in the mud, all dignity erased, wide-eyed and arms whirling.
Somehow, "Laz sazzle?" You think your startler knows.
"Yo, Salazzle. How's it hangin'. Somethin' up?" you try and get to the point. Because you know Salazzle hates the rain. No other reason.
Salazzle rolls her eyes, using her tail to draw a picture in the mud at your feet.
Plumeria's head. And… an arrow. Pointing back towards headquarters.
You raise an eyebrow, catching the Pokeball Salazzle throws at you and recalling her into it, out of the rain. "Plumes needs me." Obvious, in retrospect. Sent off her Pokemon on her own, just to get you. Not a
crisis, she'd want her partner close to her for somethin' like that, but urgent.
Urgent.
You take some extra time to stare down the empty space where the future once was, anyhow.
Eventually, you turn, and walk towards Team Skull's base. You ain't all too certain which of you blinked first.
0-0-0-0
"Yo," you toss Plumeria back her partner, and confirm: "You sent the candygram?"
"That doesn't mean what you think it means." You're about to call her on her
insubordinate smirking, but it drops off her face before ya can get a bead on it. "Miyu?"
"Not acceptin' candygrams." Your own smirk's weak – it collapses under its own weight. "Nah, Miyu got outta dodge. Never even got a chance to chat wit' her."
Plumeria nods, less surprised than you were. "Trouble with oracles. They see you coming."
"Coulda just hung a 'No Solicitors' sign," you pretend the thought doesn't bother you.
"Would it have stopped you?" Plumes pretends, too.
"Y'all know I can't read," you thank her. "So. Our future's skipped town, we ain't got the mercs we promised to muster, and Salazzle's good and drenched."
"Sala lazz!" you hear a voice echo, faintly, from within Plumes' Pokeball.
You breathe in, slowly, and peer to Plumeria, askin' the question you've been kicking further down this convo: "What
else have we gotta get the ol' lifeboats out for?"
Plumeria doesn't respond. Not verbally, anyway.
Instead, she reaches out to her side, grabbing what was once probably a decorative curtain and pulling it to one side. She indicates you oughta look in for yourself.
So you do.
There's a room in the Shady House that's your "office", not that you ever actually use it. Or even remember where it is, most days. Mainly, the room's there so that you can say you have an office when you need to pretend to be professional.
Despite you never using it, the door is wide open.
A gaggle of wide-eyed Grunts are crowded around that door, peering into your office – awed, hungry, yet somehow afraid – as though it were a bowl of the perfect ramen.
"Visitors," Plumeria explains.
"That so," you squint. "Suddenly thinkin' Miyu had the right idea."
"Maybe we should've hung a 'No Solicitors' sign," she muses.
"I ain't the type to run," you say, and if it sounds slightly bitter, hey, coffee wakes you up, doesn't it? "None of us are."
"Ding dong ditches aside," she quips, though you can tell her heart ain't in it. "They wanna talk to you."
"
Talk to me. Heh. Cute metaphor. Who am I dealin' with?"
"One man." She takes in a deep breath of her own. "Four Pokemon."
...well, dang.
"Four?" you try and shrink your eyes down from the dinner plates they've grown to. "You're kiddin'.
Four?"
"All fully evolved, too. If he wanted to toast Team Skull?" it hurts Plumeria to admit it – almost as much as it hurts you to hear. "We'd almost certainly already be buttered. I think...I think he's being honest."
"...nice change of pace," you manage to mutter. You latch onto a nearby source of frustration: "Criminy, maybe you oughta have
called me instead of sendin' Salazzle out and leavin' our house monless, defenseless, and alone?!"
"...I wasn't thinking clearly."
You gawp at her, blinking hard.
"It's... been a stressful day."
Holy Tauros, you think she's blushing.
'Course, if you point that out, you think she'd kill ya, here and now, so instead, you say: "Alright. Gonna get Goli out, just in case." You put action to words, taking comfort in the "Goli!" that pops up behind you. "You go ahead, let 'em know the situation. I pick a lotta fights, but I ain't tryna startle the guy with
four gosh dang Pokemon."
"Will do," Plumeria nods, pivots, and walks. You wait about seven steps before going after her, your best bro moving immediately to backup.
The Grunts turn and mutter at your arrival, and you try your best not to make the nervous swallow noticeable.
"Amscray, all of you," Plumeria says, and to their credit, they all do. Little voices gettin' louder yet lower as they disperse, like a reverse doppler effect. She knocks at the open door. "Boss just got in. His partner, a Golisipod, will be joining the meeting. This isn't negotiable."
"I understand."
The "voice" you hear is a voice in the same way the fabric Plumes nudged aside was a curtain. As in, probably was, at one time or another – before all the holes. The dimming, the dust. The sheer scraping scalpel of time, careless and methodical and lethargic and altogether all too abrupt.
You ain't exactly the poetic sort; rap's always held the rhythm of your heart. But in just two words,
I understand, you've suddenly been pulled into a contest of meters.
This guy's been through a
lot, ya think.
"Good to hear," Plumeria's probably the
other last person anyone'd expect to meet at a poetry slam, so it ain't much surprise she cuts off your musing. "He'll be in shortly."
She walks off. You meet in the hall, a scant few steps from the door.
"Any tips?" you ask.
"Liso lis," Golisopod amends.
Plumeria considers. "Weak structurals. Collapse the ceiling, if you have to. Better to lose part of the house than the whole thing."
And the people in it. You nod. "Gotcha."
"We'll be right ouside," Plumeria releases Salazzle, who takes a vigil the moment she materializes. "I'd say send me a signal, but I feel like whatever happens is going to be obvious."
"Caught me," you manage to shrug, smirk, swagger past. "Closin' the door, though. Don't wanna spook him."
"Roger."
"Sala."
And then you see them.
The Xatu sees you first, though, peerin' at the open door even while you're walking through it. No, not peering – starin'. No, no, not staring –
piercin'. The thing looks at you like… well, like prey looks at a predator. With life-fearing intent.
The Absol sitting next to it seems less perturbed, barely sendin' ya a glance before gettin' back to licking its paw. Still, that paw: you see claws unretracted, and you're certain its aloofness is just it frontin'. It keeps lookin' around the room, you think, behind its three-quarter lidded eyes.
An Audino stands off to the side, much the Absol's opposite. It hides alla nothin', twiddling its fingers, mouth in a severe frown, its eyes dartin' all over like it's lookin' for an escape route. You've never actually seen one in person; it's… it's pinker than you expected?
But the man of the hour, sitting in a dusty chair, is all black. A black cloak, black skin, black hair, black eyes. Black stubble, if you squint. Though actually, on second glance, his spiky hair isn't
quite black, more a… a really dark red? Like the last dredges of sunset, when it's still fightin' the stars.
'Course, none of those guys are who you look at first. That particular honor goes to the Tyrantrum that's curled lazily around the entire group, its existence, even relaxed, a threat. Half-lidded eyes the color of glaciers, but no mistake: the gaze is heavy as glaciers, too. Lookin' right at ya.
...how'd it… get in the door?
"You're Guzma, I'd guess?"
You let the man in black stew for a bit, 'stead of answering. Watch the tension slowly tighten. If these guys're gonna pounce, best t'know how they start coilin', yeah?
Yeah. Right. Spot-on. Totally not at a loss for words, or anything.
And since you aren't at a loss for words, raising up one finger and silently moving it over the group isn't stalling
; it's jus' you –
"Yep. S'five of ya."
- okay, even you can't pretend you're not a little loopy after that.
Seems to have cut through whatever the gang was tryin' to build, though. Heavy blinks all around. "I…" the man looks around, as though counting for himself. "I'm sorry?"
You chuckle, a little. "Goli, wrangle the door for me, will ya?"
"Golisopod."
The door clicks as you sit at your desk, which apparently you have, and try to ignore the cloud of dust. Right. Time to establish power structure. Lean back, kick up your feet, arms behind head, smirk with the eyes closed, and-
"Your lieutenant tells me you like to talk?"
Your legs snap back down to the floor, and you sit up at sharp attention, skipping any and all movement between the two points.
The man in black is surrounded by appalled faces. Your Pokemon's face, his Pokemon's faces, his own dang face. That last one is slowly sinking into his hands. "I don't know," he almost sounds like he's crying, "W-w-
why I said that."
You breathe out a laugh. "Well, she ain't wrong." She never is, and it's awful. "But, uh…" It clicks, all of a sudden, how you should start this off. "Right now, I'm actually more interested in listenin'."
And so they talk – but not to you. Not immediately.
That's cool. Despite what you give everyone every reason to think, you
can be patient. Like you
can use proper grammar, and not shorten and splice all the words that come out of your mouth. It's simply that there's usually not much of a reason to bother.
Here and now, though, they're talking. Not with words – it's silent. Not with their mouths – those don't move. But they all look past and around and between each other, and in those looks you see pass by a world of permissions and hesitations and aggravations and -
"Tell me 'bout yourselves."
Maybe you're not all
that patient.
The man in black startles, and all eyes snap to you. "I'm sorry?"
"Quit beggin' my pardon." You wonder how Plumes ever thought… either these people are
spectacular actors or the word "harm" ain't even in their vocab. "Look, I dunno what you've been told 'bout me - I'm a monster? I'm a child? I'm a terrorist? Or was it that I steal candy from babies and trip old ladies on the street – any of that ringin' any bells?"
"Audi? Audino..."
"It's, uh…" The man sighs. "It's a familiar tune, yeah."
"Well, it's all true," your grin goes crooked in the way only the heady rush of
power allows. Sure enough, the whole squad leans back
just a little. Heh. "Especially the most awfullest stuff. The worse, the better, that's our Team's motto!"
The Absol moves in front of the guy. If it weren't for the signal you sent Golisopod before you started talking, things might've escalated.
"...is that so?" the man says, as though he doesn't have a growling Pokemon with very sharp teeth between him and you.
"Ghoulish, gruesome,
gorgeous," you list off your best qualities, "I'm a bonafide bad guy! The kind that sows chaos and rains destruction!" Your smile doesn't… it doesn't fall off? More like it steps down, yeah. "Which begs the question: if I'm such a
bad guy, why do you feel like you gotta apologize to me all the time?"
He just blinks at you. The Absol stays ready. The Xatu looks between the two groups, back and forth. Your bro stays obediently still, though you sense the tense of his legs.
"I mean, it's not like I deserve it."
It's a gamble. But you need everyone to relax, here.
Slowly, the man reaches his hand out, and places it on Absol's head. Rubs it once, twice. "I guess it's how my mother raised me," he says, as the Absol relents.
"That so?" you ask, swallowing your next quip.
"Well. Less my mother, and… more my circumstances." He indicates his group. "All our circumstances. Often a polite attitude is all that's between us and…"
He trails off. You let him.
The rain cascades against the windows.
"You remember the Disappearance."
Not a question. "Hard to forget," you commiserate. "Lost everyone but my best bro."
"Goli po," his claw
thunks against your shoulder.
"...we all lost people, too." The man in black looks away from you all. Somewhere into the storm. "Not directly. But in the aftermath, there was… that
spike."
Of people takin' Pokemon from others. Killin' each other over them. Treating the ones left behind in really, genuinely
awful ways. An' that's comin' from you. "How'd Plumeria put it?" you try and remember one of the conversations you and her have had about this very subject. "'Loss. It changes people. Makes them desperate, sometimes.'"
"It does," the man in black says, his voice small and soft. "We're what's left. All five of us. Different circumstances, different regions, but… all the same story." His next breath in trembles. "We met at one of the attempted Pokemon Contest Revivals. Just before…" Eyes slamming shut, he shakes his head. "You know."
And the little voice in your head that hates everything and everyone you do and are and meet tells you, in that moment:
He is acting. This is a sob story.
...it's one of the few negative character traits you don't like ownin' up to, that one. But the voice which hates has kept you
alive, all these years. You've done well in life, listenin' to it when it speaks up.
Yet. Just this once. Just this once, you look at what's in front of you, instead of what's in the back of your mind. The holes in the clothes. The way they flinch at everything. The connectedness that comes only from being each others' lifelines. "You're refugees," you say, the pieces clicking into place.
The man licks his lips. The Pokemon around him sort of… droop. "We didn't actually get together
at the Contest." He scratches his cheek with one finger. "The whole thing was canceled. Had to be; three quarters of the competitors couldn't enter anything. And then, a year to the day later, after everything that happened, we-" He cuts himself short.
"Musta been destiny," you pick up the slack.
He sends a significant look, and his team sends four back. "Might just have been," he says. "Sorry, do you – some water?"
"What'd I say 'bout apologizin'?" you ask, tossing him the bottle of lemonade you had in your pocket. It's water! Just, you know, water that made some friends. "...I ain't gotta hear
all the sordid stuff. Just so I know ya know."
He gulps the lemonade greedily – your favorite sin – until it's down to about half a bottle, before passing it down to Tyrantrum, who in turn passes it to Xatu, etc. etc. His Pokemon sip more daintily; you'd guess he'd been allowing them most of the water rations. "I dunno where to go from here," he finally says.
"Mmm," you acknowledge. He ain't talkin' bout his story, you don't think.
...or maybe he is. He sure takes his sweet time thinking of what to say next. "Even before we met each other, the whole world was against us." There's a legion of tragedies in those handful of words, ya think. Better not press. "After we found each other, it… it was like that puffed up tenfold. But even though it was harder, it was also... easier somehow?"
"Ino, audino, in." The pink Pokemon's the first to touch his shoulder, but all four of them take their turns.
"Still, the hard times were still there." A deep breath, a slight cough. "Are still here. We've been in trouble with the law, the lawless, and one time some kind of weird cult."
"Only once?" you say, as dryly as possible.
The Tyrantrum makes a laughing kinda noise, so good to know
someone here appreciates ya. "I dunno, maybe not? It feels like one big long thing, sometimes, and…" He shakes his head again. "I'm not kidding when I say the world itself was against us. We've bounced from one Region to the next, trying to find someplace safe, and that means…"
"The Grey."
"And the disasters." He runs a hand through his hair. "Dust storms and terrible blizzards. Typhoons and tornadoes. If not for Absol, we'd've been caught in the middle of a million bad days."
"It senses disasters?" you ask, because you're not a saint, and that right there's an interestin' little
somethin'. "Always thought that was a, a watchamcalit, urban legend."
"Absol," the Pokemon perks up, smiling. Well, smugging. The smile's incidental.
"It's a rare ability." The man pauses. "Or so I'm told. But, yes, my friend has predictive powers. They help us avoid the terrible things, sometimes." A sigh. "The ones that aren't man-made or mon-made, at least."
"Sure don't narrow it down much," the self-proclaimed bad guy is still a little reluctant to admit.
"Golisopid," your partner is much less reluctant to agree.
"Still, I'm grateful," the man says, petting his Pokemon once more. "Thanks to her, we always know where not to go." He considers, for just a moment. "Or at least we can be fully informed before we go there."
You put two and two together quickly. "Got caught up in that storm last night, huh?"
"Didn't even need Absol to see it coming," the man says.
Gasp. "Ab!"
"You know that's not how I mean it," he gently knocks Absol on the head. So gently, you'd call it more of a
wumph than a
whack. "We were being pursued by some… you could say some
unsavory people. We thought our only chance at losing them was chancing it with the Grey, but then we saw the storm clouds on the horizon…" A defeated shrug. "A one-in-a-thousand chance is better than a one-in-a-million one."
"And either's better than the guys who were chasing you."
He nods. "The storm… was worse than we thought," he admits. Hands folded, thumbs rubbing over each other. Like a kid ashamed in front of his teacher, you'd think, if you'd ever really bothered with school. "Our boat was floating capsized. Tore out from under us. It's a
miracle we were still sailing, to be honest with you."
"Audino!" the Audino speaks up again, this time actually sounding – another sort of miracle – a little cross.
"We all wouldn't've made it if we'd gone below decks with the rest of you," the man treads old arguments. You can tell. "In fact," he turns his attention back to you, "We wouldn't have made it at all…"
He indicates you, with one hand. Almost like holding it out for a dance.
"...were it not for your lighthouse."
And that, spiritually speaking, knocks you right back into the mud.
"Pardon me?" you breathe out, eventually.
"My friend spotted the light shining through the storm," the guy doubles down on the impossible. "It wasn't very bright, but it was
there. It was someplace to aim for. If it weren't…" he trails off for a moment. "We almost certainly would've wrecked and drowned, all within the sightline of your shores."
"P-pod?"
"Sol, sol, ab."
You let your forehead sink into your open fingers, but grip your cranium before it can hit your palm. "Ain't that somethin'," you breathe, a little awed.
"It's why I felt I had to speak to you. Why I had to offer my thanks." You hear the man's chair squeak; he's probably leaning forwards. "Sir, no matter
what kind of man you are, you're the only reason w-"
Your laughter, deep and low, stark and severe, cuts him off at the pass.
"Ain't that just…
somethin'," you emphasize the words with careful measure, teeth and tongue scutting off consonants with lethal intent. "Well, Alola, and welcome!"
You look up, sharp. Sharper.
Sharper.
"Welcome, o tallest teller a tales I've ever had the displeasure of meetin'!"
"Wha-?" the man breathes out. His Pokemon clump up closer around him.
"You guys… you
really had me goin' there for a while, you know that?" You slowly stand. In the corner of your eye, you see Golisopod raise his arms in ready. "Gee
wilickers, you think I'd learn to listen to my gut at this point! Silly me. Must've been mistaking its rumblin's for hunger!"
"I-" The man has played a pretty part, and he looks like he's still tryin' to salvage: "I don't understand, what did I…?"
"Then again, maybe I was right in the first place!" you crow. "You all are startin' to look like pretty light snacks, come to think of it!"
"Hang on a second!" The man stands. The claws come out. The Audino steps back, hands raised in a blue light. Your bro steps in front of you.
...not that you actually intend on attacking these people. You ain't for sure whether you and yours could win, after all. But for whatever reason, these five don't seem to want to attack
you either. They came in with a lie, first.
And for that, you think they could stand to be a little scared, can't they?
"You come in here tellin' me about miracles!" you proclaim. "Well, ain't that
somethin'? Because your story's a miracle in and of itself!"
Like an attorney emphasizing the facts, you slam one foot on the table.
"That ol' broken eyesore don't even HAVE a spotlight IN IT!"
You take in their shocked faces – and so does Golisopod, judging by the way he backs off. Come to consider it, that's a sort of signal all on its own, ain't it? Him backing down. Like the words alone, like the lie you've caught them in alone, is enough. Like this is already over, before anyone's thrown a single punch.
Like you're the victor.
You can see them wrestlin' with the idea, eyes wide, body language half-to-taut. An awkward middle step. Even if they
do try somethin', at this point, getting from halfway'll be
slower than -
"Oh," the man palms his forehead. "Oh,
duh. Sorry, sorry, that's – that's my bad. Totally screwed that one up."
To a person, his Pokemon roll their eyes as they back off, too. Well, all of them except the bird. The man in question, though, sinks back into his chair.
And you stand there, blinking. "Uhhhhhhhhhh"
"Right, so – I should've known. I
did know. Your friend-" he draws up short. "Your friend?"
"Doubtful," you manage.
"Your acquaintance," he amends. "Olivia. She told me the lighthouse was broke. I
, uh, already knew that."
"And you still tried this little stunt? Hah! Points for brass, if not for brains."
"Ah, er, well…" Blushing, he indicates the Xatu. "Meet my friend Featherweight."
"Xatu!" it actually waves one wing.
"Like all Xatu," the man actually approaches some
pride as he explains, "Featherweight can see into the past with one eye, and the future with the other."
You blink. Hard. "Get outta town."
"Erm…" the man looks crestfallen. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time that we-"
"No, I mean -" you groan, and sink back into your chair. "I
mean… you bein' serious?"
"Oh!" More blushing. More rolled eyes from Xatu. "Yes. Completely." He coughs. "It's only a day in either direction, at most, but… he can do it!"
Even giving ol' Feathers two whole days to work with, the lighthouse ain't been lit, recently. So, you know, you're not the
best at logical deduction, you'll be the first to admit, but it's really startin' to sound like… "Know somethin', compadre? I think I mighta preferred it when I thought y'all were lyin'."
"Prophecy tends to do that." You're a little surprised to see the man agree, more surprised to see the rest of his team agree, and
most surprised to see Featherweight agree. "But still. Whether it was or will be, it was that lighthouse that lead us here, last night. That lighthouse that saved our lives."
The man stands once more, face serious.
"And that lighthouse, I am told, is yours."
And then he bows – all the way down on his knees, forehead on the ground. With only an instant of hesitation, his Pokemon follow behind him.
"You saved us, last night. Thank you, Guzma. Thank you for our
lives."
"Xatu."
"Di no aud."
"Sol sol."
"Tyrantrum."
"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" you definitely don't
squeak. You're very manly, and you proclaim the words with certainty and fortitude. "Don't – I ain't the – nah, jus'… jus' stand up, okay?!"
They all stand. All at once. As if you commanded them.
Ohhhhhh
no.
"If - " the man starts, back ramrod straight, "If there's anything we can do to repay you-"
"
Sit down."
They do. Again, all of them. Again, at your command.
…
...eventually, you turn to your partner. "An' what exactly are
you sniggerin' about,
big bro?"
"Goliso-"
Snrk. "So goli so."
Mrgrlbr. "Pod goliso!"
You groan. "Whaddya expect, Guzma? You crafted an entire organization out of traitors and backstabbers. What exactly was
s'posed to happen, huh?"
Despite your anguish, you still hear Plumeria not even
trying not to laugh, outside the door.
"What can we do for you?" the man repeats.
"Nothin'! Zip! Zilch! Squat! ¡Mucho
nada!" Sweet blazes, you wish you hadn't given away your lemonade. You need a
drink. "Jus'… you're welcome, okay? Sheesh. You really wanna help, then don't break the door if it happens to hit you on the way -"
"We want to help protect this place, if we can."
...you'd just metaphysically gotten
out of the mud. "...alright," you finally say, sitting down once more. One leg still on the desk, because you gotta make-believe
somehow that you're still in charge. "You got me. I'm listenin' again."
It's a sad sort of expression he sends you, but there's a spine somewhere back there, an' it's showin'. "We've been to a lot of regions. A lot of… dark places." He swallows. "Alola's been the first one to welcome us with open arms. The first one with…"
With light.
You breathe in. It's fruitless to argue at this point, ya think, but somethin' bein' impossible and bullheaded has never stopped you before: "Y'all just got off the boat, I hope ya don't mind me pointin' out. I respect that 'safe' is hard to muster up these days, but still – ya sound
awful certain, pal."
He shrugs, one shoulder. "The banners were pretty convincing."
The Hammer Bros. just can't seem to stop causin' you problems. But, then again – not like he's bein' literal, is it?
...he has four Pokemon. Four. Battle-hardened and used to looking over their shoulders. Could probably take out all of Team Skull, if he wanted. And he's handin' you all of him and all of his Pokemon on a silver platter.
You really can't say no, can ya?
"...we were…" You sigh. "...lookin' for extra hands, earlier today."
He makes a noise of sudden understanding, and at your look, says: "Your…
acquaintance told us we shouldn't join up with you."
"...well, now I've
got to hire you," you mutter, and you hear Tyrantrum laughing again. "Alright, alright, fine, sure. I'll give y'all a chance. Feel free t'bask in my infinite generosity." One eye shuts, but the other is wide, wide open. "'Less, of course, you
mind protectin' Alola's borders from outside threats, nefarious schemes, and labyrinthine plots against her shores?"
The conversation of eyes comes back.
This time, it goes a lot quicker.
"We'd be honored to, Guzma. Boss."
And if life were nice and neat, that'd be the end of things, but life has
you in it, so instead you say: "Swell. Now gimme the beatdown."
He nods, and the fact that he seems to know what you
mean by that is a point in his favor. You need someone on your weirdo wavelength, out there in the wilderness. "Xatu's name is Featherweight, like I said. I mentioned that like all Xatu, one eye sees the past, and the other sees the future. Put him in a high place and you'll know about stuff happening in the area before it actually happens."
You remember. But hearin' it laid out again, more straightforwardlike, it's...
Halfway to a replacement for Miyu, you can't help but think. But just to keep up appearances: "Can't keep either eye on the entire island. Let alone all four of 'em."
"Absol." Man indicates his head. "No nickname. She isn't as precise, but if there's a disaster coming, she'll know before anyone, you might recall. Force multiplier for any halfway decent warning system. And for the non-disaster assaults, she's quick, and her claws are sharp." He keeps rolling before you can question what comes next: "For things that
do manage to slip through both their safety nets, Berri is an especially adept Audino."
"No no!" Berri breaks formation in order to cheerfully wave.
"He can help supplement your Pokemon Centers and hospitals, even when there aren't disasters looming." He sighs. "As for me, I'm...Terrence. I keep things organized. I set assignments. I give orders." He firms up. "Keep us safe, and give us some room to breathe, and I'll take care of the rest."
You take your own room to breathe. Just for a moment or two. Maybe three. Fine, four – you're still reluctant, even after alla that. Too good to be true, maybe. Or maybe…
...maybe it's that it's the first dang thing you've done right all day, and you didn't even do it on purpose.
Still time to pull one over on the future, Guzma, you think.
So what if they saw it? That don't mean it was there. Miyu taught ya that 'fore she vamoosed, right? You can hit tomorrow with the ol' rope-a-dope just like anybone else ya gotta box. Forego the effect, keep the cause, and brag for the rest 'a your life about how you scammed time on its home turf!
Heck, you don't even have to hire these guys if ya don't...
Nah, you can't reasonably say no, can ya? It'd be even more irresponsible than ya usually let yourself be.
"Okay," you say, and try to ignore the way all the Pokemon's faces light up. "Okay, then. I can't really say 'welcome to the Team' – feel like you wouldn't be comfortable being
official, wouldja?"
"Sorry," Terrence says, sinking into his seat a little.
"'S'fine. Ain't all of us cut out to be the black hats." Slowly, slowly, you let the tension slip away. "You'll work for us, not
as us. An' nothin' dirty, promise."
"It's appreciated," he breathes, and most of his Pokemon nod. The Tyrantrum just rolls its eyes, which further goes to show who's your spirit Pokemon, you think.
...huh. The Tyrantrum. Come back to that in a second, you think.
Meanwhile: "Well, we'll get to exactly what we'll want outta y'all later. For now…" Teensy crook. Not quite a felony, but a misdemeanor smile can sometimes be enough. "...you probably wanna hear about your pay, don'tcha?"
"We don't need money," Terrence says. "Just food. Shelter. And…" he considers, for a moment. "As much privacy as you can afford us. I-It's for the best if no one knows a security system is even there, right?"
"And not to snitch to anyone who comes sniffin' that you're even here, right?"
He flinches. "Well…" a breath in. "Yeah."
You scoff, and he flinches again, but you pretend not to notice as you say: "Y'ain't gotta work for me for
that."
"Pod li!"
"And that's a good point while we're on the subject," you let your face lean into severe lines as you lean forwards. You do not speak, you do not bargain, you
announce: "I'm a bad guy. I'm not a
slaver. You wanna work for cheap, that's your business, but y'all're gettin' paid, and that's final."
"...okay," the man breathes, in awe, and you suddenly feel bad for ever havin' doubted him – but then, just as suddenly, he hammers back, ready to fire: "Well, if that's true, then… no Pokeballs. That's our one condition."
...no Pokeballs? How does he expect you to -
Oh.
Oh. No Pokeballs used on any of
them.
...these aren't his Pokemon, are they. They're his
friends. Now it suddenly all makes sense.
"If that's the case," you hide the fact that you're already plannin' on agreein', "I've got a condition, myself."
"Tu tu?" the Xatu speaks up on its own for the first time, all meeting.
"...what's that?"
"You guys have been neglectful, leavin' your best and brightest out of your story." You lean forwards, interested, you'll admit, despite the hardline stance. "What's
that one's deal?"
The creature in question deigns to grace you with a snort.
"Sarahtops?" Terrence looks up at her, then back at you, an' – miracle of miracles, there's a tiny smile on his face when he does. "She's the charm."
Sarahtops growls, but your laugh is louder.
0-0-0-0
It's a lovely night on Alola. The Jigglypuff are singing. The Shiinotic are blooming. The moon beams over the world, as though batting away the angry clouds that had claimed the night before.
There's a light on, at the lighthouse.
Your name is Olivia. You are the Kahuna of Akala Island. And you don't have the slightest clue of what is going on.
...okay. That's a lie. It's not that you don't know, it's that you don't want to admit it. Planting flowers, building ramps. Keeping the lights on, apparently. It isn't anything official, you don't think, or at least – you haven't been told anything about it. But there's only one group that you can think of who engages in this kind of constructive vandalism.
So you hate to say it, but you think Team Skull is why you're running toward the beach with a lightness in your heart.
Hammers, at the corner of your eye. The three... brothers…? Have evidently fixed at least one of their problems with the islands, and are piled over each other in a tangle, on a nearby bench. One of them's gently snoring, but you can't actually tell
who. They're all back in uniform.
You don't have much time to look at them. No more than a glance, really. Too much of a hurry for anything else. You find yourself inexorably drawn, you see, to a particular place on the nearby beach.
It makes sense. That
is the point of a lighthouse, after all.
From a month, and shards sinking into your skin, to this morning, and the foreign intrusion of hope: someone has turned the light back on. The light is on, and gently spinning, illuminating the night. Illuminating, calling out to all the lost souls who would like nothing more than a warm place to stay, out of the dark.
The hearth is what makes the house a home.
You are lost for all words, save for one:
"How?"
"Butch and Cassidy had a spare."
Ah. Of course. You would recognize that scratchy, booming, nudge-aside voice in the middle of an avalanche.
You turn to your left, to better face Guzma. "Did they, now?"
He keeps looking up at the turning light, for a while. "Won't last as long as the real thing. Sorta… shoddy on purpose." A light chuckle, a shake of the head. "Bargain bin supplies for bargain bin schemes." He coughs, and… is that a blush? "Was usin' it earlier today. But, ah, got done with it. So."
You just, look at him, for a while. Eventually, just a little, you smile, and say: "So you
admit your schemes are shoddy."
"Hey, nobody bats a thousand!" You'd swear his hair poofs out, he puffs up so much. It's… almost adorable? "Can only swing at so many Combee nests before ya knock down one without any honey, aight?"
"Don't I know it."
His eyes widen. He turns away, sudden, staring at the sleeping brothers.
What kind of man, you wonder, while you wait for him to pretend that never happened,
Can't find footing on common ground?
"Like I said, it's nothin' to write home about," Guzma continues, like your little shared interplay hadn't happened at all. "Don't even reach half as far into the night as the real thing's s'posed ta, but, eh - oughta last us the month. Tide us over, and pull one over the tides, until the fallin' star hits."
'Destruction in human form' sure loves his apocalyptic imagery. Then again, these days… "An awful lot of work, though, I'm sure."
"That was all them," Guzma waves vaguely at the Hammer Bros. Two of them snoring, now. "They's the wunderkinds with the wrenches. Just needed someone around to keep 'em on the straight an' narrow."
"Ah, like a kahuna?"
"
I'm sorry, I musta hit my head while I was carryin' the spotlight up the staircase, 'cause I thought I just heard you insinuation' somethin' that'd make me tear down this lighthouse with my bare hands!"
...he doesn't actually say that. The thing you just thought, that is. You can clearly hear it in your head, because Guzma's much more predictable than he likes to think he is, but he doesn't actually say it. Instead, he just walks away. Not too awful far, maybe a handful of footfalls towards
it.
But, shucks, has Olivia ever been known to let a guy get away all that easy? You follow the same number of steps, minus one, and then you just, well. Stand there.
Bait and hook, in a single action.
You wait. The light passes, overhead.
"What's got
you stayin' up so late?" he finally asks.
It's a fair question. But you're… sometimes you and straight answers don't always… "Just drifting in the darkness." ...yeah. "And then, suddenly, the sky opened up on me. Couldn't have slept if I wanted to."
Guzma grunts. He cricks his neck. He kicks at the sand. "Was s'posed to be a surprise, y'know."
"Ah, that so? Your next trick gonna be to convince me that this is all a dream?"
"Please. I been tryin' to wake the kahuna up for
years. Whaddya think all the ruckus has been about?" You do appreciate the honesty, if nothing else. Moreso, when he chuckles out: "An' now, the one night I'm hopin' you'll stay
asleep…"
"We live to torture you!" you cross your arms. "Congrats on catching us out, big guy."
He chuckles again, half eclipsed in the turn of his head and the turn of the beam. "I wanna -" He stops short. And then: "You said this place was kinda romantic for ya, right? The lighthouse?"
You did say that. Well, write it. Either way: "That's right."
"...me and my gang have to keep to the shadows. Always have." Even before Team Skull was actually formed, you get the sense. "It ain't romantic, this thing; it's totally tyrannical. The sign on the door to Alola sayin' 'No Solicitors'. No Skulls allowed t'cross the line of light! Penalty of death."
Not literally. But, also: the light stretches over the entirety of Akala. Illuminates the whole of the island. You can see it, out in the sea, for miles and miles, and from every single other island on Alola. And everywhere the light touches, you call home.
So… kind of literally, come to think of it.
"I didn't want to rebuild our local travesty," Guzma confesses. "Didn't scuff up the process on purpose like
somebody mighta thrown hints about, but – but did I want the reminder every evening out my window? Not a chance." He scoffs, and it's at himself, and it's at you, and it's at the lighthouse, and – and -
"And yet here we are,
" you find yourself saying. "Standing in the shadow of all of our mistakes."
"Ain't it a familiar scene?!" He throws his arms out wide, as though to block out the soon-rising sun.
"I don't know," you admit, too tired to argue – especially when you're no longer all that certain you were totally in the right. "I've never seen you
make anything, Guzma."
"...yeah," he grumbles, arms dropping. "Yeah, that part's new."
The spotlight turns.
"So then… why the sudden change of heart?"
He thinks about this, for a time. Goes distant. You take the opportunity to examine his features, in the turning of the light.
It's a lot to take in. A lot you've never taken the time to, before now.
Creased forehead. Hooked nose. Pointed jawline. What do the kids call it – an 'edgelord'? He's
all edges. Bony, in a word. You've seen it, the way he walks, the way he uses his broken glass to carve a path for himself. Chops your very sentences up, thinking about how to think about him.
But even standing still like this, he looks like… a cut-out. A monument someone built, rather than something natural. A, a gravestone. A living Ghost type. Something that has to haunt in order for anyone to acknowledge he exists.
You'd always thought they were just eyeshadow, but here at the tail end of a longer night than you realized, it hits you all at once: those bags under Guzma's eyes are all too real.
"Ah, heck, I dunno," he finally shrugs, chuckles, turns back. "Wasn't really thinkin' about it, to be honest wit' ya. 'Course, that's not exactly anythin'
new, me not thinkin, heh." He pauses. "Yeah. Nothin' new. No change. Just takin' care of what's mine, same as always."
You blink in surprise, because, all of a sudden, now that you know what you're looking at, sharp eyes slicing quick and precise like they're performing surgery, you realize -
"Gah, no, sorry," Guzma pinches his nose, and squints his eyes shut. "Sorry. S'a lie. That was-" He grunts. "That was a lie."
- yeah. He's lying. That's what you were about to say. "You don't
have to tell me, you realize? It's not as though I'm completely heartless," you smirk, deciding to pay the compliment even as you actually say: "Like certain misfits I could mention."
"Eh, somebody's gotta shine a light." He's looking into the distance, again. "I just… I figured…" He sighs, and something in you understands that what he says next takes more out of him than the whole night's worth of work: "Beggars can't be choosers, y'know? If people're gonna wind up stuck with me anyway, the least I can do is put some lights up for 'em."
And all of a sudden, you think maybe you understand where it is Guzma's coming from. But, ah… "So what do
I get for putting up with you all the time, huh?" … you don't think he'd appreciate you saying so.
His head swivels towards you, his face the perfect picture of indignation. "Uh, hello? You get
a lighthouse."
"A lighthouse I paid for?" you fail to fight off your grin. "That's not a gift, Guzma. That's the exact opposite of a gift."
"It's an
investment!"
You actually chuckle, at that. "Investment. Sure."
"Aw, jeepers, the thanks I get -"
"
Jeepers?"
"
The thanks I get."
You laugh some more.
The waves settle against the beach, one after another, in the lullaby only Alola knows. You're both standing there for a while, not looking at each other, but… not looking anywhere else, either. Watching the turning of the light cast shadows, perhaps.
Blame it on the sleeplessness, and on the lull, and on the water lapping at your toes.
"I didn't talk right. About all this." Guzma finally looks up, to where the light slowly spins. "An' I didn't 'xactly check to make sure things were bein' done the right way, either."
He shrugs. And it isn't an apology, but then again, what you say next isn't exactly an apology, either:
"Maybe I didn't communicate all that well, myself."
He sighs, and the next words are like tearing hooks, you can tell. "My job, though." A nod. "My Team."
My responsibility, he doesn't say. But you hear it.
"Thank you, Guzma."
He turns to you, after a while. "We square?"
You consider, and part of you wants to say yes, but -
"I wouldn't quite say that." Honesty is the best policy. "But…"
"But?" Guzma prompts.
You stare at the light, yourself, for a time. It fades, slowly, in the rising of the sun. And eventually, you say:
"I think that we've really built something here."
Mercenary group hired: Terrence & Pals! Cost: 1 Income, to be paid now and yearly. In addition to certain narrative benefits, this mercenary group provides the following effects:
While Terrence and Sarahtops are employed, there is a -4 malus to all Intrigue, Sneak, Martial, and Brawl rolls of people(s) attempting to attack the Alolan Isles. This malus is not stagnant, and can be increased by taking specific actions.
Increase of 3 to public opinion and decreased healing time for Alolan PCs and Pokemon, so long as Berri provides healing at Pokemon Centers and hospitals.
While Absol patrols the islands, disaster rolls will be made at the beginning of future turns, though they will only take effect at the end of them.
"Each turn, while Featherweight watches over Alola, there is a 1-in-100 chance of 1 randomly chosen applicable Intrigue action having its DC decreased by half. These odds are not stagnant, and may be improved by taking certain actions.
The lighthouse has been built! Options for trade will open up, with reduced DC, beginning next turn! Public opinion rises by 6!
You aren't positive, but you think one or two more good outings will get Olivia on your side.
